Tuesday morning and I feel like shit.
Too much of Pervy’s Piss yesterday no doubt. Time to log on to the internet and visit www.pattayah3.com and read what happened on the hash.
“No scribe yet.” Not to worry it is still early.
After a cup of tea, I noticed a beer smudged piece of paper, which has scrawled shorthand notes on it, pertaining to the hash, lying on the table. Only then I remember I am hash scribe. There is nothing I can use, as it is completely undecipherable, so will try to wing it from memory.
The hares were Bottomless Pit and Scotty. A good A-site, but it did have a few holes. The first one was found by King Yao Yao and his truck. Whether he decided to save money, or has not come to the page in the owner’s manual, he did not use the four wheel drive, so instead had to be pushed out.
Next into a hole went Sir Frog. This is from a guy who has made 798 parachute jumps. I guess he was just working on his landing technique.
Horse who spent an inordinate length of time in the bucket from the week before commented that “His ass still had the feeling like it had a dick up it.” How he knows how this feels, only he knows!!!
Things quietened down, and then it sounded as if the “Hounds of Hell” were going for the last piece of haggis on a Burn’s Night. They were going for Really Sadistic Bastard. That agente provocateur of the canine cult. I did see a local Thai guy lobbing a large lump of rock, but it was hard to tell if it was at the pack of demented dogs or at RSB.
After all this excitement our GM Hellboy started the proceedings and we were off.
I guess Sir Frog is intent on improving his landing technique as he again half disappeared down another hole. The chances of him reaching 800 jumps look decidedly dodgy at the moment.
The trail was the usual tapioca and scrub and I went at a leisurely pace with Teeny Weeny and RSB. We talked about the usual things, but one different subject we got into was Thai politics and the imminent election. You might be misguided to think that this was a bit intellectual for three hashers, but our concern was more basic. The bars had been closed and it was not possible to get any amber nectar over the weekend. As this will happen again next weekend we pooled our knowledge as to where it will be possible to get a drink next week.
As we had strayed off paper, we came across a sign saying “Entrance was Prohibited.” This was next to some gigantic elephant turds. We did a u-turn, but I explained to the guys that these elephant turds were what we used to present to the hares for hash shit. I guess having a toilet seat hung round your neck doesn't seem so bad now!!
Eventually we arrived back at the beer truck where the fast and furious, along with the slouches and non motivated were arriving. The popular consensus was it was a good run.
Hellboy then informed me that as I was so keen at writing emails I could be this week’s scribe and handed me the clipboard. I know times are hard, but a pen and a piece of paper with it would have been a nice touch.
Time to relax and shoot the shit, so I meandered over to Uncle Pervy’s beer truck where, as usual, we solved the problems of the world and I drank more than I should, to try and instill motivation and inspiration for my scribing.
Na!! that is bullshit. I just liked his homebrew.
Seaman Swallow as usual did an exemplarily job running the circle and the raffle. At one stage it looked as if the main prize of a bottle of vodka had gone off with Clit Face, but did eventually materialize.
The circle was called to order and it was good to see ET back. He is now here on a retirement visa. One thing that has not retired is the Bobby Charlton look haircut. At least the blue rinse has gone, or is that just because I am colour blind.
Sir Frog, the bad RA, iced Sir Arse Hopper for stealing the chair he uses on the hash, from the orphanage.
Sir Dog told a joke. “What machine do you get on in the gym to most impress the girls?” The A.T.M.
Lone Wolf and Scarlet iced for being front running bastards and not calling On On. Barnacle Bollox, who has been running on this hash since run number 8, explained that it is not a race but a hash.
Skippy in as RA and introduced Teeny Weeny and Free Willy to the big boys bucket and visually gave the circle a lesson in physics, showing that Archimedes Principle of “Any floating or sunken object displaces its own weight of fluid.” I am not sure if the formula was compromised by the statement from Teeny Weeny “That the leeches were sucking his dick off.” I am sure Dog Licks Its Dick’s daughter Scrappy Doo has never found physics at school this interesting.
Points of note were Torpedo Tits 50th run mug and Bow Wow 400 runs. Well done to both of you.
Miserable Cunt took the circle under the guise of Hash Quack. He iced all the Norwegians, Fini the Faggot and Free Willy. He also gave them a dose of his medicinal elixir. When I commented that I did not receive any, he assured me I was better off without it.
Next it was Fini the Faggot’s circle. He iced VV, Tampax and Hellboy, who all seemingly liked to be bitch slapped. I guess it takes all kinds.
I know there were many other things that happened. Barnacle Bollox and Sir Stains showing their singing prowess was the last I can remember.
Anyway, as always another good hash.
Thanks TQ1 for Hash Happy hour. I could not make, but I know the hashers who did would be appreciative of your hospitality.
On On,
General Kidney Wiper