GGFM #217

The Truth



Official Organ of the Greater Gotham Full Moon

Hash House Harriers

G2FMH3 Hash #217  – Friday, December 12, 2008


Hares: FMIG and (mystery visitor) Booty Call

Start: Beauty Bar on 14th Street by 2nd Ave.On-In:  Flannery’s Bar on 14th Street by 7th Ave.Punk Ass Bitch (Scribe): Pussy in Boots Once upon a time in the magical land of Manhattan, there was a Hash.  Or at least that’s how it was supposed to be.  All the r*nners met a special bar full of wonderful elixirs, to keep people warm on chilly nights.  It was the happiest of hours inside the Beauty Bar, and the r*nners whispered of making beer flavored sno-cones.  Adventure!  Excitement!  A Cast of Dozens!The starry night air was crisp and hushed with the promise of oncoming snow.  A visiting Hare was coming to lay the trail.  Another surprise lay in store, as with baited breath, the plucky Hashers waited for the trail to begin.  And waited.  And waited until a healthy 7:45pm.  Suspense!  Thrills, Spills, and Madcap Antics!With cheerful assistance from FMIG, the visiting Booty Call laid a tricky trail, with ‘four-and-you’re-on’ instructions, unmarked falses, and perilous journey winding through the East Village, meandering across NYU, plodding along the West Village, and vague insinuations of Chelsea.  Egads!Splat intrepidly forged ahead off trail at the first opportunity, thus circumventing danger and nonsense.  In solidarity, I joined him, for as I always say, safety first!  We zoomed past crowds of lollygagging tourists, flew over refuse laden indie-rockers, salt-encrusted potholes the size of most mid-size Buicks, and bowled over bawling undergraduates, before getting quite nearly lost at the NYU library. Oh, the Humanity!Finally, the devils threw us for a loop close to Christopher, and Splat and I split up to find the trail [insert sound of Thunderclap].  I went West, and Splat went North – where could it be?  Surely this might be the one possible time in my hashing ‘career’ I was contending for FRB status due to Splat’s shortcut and to jeopardize that was horrifying.  But horror was in my future it seemed, as Splat was nowhere to be found!  Horror indeed!Stuck amidst nattering bourgeois rollicking in their Tasti-D-Lite fortune, I was alone.  Sure in the cold knowledge that my co-conspirator had been captured by the growing madness that was the abysmally laid trail, I fought the rising tide of panic and pursued this quixotic dream of finishing the never-ending trail.  Goonies Never Say Die!As I struggled onward, the territory slowly grew more familiar, and in a flash of divine insight, the Hashing Gods smiled upon my misery, and fully sated from my sorry display of piteousness, they guided me to Flannery’s Bar and victory.  Success!In short, no-one believed that I actually r*n the trail, and Splat really had gotten to the On-In long before I staggered in.  Not last, but possibly Least!The moral of the story is that if you are a shortcutting bastard, don’t admit to it, and certainly never, ever commit it to paper nor make any record of your treachery.  Cheaters never Win, and Winners don’t do Drugs, but everyone gets beer and that negates the first two axioms, so go get ’em.  That being said, friends don’t let friends drink before write-ups, otherwise the writer loses the notes and the write-up is sh*t, and everyone’s reputation is forever besmirched.  Drama!  Bedlam!  Foolishness!Down DownsFMIG, Booty Call (the Hares)Splat (FRB)