Hash 107 - Half Moon - Albany, NY
Hares: Just Bruce, Nice Snatch
Number Attending: 15
Summary write up of The 107th running of the Halve Mein Hash House Harriers, as the Halve-Mein Half-Mind Mid-Summer Mid-Week Half-Assed Half-Moon Hash Series continues:
Hounds: Dirtbag, Poptop, THFKAD, Peace O'Chum, Touchdown Jesus, Pontius Penius, Just Julie, McCavity, Bodsa, Sperm Bank
Virgins: Just Bill, Just Brittany, Just Zane
The R*nners Trail (Walker Trail Trash below): Pre-Lube with Mike the Bartender at Valentines. The pack was amused to see the hares huddled in a corner with a map and a GPS. Eventually, off they went and the pack gave them a healthy lead while we finished our beers, and did chalk talk. While doing hash aerobics, a pit bull didn't take well to the hash antics (he must have known Joe at the Button Factory personally). While I personally didn't appreciate the owner picking the dog up by its neck and holding it over the sidewalk to calm it down, I also appreciate he didn't just release the dog to enjoy some leg steak.
Trail led us up to the VA (where we got lost the first time) to Holland Ave by OMRDD (where we got lost the second time) and down to Lincoln Park (where we got lost the third time) and then down into south Albany proper. Friendly streetside vendors were peddling their wares. So we bought some crack.
Trail then ran through an apartment complex where helpful residents ran alongside the pack, and guided us safely through ("Them white boys ran that way.") We also bought some Special K. Sperm Bank was surprised it wasn't cereal with a friendly tiger on the box.
After getting lost the fourth time, trail took us straight down hill toward South Pearl Street. The condition of the houses was getting worse, but the quality of the drugs was getting better. We calmed our fears that we might hit a Check Back that would send us all the way back up the hill by buying some "skunk."
At South Pearl, we hit a check point. We bought some Mitsubishi Double-Stack for use in the circle. McCavity took a right turn, and ended up at the back of the pack, when it turned out the On-In was just a little way up the block to the left.
On-In was the "Dip Inn" - certainly one of the classier bars that Albany has to offer. We weren't sure if we could sneak the hash past the tuxedoed security guards posted by the corduroy ropes outside. The virgins distracted the guards with an impromptu interpretive dance of the Nanjing Massacre, while the rest of us ran around back, pried open a vent hood, crawled through spider webs and air ducts until we reached the basement. From there, it was an easy matter to patch into the central computer and reprogram the escalators in cell block B so that we could enter the bar from the ballroom.
Once inside, our eyes adjusted to the light and we discovered that the elaborate facade was a sham. Drunken rabble spilled across the bar, clutching home rolled cigarettes that they smoked down to the filters. The bar was tired, the leather vested skeletal bartender was tired, the window treatments were tired, and the prostitute camping at the end of the bar was exhausted. When it came to satisfying our osmoreceptors, we had two options. Budweiser in bottles, or the draft, Miller Light. Dirtbag had found heaven. He punctuated his joy by playing cheesy Eagles music on the juke box. After 3 pitchers of the vile liquid were poured, the bartender was visibly worried that the hash would skip out without paying for 18 dollars worth of Miller Light, as our hash cash was still walking down from the walking trail's beer check. The drunkest bit of rabble climbed out of his personal pit of despair to slur something in regards to settling our "tab". Poptop saved us from an apparent shiv attack by showering them with dollar bills that he, no doubt, earned while table dancing. Sated with a pittance of American cash, they grabbed a video camera to record our circle, and demanded that we only sing dirty songs with sexual overtones.
Oh shit, what will we do?
We sang them "Whip it out at the Ballgame," "The Inches Song," and "Days of the Week." Circle featured a reading of the Monty Python Bruce Sketch, and a few verses of "Beastiality's Best." Nominations for the Hashit were THFKAD for something unimportant, Bodsa for whining about the questionable safety of the walking trail, and Sperm Bank for whining and possessing poor child rearing skills. Voting was quickly dispatched, and Sperm Bank drank. We forced down another 3 or 4 pitchers of the beer-like liquid, and closed circle. Many summer hashes coming up - including the Burlington InviHashional next weekend. Check the website, and the email list for other announcements.
