Brooklyn Hash House Harriers

Run#: I have no idea, February 19, 2001

Start: 7^th Ave. on the D

On-In: Mooney’s

Hare: Fluffy

Scribe: Pat McGreer

Brooklyn Hash number something or other, which took place somewhere near a train stop, ended up in some bar with some hashers drinking.

It was early evening somewhere in Brooklyn. I don’t know where. I asked my fellow hashers and they didn’t know either.* David, Pierre, Christine and Fluffy were happy everyone left early so they could spend the rest of the hash cash on Guinness. Thinking the Guinness would not mix well with the plate of noodles I decided to cozy up to the bar with a pint of generic American cheap stuff. An old man with hair that grew out his ears sat down beside me and asked why ‘they made that English fella drink beer.’ “He pissed on a tree.” I told him. (David had a down down for giving Mr. Tree a golden shower.)

“What kind of group is that?”

“It’s the Hash group?”

“The Hash group?”

His eyes lit up and I sensed he was salivating. But that couldn’t be. There was a crucifix around his neck. I decided to clarify.

“No, we run around the city looking for this white powder.”

Now he was clearly salivating.

“It’s on the ground,” I said. “Or thrown against a tree.”

“And then you piss on it?”

“Only the English or Texans piss on it.”

“Good damn rights. Any sane New Yorker would know what to with that.”

“It’s flour,” I told him. “We run around chasing a trail marked by flour. Sometimes we get lost, sometimes Brits pee on trees and sometimes we get pissed out of our trees.”

Three virgins had shown up and were as confused as the old man with the gift for growing hair out of his ears. One virgin hashed in Madrid where she said all the hashers there sit down for a candlelight dinner after they run. And I thought New York was tame. I just hashed in Istanbul where drinking from the anus of an inflatable goat was normal. And there wasn’t much candle light there. So Brooklyn hash

something or other was pretty uneventful as far as hashes go. We got lost and didn’t know where we were going or where we were but that’s typical for all New Yorkers. The bartender seemed to

[______?-js] all the women, though. And he had a gift for breaking glasses. Any connection there? The

area looked a lot like where Mr. Roper, Gordon and Big Bird used to hang out but it’s clear that the place

has had a face lift. Maybe a big beanstalk will grow where David peed and hairy muppets from the sky will come down and the property value of where ever we were will fall enough for me to be able to afford it.

Come to think of it the man at the bar with the hairy ears looked a lot like Oscar the grouch. Oh, by the way David passed out invites to his party on Friday so if you didn’t get one you must have pissed him off at some point.

* Pretty lame that we all seemed so confused, considering we ran almost entirely in Park Slope, with some locals, and ran right into one of Fluffy’s usual on-ins. – js.