BH3 #498

BH3 # 498

February 1, 2010

Hares: Fireman Tim and Brother Mike/Father Bob

On In: The Abby Bar

Future hares take note: in the middle of winter, it is a much better idea to start a trail in a bar than on the street. No one likes to start a r*n by defrosting their unmentionables, but everyone likes (or at least should like) to start a r*n with a refreshing beer. Warms the heart, plus it makes those around you better looking – which is a huge plus for the menfolk in our group. So kudos to our hares for either being sensible or horny. Or maybe both.


We started at Henry and one of those fruit-named streets in Brooklyn Heights but got out of the area pretty quickly. I can’t tell you too much about the trail because it was cold and I really just wanted to focus on complaining. There were a few tricky, or possibly just unmarked, checks, but fortunately for the pack Screaming O had insider information. With the Williamsburg endpoint in mind, we wound (and whined) our way north. Please take a moment to notice my alliteration skills.


The Abby was a welcome sight for the frigid hashers, although I can’t say the hipsters were as pleased to see us. But really, who smells worse – a hasher or a hipster? After we all enjoyed a good selection of beer and some popcorn, the circle was called and the down downs were handed out:


  • Hares Fireman Tim and Father Bob
  • The virgins and visitors, except there were none
  • Dogface, for being personally responsible for my being denied entry into his motherland (buy me a beer and I’ll tell you the whole story)
  • Ding, for limboing on trail
  • Oral Values and BARFly, for losing their whits in a park and running into a fence
  • Crotchless Panties, for marking her territory in Brooklyn, her new home, with some public urination
  • Crotchless Panties again, for telling Dogface she couldn’t set trail because she works… because the rest of us sit around and drink beer all day? Don’t answer that.
  • Chunky Monkey, for trying to hop a fence in front of a cop
  • And to the hares again, as demanded by DBB, who claimed their trail was "the worst ever." Come on DBB, we’ve heard that before.


The hash cash lasted longer than I did (that’s what he said), but I assume that hashers ate pizza, mugged for the photo booth and disrupted games of pool for the rest of the night.


On out,

Sandy Syphilis

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