Brooklyn Hash House Harriers
Run #427 / September 29th, 2008
On In: Blackout’s Apartment
Much like Whitney Houston, I Have Nothing.
The hashers obediently met sometime after 7 PM on the corner of Clark and Henry Streets ready to run veteran hasher Blackout’s trail. He talked the talk, pointing out the existence of a Chicken and Eagle split towards the end, and then all thirty-five of us were off.
I’m sorry, but as I said, I have nothing (read: little criticism to offer on the actual trail, a lovely moonlit run). I can hear the cynical peanut gallery now. We’ll never ask her to do a write-up again. She can’t even talk sh*t. Oh, just keep reading or talk to me after I’ve had a few…
Blackout must have learned a thing or two from FMIG, my trail mentor only a few weeks prior, for his arrows were large and easy to locate. "You can never have too many arrows!"-ugh, I can hear him in my sleep. Blackout’s trail included plenty well-marked, bright white chalk marks, and the pleasant trail brought us around Cadman Plaza and the Promenade, and through Cosby country of Brooklyn Heights. By the time I got to the check marks, the direction of the trail had been discovered and indicated, which meant that many of us had no r*nning breaks, but we sure got to the good beer a lot faster.
The on-in was on Union St. near Columbia at Blackout’s Apartment, where he so graciously provided us with a stellar assortment of beer, tortilla chips, guacamole and an assortment of grill items in exchange for our hash cash, which remains one of the better values in the city at $15.
The circle was called and our hare, Blackout, drank the obligatory down-down for being a hare, and then he drank again for his killer organization skills in having a hare lined up for every BH3 from now until June or 2010. So you think you want to set trail? Think again. Or just consider the lengths you’re willing to go to convince Blackout to bump someone off his perfect schedule. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I know this is the point of the write-up where I’m supposed to list all of the juicy down-down details, but unfortunately I was given chicken scratch and too many beers to make much sense of anything. I see that Alison and Hedgehog were given down-downs. Apparently, they’re alright. They’re alright…I couldn’t tell you why, but they drank, so who cares?
There was but one lone virgin who drank plenty and then turned down my sales’ pitch repeatedly even after Laurel told him I’d model the Hash shirt in my underwear. Please. I think it would only have been appropriate if I’d had the new haberdashery thong with my hash name printed on the crotch. Then yes, I’m sure I could’ve helped Laurel sell some shirts and not been rejected seven times in a single night. Said virgin drank twice-once for his virgin status, of course, and then again for r*nning so fast he bypassed check marks and ran red lights as though it were a legitimate race and not just a race for beer. We probably won’t see him again.
AOTW went to Splat for interrupting a down-down and comparing the appearance of a check mark to someone’s asshole.
Josh drank for some indiscretion, though the pitiful notes I was handed along with the demand to produce a write-up offer no insight into his down-down, nor do they lend any explanation to grill boy’s down-down.
Apparently, at the AGM, there was a short-shorts offense and packages that needn’t be revealed were revealed. We had another short-shorts down-down on Monday. Laurel was called upon to sing her new song, while the rest of us tried hard not to stare.
Oh, and someone drank out of his new kicks, but hey, he looked delighted to do so, and it’s hardly worth mentioning.
Five or so beers, a hot dog and crispy hamburger later, and I was well on my way to massive heartburn and a ridiculously long walk to the subway. Twelve minutes just to get to the train? After breaking the seal? Now that’s just freakin’ hilarious.