I've been in the Land of Smiling Illiterate Geriatrics for nearly three months and was finally asked to be the scribe. This is good. It shows creativity and initiative. Either that or Hellboy and Sir Free Willy have been taking turns doing the hash sheet every week. So when Hellboy asked me to be the scribe, I quickly replied yes because neither Hellboy nor Miserable C**t like people who say no. So I got some paper from Sir Free Willy and like all good Principals/Headmasters had a pen in my hash bag. So, Sir Free Willy is a perfect example here for everybody to follow. He is living proof that if you stay in Pattaya long enough and do enough Monday runs, anybody can become a 'Sir' irregardless of whatever you do in the rest of your life.
I've been absent for two or three weeks with a very painful back injury from doing some stretching and weightlifting in the gymnasium. During my absence, some iconic Monday hashers like General Kidney Wiper left and were replaced by equally iconic Monday hashers such as Uncle Pervy and Foul Fu**er. And of course Emperor Airhead returned from his semi-annual Mormonic Pilgrimage to Utah. The Pattaya Monday hash has always been a revolving door of hashers. They come and go and go and come. Until one day they just disappear - never to be seen again. Of course, some go to Hash Heaven, but others just seem to drop off the face of the Earth.
Where was I? Oh yeah, I got some paper from Sir Free Willy and found a desk and chair to sit down and take some notes for this scribing thing. When I got to Bangkok this morning, I took out my notes looked at them and said, "Oh shit!! What language was I writing in last night?" Now I'm fairly fluent in English, Spanish and Thai, but my unreadable notes didn't appear to be any of these languages. So I scanned the notes and sent them off to foreign people who might recognize the language: Sir Frog, V.V., Odd Job, Hellboy, Charlie Manson, etc. You get the idea. No replies. So I have become multi-lingual and can write in a language no one can read. So as Yao Ming might say, I'll have to do this off the top of my head." Or as Ronald Reagan probably said, "I'll have to do this from memory." Many of you probably don't know Yao Ming. He is the 7'6" center for the Chinese National Basketball team and the Houston Rockets. But all of you remember Ronald Reagan: "Nancy, was I really the President of the United States for eight years?" And, "Nancy, did we really live in that large, white house in a mostly black ghetto neighborhood for eight years?" So anyway, I can do this just like Yao and Ronnie.
By 3:30 pm. there were only a handful of people at the bus stop to go to the run. This might have been because the bus died two-thirds of the way to yesterday's Pattaya Jungle run at Spaghetti Head's house (Head. Who said head? I'll have some of that. And it was goooood). So many people probably assumed there would be no bus today. But hay, who am I to provide answers to questions like this. What?!?
On the Pattaya Hash you can be the scribe even if you didn't do the run. The German theory here is the people who did the run already know everything about it and whether it was good or not. Those who didn't do the run weren't interested in the first place and certainly don't want to read about it. So we set off from the A-site down a dirt road. After a few hundred meters, we came to what Johnny Carson used to call a fork in the road. Others might call it a Y intersection or junction. Everyone went right. Miserable C**t saw someone way in front of us and a second runner G.I. Joe running from right to left. So Miserable C**t and I decided to take the left trail while everyone else went right. So we walked down this dirt road for quite a while. No paper and we couldn't hear anyone shouting on-on and we couldn't see any one. So we walked and jogged a little further. Still nothing. Now if you're going to be out in the mid day sun, lost and off trail, Miserable C**t isn't the worst person to be with. He can be unintentionally humorous and witty. And if you didn't know, you can soon find out how he got his name. We jogged past a very large pack of heavily sedated wild dogs. Maybe a dozen or more. A few raised their heads, but nothing more. When we came back down this same road maybe a half hour later and after the dogs' owner had arrived in his truck, all these dogs got up and barked and growled and snarled and showed their front teeth. Miserable C**t and I both had to pick up a large stick to fend them off. It was like they were saying to their owner, "Look at how well we protect your property and scare these two white guys off. Now feed us something." Any way as we are walking and jogging up this road, Miserable C**t is saying things like: "Yeah, I've been here before. From where G.I. Joe is running it's almost impossible to get to here." Now I've lived in Thailand for nineteen years and I know this happens all time. You're at point A and you want to get to point B and you can't do it. Maybe you'd like to start from somewhere else, like Laos or Cambodia? Then he says, "If we keep going on this road it winds around to the left and we can get really lost and maybe never find the A-site again." So I'm thinking why don't we do a 180 degree turn and go back to the A-site right now. So this is what we did and came in right behind the walkers: Emperor Airhead, Uncle Pervy, Clit Face, Gangreen and a few others.
