PHHH #1124.9
Date: Sunday, December 10, 2006
Place: Waldorf School, Cherry Hill Rd, Princeton
Weather: Sunny and Mild
Time: 1:15 to the On Over, 1:40 to the On In
Hare: Bjorn Dork
Hound: Full Moon Smiling, Hey YO! Paully, Pyroman (who still needs
anger management training), Little Blue Butt, Speedbumps, Oliver the
Wonder Dog (who needed a bath), Delicate Psyche (who saved us from his
previous hash), Three Balls (from the Philly hash), Matt Muffleman
(AKA Todd Quakenbush)

Dork's Dilemma, from the Belle Meade Inn

Maybe Dork should have seen it coming; maybe it was one too many beers
at Conte's, or one too many slices of pizza, but he never saw or heard
anything. One well placed swing of the blackjack, and the Dwarf took
Dork down. No one in Princeton noticed the unmarked panel van rushing
up and to load the limp body in.

Dork first sensed a musty smell as he came to, along with what sounded
like the soundtrack to "Apocalypse Now". Soon he realized he was tied
to a wooden chair and blindfolded. "Screw you Pyro" he screamed, "I
know you're pissed about the set, but this is over the edge!" 

"Don't worry about Pyro," came a soft raspy whisper in Dork's ear,
"we're taking care of him later. For now we have some things to show
you." The voice sent chills up Dork's spine. When the blindfold was
removed, the chills turned to shards of ice. Dork had heard of this
place, read of this place, even driven past it, but never in his
wildest nightmares did he believe that he would be in the basement of
the Belle Meade Inn.

Jorge had removed the blindfold and was busy getting a Stegmeier for
the figure sitting in the shadows off to the side. "Didn't think we
were for real did you?" chuckled the Dwarf, who by now was working on
his nunchaku skills across the room. The beer bottle barely missed
the Dwarf's head as if flew from the Assassin's hand. "Shut up!" he
snarled, "We have some educating to do here". Jorge dimmed the light
and turned the slide projector on.

"Now Dork, we're going to play a little game of "Find the Common
Denominator" said the Assassin. The slide projector clicked on:
"Richard Nixon" CLICK "George Bush Jr" CLICK "I'll help you here,
that's the Delay Lllama" CLICK "Hey, that's Rambo", CLICK "That's me…
I don't get it. What's the point?"

This time the bottle barely missed Dork's head. "An Exit Strategy,
you fool! None of them had one! Nixon couldn't get us out of NAM,
Bush can't get us out of the Middle East, the Lllama couldn't find an
end to save his life, and Rambo couldn't set a hash out of a paper
bag. Now today… "

"Hey, I did OK" yelled Dork, before he realized it was a bad idea. 
This beer bottle didn't miss. 

"Exit strategies 101: 
When you blow it, admit it.
If you really blow it, end it. 
When in doubt, cut it short; the quickest way back to the car(s) is
the best.
If you don't think too good, don't think too much.
End of lecture."

"OK, OK, I get it… now what about that SOB Pyro?" asked Dork.
"Don't you worry about Pyro… `Bumps has her own stash of Steg bottles." 

On On