Date: July 2, 2008
Start: Mister Wright Liquors
Hare: Joe Pennsylvania
On-in: Tap A Keg, Broadway & 104th
Scribes: Noah’s Dinghy and USMW
As some of you may be aware, having been unable to avoid our talking about it for several weeks now, a number of hashers engaged in flagrantly racist behavior awhile back, in the Green Mountain Relay. The name pretty much explains it: we r*n through the Green Mountains of Vermont. And while the hills were sturdy, the elevation didn’t seem that much. But apparently Joe P. contracted altitude sickness during the Relay, because he has gone foaming, batsh*t, doesn’t-realize-the-Super-Bowl-was-six-months-ago insane.
Case in point: the trail he recently set, which began on the Upper East Side at Mister Wright Liquors, where a number of Joe’s trails start. Once a healthy-sized crowd gathered, our hare arrived to provide the chalk talk to several virgins and one visitor who insisted he isn’t (more on that fellow later). Our hare then turned to the remainder of the pack, and announced that there would not be a chicken-eagle split on his trail for the first time in recent memory. Instead, there was to be a “boy-girl” split.
Huh? Was this chivalry (or chauvinism), giving the male hashers the equivalent of the eagle trail? Is there an epidemic of cooties in the New York City hash and Joey wanted to effectively quarantine us on trail? If a hasher opted to ignore the letters at the split and r*n in the direction of his or her choosing, was he or she gay? (Or would it be more gay to insist on r*nning with hashers of the same sex?) We’ll never know, as the pack apparently decided to be quite agreeable, and abided by the male-female split. But, in the spirit of Joey’s effort to ignite a new War of the Sexes, here follows a divergent account by two scribes to tell you about the whole trail:
Noah’s Dinghy: We r*n eastward, then up the FDR until encountering a check leading either back into Manhattan or into Randalls Island. A few hashers r*n toward the island, apparently thinking there might be a bar there. (Or perhaps they retained memories of one of Devo’s more infamous trails.) The rest of us figured that Harlem was in our future, and r*n that way.
USMW: Lesley and I were chit chatting about stuff when we hit the FDR. Hmmm, turn left and follow trail or try to short cut? Fast American Dave came r*nning up from behind and said “Don’t follow trail, there’s a dead end up there.” Lesley, who actually lives on the UES (FAD lives in the West Village), said that she knew that the path on the river does continue. Men—they never listen to directions!
Noah’s Dinghy: After a few more checks, we found ourselves in Central Park, and ultimately the oddly-touted boy-girl split. The men r*n a short while more in the park, then exited somewhere in the 90s, and headed west, where we encountered the women, only to discover the trails split again. At this point, FMIG and I became convinced we were headed to Tap A Keg, where a number of Joe’s trails end. We were ultimately proven right, and in we went to begin the consumption of beer.
USMW: After falling behind the pack to get a drink of water, I came upon the Boy/Girl split. Some couple I didn’t recognize gave each other a kiss before going on their respective trails. Awww, so cute! Was it a last kiss goodbye since the trail from the week before went to Queens, and they didn’t know in which borough they’d end up (NOT the Bronx!!!)? The trail weaved through the park. Joe P nicely avoided the bad areas for the ladies. There was a pesky little check when we excited the park, but Tit Totaller solved it and we all headed to the on-in.
There were downs-downs aplenty:
1) Our hare.
2) The virgins, of whom there were several. Some of them may have returned by the time you read this, most have not. (Note from USMW: There was one guy who didn’t know the name of the girl who made him come—insensitive b@stard! Well, I forgot his name, so there! Then there was another guy whose wife made him come. Following the wife’s instructions—exactly how it should be!)
3) Our one visitor, Splat from San Francisco. Splat vainly tried to correct the JMs and point out that he’d moved to New York the day before, and was thus a transplant, not a visitor. Well, we don’t have a “Welcome to NY” down-down, so just drink your damn beer in the category we have assigned you.
4) Fast American Dave, our TM, for his typical inability to find trail, in this case the aforementioned effort at taking a nonexistent shortcut by Gracie Mansion, yet somehow still make it to the bar.
5) Malcolm, who had been bugging a number of people for a name, and who apparently gave himself one on the hash forum. Now, for those of you who wonder what FMIG stands for, and how that name came about, go ahead and ask Steve, as he never gets tired of telling that story. But Malcolm, foolishly not realizing that hashers don’t get to decide their own fate, was handed the sobriquet My Small Penis Smells Like Sh*t, or I Have A Smell Penis That Smells Like Sh*t, or something equally embarrassing.
6) AOTW went to Jessica, who disappeared after reaching the on-in, and returned a short while later having showered at New York Sports Club. Attempts at respectability are severely frowned on, kids. How else are we supposed to ensure that entire sections of a bar will be left to us?
Drinking and pizza followed, and a good time was had by all.