Following the Annual NYCH3 Sancta Lucia run, On-Sex Heather and Christine met
for a debriefing of the day's events over more libations at an unnamed downtown
bar. The following is a transcript of their conversation:
HM: So I don't know about you, but I was pretty happy to see so many people
turn out for the Sancta Lucia run.
CH: Yeah, pretty impressive showing, I'd say. It's good they start it at the
tree at Rockefeller Center, it's the only effort I'd ever make to see the damn
thing.
HM: Why is that?
CH: Slaying a big, gorgeous, thousand-year old tree just for the commercial
benefit of New York retailers is just not my idea of a tradition worth embracing.
It does attract the crowds though.
HM: I'll say. Crowds of hashers seem to like the tree, too. Having so many people
there really made a big difference in achieving four-part harmony when we all
started caroling "Why Are We Waiting" to the music coming from the ice rink.
CH: Hmm...well, did you notice how many parents were covering their kids' ears
when we got to the part where we sang, "We could be mastur…"
HM: I don't know, I think the tourists really enjoyed it. It's just one of the
charming things about New York City at Christmas.
CH: Sure, that and 42nd Street hookers - but we don't seem to have those around
any more. What was the deal with that late start, though?
HM: Well, I guess we could have started earlier, but speaking of 42nd Street
hookers, what's-her-name was having trouble ungluing her lips from the Fox News'
guy's ass. That might have contributed to the delay.
CH: What's-her-name?? You mean, that bitch, I mean, very pleasant woman that
wouldn't get any beer for us at the on-in? So much for holiday spirit.
HM: Holiday spirit? I think her exact words were, "If you want beer, march your
ass up to the fucking bar and get it yourself." I know it is the hare's job
to get beer and everything, but it must be pretty tough to talk to the bartender
when your entire head is actually stuffed up a reporter's butt. Speaking of
the Fox guy, do you think that had anything to do with the big turnout?
CH: Definitely. Lesley and I alone have admitted to having not-so-secret crushes
on Dave Pryce, the weatherman on FOX-TV. Not only that, but do you remember
last summer's videographer who everyone gushed over until we found out that
the guy was using the footage for his own personal pleasure? Given all that
gushing, I'd say we've got quite a few stars in the making - Lipstick Lesley
for starters.
HM: It would have been really great to see her and Steve tangoing for the cameras,
especially if Leslie were still plugged in. Very dramatic.
CH: On a totally unrelated topic, I heard some of the guys discussing arrangements
for an impromptu "best boob-job contest." Apparently we have a newer hasher
in our midst that's artificially enhanced. But anyway, what did you think of
the trail?
HM: Who would have known? There must be some pretty observant guys in our midst.
But back to the trail. Pretty short for a Fluffy run, and pretty easy to follow
since there weren't any checks. Except for Macy's, which counts as one big pack-eating
check.
CH: I know, talk about "Miracles on 34th Street," we're lucky we got through
there alive!
HM: Oh, yeah. But as much as I'd love to sit here and dissect the nuances of
the trail, Feinsod told me that no one likes reading about the trail, and we
should just make shit up that is more interesting, as long as it has nothing
to do with the trail.
CH: Really? I just think that "best-ass" contest has gone to his head. He's
got a point, though. I mean, hashers must think they're going to get some inside
gossip on the latest hash hook-ups and whatnot. But I never kiss and tell…oops!
HM: Interesting…
CH: [Ignores Heather's blatant attempt to pry out information. Orders another
round.]
HM: Hmmmm…Oh, hey, on the subject of interesting things and Feinsod, how much
do you remember about Sancta Lucia last year?
CH: Probably not much. You know me, always sticking to one beer and going home
early. Why?
HM: Well, Feinsod and Mike B were giggling about something scandalous that they
were involved in last year, and were crowing about not getting caught. I was
just wondering if you knew anything about it, because they wouldn't tell me
since, and I quote, "[I'm] a girl."
CH: Do you mean when the guys got Dave Long so drunk that they got him to relieve
himself on the Rockefeller Christmas tree while singing "O Tannenbaum?"
HM: They did?!?!?!?!?!? CH: Of course, not. Dave would NEVER do something like
that. Just thought that this would be the kind stuff Jeff thought we should
throw in here.
HM: No, he was thinking more along the lines of multi-installment pieces tracking
the mad cow disease crisis in Europe a la DB2. I wonder if Feinsod and Mike
B were referring to the incident they were involved in that resulted in a plunger
being awarded to the Asshole of the Week, if you know what I mean.
CH: Oh, thanks for reminding me. I'd repressed that one.
HM: Sorry. Let's talk about something less scary, like Ewa doing two down-downs
out of her shoe. She should be finishing right about now.
CH: Or the part of the evening when Fluffy starts telling us about his warm
and fuzzy upbringing in Valhalla. Makes me just want to reach for the Aquavit
and poison myself.
HM: I know way more than anyone should about Fluffy's upbringing, and it is
a pretty scary topic, too.
CH: You've got to admit, though, those Swedish meatballs are to die for!! I
wonder if he'd give me the recipe.
HM: Sure he would, you've just got to start taking cab rides with him again.
Did he start waxing nostalgic about the armpit of Illinois before or after the
down-downs?
CH: Actually, I think it was just before he told the virgins how hashing works
and finally sent the pack off.
HM: Who actually got down-downs?
CH: I dunno. Do we really need to keep track of that? I mean, I know Peter is
a stickler for accuracy, but…
HM: Ah, he just needs someone to jog his memory now and then. And if he were
really that concerned, he would have given one of us his list. So what's next
on the holiday hash calendar?
CH: Well, there's Crofty's Charlie Brown Christmas run - you know, the one that
starts under the "singing tree" that no longer "sings" at the South Street Seaport.
Then there's the white trash Christmas run in Brooklyn.
HM: Well, it's going to be one hell of a holiday…
CH: True, true. [Christine orders another round, the night degenerates into
incomprehensible cursing and spittle.]