Hitting save is very important... database sync isn't working and I am lazy
|What:||Hockessin Hash #298 - Red Dress Hash 2000|
|When:||Aug. 1, 2000|
|Where:||Cherry Street Tavern, Philadelphia, PA|
|Nothing here yet||Hashers|
|Hockessin HHH - Hash Trash|
For Tuesday August 1, 2000
Hash Trash Run #298
Red Dress Hash 2000
The mass media really fucked-up! The total failure of the TV stations and newspapers to feature the great Red Dress Run 2000 was incredible! Noooo....they had to focus on the Republican National Convention and shit like that. Lots of TV footage and newsprint about pissy events like tight-ass cops caressing their nightsticks like the dicks they wish they had, and funky anarchist punks getting arrested. All that pussy shit instead of the real world-class news about the Red Dress Run by the Hash House Harriers. We were subjected to hours of fat-ass politicians passing gas at the First Union Center while fondling their elephant trunks and going on for hours with their yada, yada, yada about God, country, mom, apple pie, and other sordid and controversial topics.
About 100 strong (well, actually sort of flabby) Hashers from the Hockessin H4 and Philly H3 crowded into the Cherry Street Tavern in downtown Philly. A hoary collection of mentally deranged men and women attired in red dresses. Frothy confections with enough décolletage for the men’s hairy tits to hang out, and with skirts short enough for some Hashers to comb their hair in two places. With the tavern bulging at the seams, we did our usual imitation of an out of control kindergarten class filled with hyperactive kids bent on creating chaos and tormenting polite society. We moved outside, immediately oozing sweat in Philly’s infamous heat and humidity while we posed for group pictures taken by our red-clad paparazzi.
A little before 7 PM, we went north on 22nd St., toward the Vine St. Expressway, until turning east along Race St. for a couple of blocks. This route took us right past the Please Touch Museum --- suggesting lurid possibilities for our horny visiting Hashers that had them drooling in anticipation. Then, angling toward the southeast, we careened onto Logan Square, on the Ben Franklin Parkway near Rocky Balboa’s steps up to the Art Museum, and our first encounter with the cops. It was an area loaded with tourists, city folks, and demonstrators who had a great time registering their shock and disbelief at the sight of us. Our spectators were absolutely bug-eyed. They smiled and laughed---including a lot of the cops. We did, however, come face to face with some cops who were clearly nervous and defensive because they knew about the activists who were getting a little violent and disruptive nearby, and they didn’t know what the hell to make of us. We could have appeared to be the biggest Transvestite-Communist Red fanatic nutcases in history. Some did laugh, though, and let us through, while the anal-retentive types tensed-up and forced us to detour around their lines of defense. We even had a brief and cozy chat with police commissioner John Timmoney, when we mooned him as he passed us with other members of a police bicycle patrol.
Scooting down Arch St., we looped around City Hall (where William Penn mooned us!), we continued to head east of Broad St. until we reached the famous Reading Terminal Market. Another change of direction on the ass-fault and we were moving westerly along Walnut St. until we reached the staid old Union League building
We posed for more group photos on the steps of this brownstone Republican bastion before hiking our skirts for a run to All You Can Eat’s art studio near Rittenhose Sq. , where we had a well-earned beer stop. With feeble cries of ON-ON, we waved our hankies at the cops ringed around Rittenhouse Sq. on our way back to the Cherry Street Tavern for the Apres.
We finally packed our stinking, soggy, red-clad bodies into the tavern and enjoyed copious pitchers of beer while we sporadically attacked platters of mini-meatball subs that were consumed as fast as they appeared. The Hockessin religious advisor was sucked into running the down-down ceremony where he did the usual shit of punishing the hares, cherries (or Boots), and other real and imagined violators.
So, look for photos on the internet. This once-in-a-lifetime event was great. Many thanks to all the HHH wankers who did the disorgan-izational work. In true Hash tradition, the utterly brilliant mismanage-ment made it possible for all of us to have a wonderful night of sheer madness.
|confirmed Joint with Philly H3 on Tuesday for Republican National Convention|
from web archive