As we left, bar back Gene told us that we were welcome back anytime.
Circle reconvened at Celtic Fest on the Empire State Plaza, for a singing of Alouette for Virgin Brittany.
Walker’s Trail Hash Trash
Due to overachieving at the Boilermaker, I, Peace O’Chum, decided to nurse my knees and ankles by convening a walker’s trail. Not to be alone, Bodsa joined me. As the hares were about to leave Nice Snatch whispered in my ear “Hill Street Café” as the beer check to meet the pack at. 6:45 hares away, we waited, joined the rest of the hounds with some hash aerobics (see the r*nner’s hash trash for those exciting details) and then the pack was away. 7:00 the pack went right out of Valentines, Bodsa and I went left to walk down Madison Ave. One block away from Valentines: Bodsa, “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.” Chum, “Do you want to go back?” “No, I’ll be ok. How far away is the bar?” Chum, “Just down Madison.” So, we walked down the road, chit chatting about boys, relationships, typical girl stuff. Said hello to a few friendly people on the street of Madison Ave. Seeing how I hadn’t eaten dinner and was walking, I decided the walkers needed a slice stop. So, Bodsa and I entered a sweltering pizza establishment on Madison and Lark for a slice. Was the heat a sign of the hell to come? We took our slices to-go, as opposed to melting in the pizza shop. On we continued down Madison, as we were greeted by more friendly Albanians while walking past the Plaza and the music of the Celtic Fest. Bodsa, “I really have to go to the bathroom.” Chum, “We’re almost there.” We finally made it to the Hill Street Café and went to the bathroom. After relieving ourselves we ordered some pints while we waited for the r*nners and chatted with a stranger about the doll I was carrying. I quickly learn that a doll is a good boy magnet. Waited some more. Thought, “The hares should at least be here by now.” 7:30 Chum, “Should we call someone?” Bodsa, “yeah they should be here by now.” Bodsa tries to call THFKAD, no answer, tries Dirtbag, only to end up talking to his daughter (oops- home number). Chum, finally out of my stupor, looks at my phone. “Hey, I have a message.” It’s from Snatch, “Yeah, we found a different bar. Go down Madison, turn right on S. Pearl….” Chum to Bodsa, “DRINK YOUR BEER!” Off we went again, down through the finer parts of the Albany, NY Madison Ave and greeted by even friendlier locals. Bodsa, “They just did a drug deal.” Chum, “Yeah, who cares.” Bodsa, “Yeah, but that was a grandma!” [As we walked past them the guy said, “So, if you look at the architecture.” Yeah, as if we are undercover cops- me with my doll and Bodsa with her sports bra and shorts.] Finally, we hit S. Pearl and turn right to look for some “Dip Inn” place but if we hit 2nd we’ve gone too far. Chum, “Where the hell is 2nd?” By this time, Bodsa has picked up her pace quite a bit, helping us blend in with the neighborhood. We are greeted by more locals who, by now, are commenting about how nice we look. Bodsa picks up the pace even more, running over children on the sidewalk and kids on bikes. Chum, being my comfortable-anywhere-self, asks a shop owner standing at his door, “Is 2nd that way?” “I don’t know.” WHAT? Doesn’t he live here? Bodsa, “What the hell were they thinking? Why did they make us come down here? We are farther away from the end now. Why didn’t they stick to the plan? Where is 2nd? Where is this bar? Are we going the right way?” Chum, “Stop whining.” I call Snatch again, “where the hell is this place?” I hear the pack in the background this time, we’re last. We finally get there to join the rest of the pack. See the r*nners trash for the rest of the evening.
If you have anything to add, send a note to email@example.com.