NYCH3 #1269

NYCH3 #1269

Date: Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Hare: Lexi’s Bitch

Start: Bleecker and Lafayette Streets

On-In: The Patriot

Scribe: Noah’s Dinghy

 

          Thinking caps on, boys and girls; it’s time for a brief quiz.  See if you can match the quote to the speaker:  “She got so drunk at the bar that she passed out in a corner, barfed on me in the cab, and when we got home, she climbed on the bed and peed on me in her sleep.”

 

          Was this:

(A)        Roger Clemens explaining why he stopped dating that country singer?

(B)         Larry Flynt describing an average Thursday night back in the 70s?

(C)         Barack Obama telling CNN why he’s not going to name Hillary as his running mate just yet?

(D)        Dr. Bruce talking about Lexi after last year’s Red Dress R*n?

 

If you answered D, you’re right.  And you’ve also learned a valuable lesson about the wisdom of relating embarrassing tales to your fellow hashers.  Sadly, there will be fewer such tales, as Dr. Bruce aka Lexi’s Bitch is leaving us for San Francisco, where he will be performing kidney transplants.  Presumably this is an actual job, and GHB and bathtubs filled with ice will not be involved.

 

To celebrate/mourn his departure, Lexi’s Bitch gathered us all outside the Bleecker Street stop on the 6 line, and announced that he had somehow figured out how to set a trail that was less than 10 miles long.  With the usual instructions about falses not being marked, and the happy news of a drink check, we were off.  The trail took us through various points of Soho, Greenwich Village, Battery Park City and lower Manhattan that any veteran hasher has r*n through countless times, including Washington Square Park, the Emerald Isle, the Chambers Street overpass, the fountain at City Hall.  It seems Lexi’s Bitch had gotten a little sentimental.  One young lady on her cell phone, remarking to whoever the hell she was talking to that there many people r*nning by, frowned at Pamela and whined “You stink.”  Having established that people jogging in 80 degree weather don’t smell like cinnamon buns, we continued on.  Eventually, we arrived at the drink check, manned by the hare himself.  We consumed something that tasted like vodka and Robitussin, and were sent back on our way.  It was at this point that my keen hash senses told me that we might be ending at the Patriot.  Perhaps it was the nostalgic nature of the trail, or the fact we’d passed several other suspects, or just the fact we hadn’t been there in like three weeks.  Abandoning trail, Pamela and I simply r*n to what proved to be the on-in.

 

As usual, the healthy-sized pack moved upstairs, where fewer customers could be bothered by the concededly unpleasant odors we were producing.  (Though at the Patriot, who can tell what that is you’re smelling?)  After a fair number of pitchers and mini-burgers had been consumed, the circle began.  Or rather, it almost did.  No sooner had Eager4Beaver told us to circle up than one of the bartenders announced that we all had to leave and go downstairs.  Was it something we said?  Did Steve change in public one too many times?  Is a group of sweaty people forming a loose semi-circle and singing goofy songs considered bad luck where the bartender’s from?  We’ll never know, but instead dutifully tromped downstairs and set ourselves up by the entrance, officially constituting a fire hazard. 

 

The JMs again called the circle to order after that false start, and while the bartenders refused to turn down the Toby Keith, rendering it impossible for anyone in the back to know what we were singing, down downs were issued.  The hare, of course.  We had no virgins, but there was a visitor from the Munich hash whose name escapes me.  Katie was called up for new shoes, but apparently they weren’t new.  Brent was then given a down-down for handing out his phone number to a couple of guys while we were r*nning through the West Village.  Steve was given one for alcohol abuse of some kind.  Junky Monkey was proclaimed AOTW for not being able to read, according to the JM notes.  As I said, the jukebox prevented the group from hearing the JMs, but apparently we’ve now learned yet another shameful secret, that being Doug is illiterate.  Dr. Bruce was brought back up, and Empress Norma was selected to stand in for Lexi (read into that what you will), and our hare was serenaded one last time before we all went back to the important business of drinking.  And, though saddened that we won’t have the chance to feed Lexi beer anymore, a good time was had by all.    

 

        On-out.


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