Post date: Oct 19, 2011 3:08:00 AM
First, the Good News:
The ever-striving perfectionists of the Metro Transit Authority decided to
spruce up the A line for our arrival to the Cloisters this past Sunday.
While they weren't quite able to finish on time, we understand that these
things don't hold to a strict timetable, and we all look forward to seeing
what they decided to do with the place. Fortunately the weather was just
right for a 20-block hike up the mountainside.
Then everyone's favorite members of the local constabulary, Officers Nunez
and Silvano, stopped by to say hi and volunteered to give an impromptu
lecture on local drinking regulations and good citizenship. They were so
impressed with our group that they invited a select few of us to part 2 of
the lecture series at the courthouse downtown. (For those of you who like
Law and Order, part two is when the prosecuting attorneys browbeat you and
any family members they can drag into the interrogation with grade school
level pop psychology while your defense sits dumbly in a corner until you
fly into a rage and blurt out a full confession) A formal invitation was
extended to the officers to join our club.
Finally the hash was off, over hill and dale, down cliff and up. I provided
plenty of checks to keep the hahsers together and chit-chatting as well as
to give them valuable looking for things practice. We all arrived at the
City II Bar, which has amazing specials Friday night, or at least that's
what I think the regulars were telling me through their tracheotomy holes.
Beer was poured and fun was had, I imagine, being that I was immediately
off. Just outside the door, the bartendress and her friend asked me how
everyone knew to come to the bar. I directed her to the day-glo green chalk
On-In written on the sidewalk with a series of arrows leading up to it that
she was standing on, explained that that was us, and extended a formal
invitation to the hash to both of these osteoperotic maids of the bar.
The hash then got a valuable lesson in history as they proceeded through New
York's historic Spinning Rim and Car Wash and Sidewalk Sneaker Sale
District. The headlines and great men and women to rise from this fertile
soil are far too numerous to name here. They then proceeded into Hibridge
Park and were sent up a cliffside covered in loose dirt. As they climbed
huge sheets of topsoil and trash fell down over them, and they were able to
get a look at both the geologic strata that make up our beloved island and
valuable artifacts from yesteryear that demonstrated how people lived back
in the olden times of yore. Once they got to the top, they traveled around
ball and BMX parks looking for flour. Fortunately I had given the local
children invaluable truth-telling lessons, as its never too early to instill
good character. Hopefully they were of some help to the pack.
Finally, a mere 6 blocks away from the on-in, those crazy, fitness obsessed
bravos that make up our hash decided to run in random directions for about
45 minutes, to really blast their glutes before they called it a night.
Meanwhile I became fast friends with Jimmy, the local manager of Mi Nido
Taverna who told me all about how to spot a whore (pretty much every female
in the bar) and what to do in the sticky situation where what you thought
was a regular girl turns out to *be* a whore and demands money. It was
pretty much an hour of stories about for-profit blowjobs. Anyway, we got
talking about soul music and he loaded the jukebox with money to give us
free tunes for the rest of the night. Needless to say, a formal invitation
was offered to Jimmy to join the hash.
By this time I had become so besotted that I forgot what was hash cash and
what was my money and bought $30 worth of $2 beers because happy hour was
ending and then used what was left in my wallet to buy fried chicken. The
pack arrived right then, and there was much rejoicing. Stain sang his
favorite lingering eternity of a song, Just Rick almost got his head bashed
with a pool cue for addressing someone in Spanish, and Just Sean got a front
row seat to the whole drunken mess.
All of which brings me, with great reluctance, to the bad news.
A bunch of whiny jerks made me drink beers for stuff I didn't even do and
now it's morning and my head hurts.
Until next month, you bold centurions!
Type A-Hole