The run began with about 30 or 40 excited hashers looking forward to a weekend so incredibly beer-filled, it could only be rivaled by Betty Ford’s top ten clients. Not to worry, folks – she’s got a whole wing reserved for us! Okay, maybe I’m just describing my own enthusiasm, but I couldn’t help myself. Besides a weekend of m’aidez-related antics, my old housemate Bob showed up for the run as well as my good buddy Colonel Chuck, both of them scoping… hoping…

The trail was indistinct, starting at 41^st and Park, then east on 42^nd to the Public Library, south around it, then over to Port Authority. We continued on west past the PA, heading south after. I don’t remember any more of the trail, except that we finally turned west onto the block where we found hot sweaty bodies (sound interesting? Okay, then add stinky to the mix – HA!) gathered around the doorway of Ellen O’Dees. The bar was packed so we waited for the crowd to die down before conducting the down-downs. Down-downs were distributed to Jim and Barbara of Summit, Jethro, Jackoff and Joe Blow, the Orlando biking hashers, FRB Chann for failing to leave pack marks, Trish and Kerry for imitating civilians, Roy, Geoff and the Cardinal for having really bad voices (they think is was for singing the "monks" song, but we know better), Christine, Jean and Kathleen for growing another year wiser, Fiona for spilling beer (okay, its less painful than spilling herself off a barstool, another bad habit she acquired during her years abroad) and virgins Kathleen and Colonel Chuck, who I’m not sure was technically still a virgin, since he’d once been forced into a down-down from his shoe at one of his canoe trips for crashing the on-in). Perhaps that’s the reason it took him so long to come back! The pizza arrived, or perhaps a pizza arrived - I don’t know which – and peace and harmony set upon the group, for a moment. In the next moment we ran out of pizza and drinking again commenced, this time with wild abandon.

After pizza and down-downs, things took on an unusual twist. The full moon really manifested itself especially in the actions of the Colonel. He was biting ankles werewolf-style, an act met with mixed reactions of angst, joy, reluctance, and terror. One woman I questioned pointed out that under normal circumstances she would have been overjoyed, but hadn’t shaved her legs that day, isn’t that right Leslie? Another unidentified recipient replied "I didn’t mind too much – I mean it didn’t really hurt or anything" (did I get that right Miho?). After being rebuffed several times, the Colonel led us onto the dance floor where everyone got a chance to show off the fact that most of us have one leg shorter than the other and both of our feet are too long (paraphrase – Zappa, Dancing Fool – 197?). We, as a group, were at this point in the evening irresistible! Other bar patrons enthusiastically jumped into the dance circle and grabbed anyone they could to show off with! Chuck helped Bob "Tito" White try to acquire a girlfriend by making a "lombada" sandwich of her! He also did his Zamboni impression on the floor, a move I’m sure impressed his dry cleaner! Bob and Susan told stories of their one-time mad passionate love affair, cooled quickly by Stingy Bob’s refusal to share his tuna steak on their first date.

If you feel this write-up is WAY TOO LONG, direct your comments to Mike, who initially couldn’t find anyone to do the write-up, and then proceeded to ask both the Choirmaster and myself to do it. The next day we realized we had both worked on it. I’m going to avoid Mike at future runs until he has already found a scribe (oops, did I just think that or did I really write that?), but in the meanwhile, Mike is really handy whipping boy for me! On-out.