So if you want to read about the run, you'll have to get a copy of the Yangon (Rangoon) Hash Sheet as Bobo does a weekly inch-by-inch description of the run. And he tells you in the hash sheet the time it took for every runner and walker in hours, minutes and sometimes seconds to complete the trail. He tells you who came first, second, third, last, etc. Who was the FRB, the FBI and the DFL. In the Pattaya Hash sheet you can read about the other things that went on besides the actual run. The Hares were iced again and again and again. At 8 o'clock G.I. Joe and Beverly Hills Pink C**k were still arguing about the where the paper went, who broke the check and what happened? The hares are iced again. Miserable C**t is iced and he has a lovely bright pink toilet seat around his neck. I go to get a beer and when I come back Really Sadistic Bastard is sitting on the ice and he has the bright pink toilet seat around his neck. Now I don't know what happened but I think that either Germany invaded Scotland or Scotland invaded Germany and WW3 is about to commence. Really Sadistic Bastard is really not happy. I think he looks like a lovely contrasting leprechaun sitting on the ice with his yellow shirt and pink toilet seat. He gets up and puts the toilet seat in the beer truck. He told me not to mention this, so I didn't. Emperor Airhead points out that the Pattaya Hash has gone too green what with the terrible tasting probably organic food we had to eat after the run. Barnacle Ballux makes a quick appearance in the circle after being bitten by bees and just before Miserable C**t, one of several Pattaya authorities on bees having also been bitten, rushes him off to the Bangkok-Pattaya Hospital. Hopefully, he will be back for next Monday's run. Emperor Airhead, who spends eight hours every day in a go-go bar and calls it work, advises Hellboy to treat new Thai girlfriends differently than new German girlfriends. Apparently German girls like a little rough stuff. Hellboy is young and still learning. The highlight of the evening of course was the down-downs for all the returnees of which there were many (including yours truly). The Bad Dad Award was taken away from No More Cum and given to Cabbage Head. We found out that Seaman Stains is a closet Cribbage Player and was presented and appropriately ugly hat to wear.
Midway through the circle Sir Free Willy asks to do the hare song early. He sang something from Oliver. This was way to high-brow for the Pattaya hash and went over like a lead balloon. Nobody knew Oliver. Nobody knew what Willy was doing. Barnacle Ballux might have known, but he was already on his way to the hospital. I think that Oliver was a musical play written by Dr. Hook in the 1960's or '70's and done again two decades or so later. You might remember some of the lyrics: "...maybe get a second chance 'cause for twenty-four years I've been living next door to Oliver. Oliver! Who the f**k is Oliver." At least that's what Sir Chicken Fu**er thought.
We ended the night with some name explanations. If you weren't there, you'll never know. All the names and their explanations were xxx-rated. Shit Through a Duck, Chicken Fu**er, Liberace, Foul Fu**er, Master Bates. Butt Plug promised that if he ever married his Jewish Israeli girlfriend, we'd all get invitations to the wedding and Hellboy might be his best man.
A large number of us adjourned to the T.Q. for T.Q. Hot dogs. I personally had three. G.I. Joe even came. He told me not to print this as Squeeze My Tube might read it so I didn't. Some time after midnight, I remembered I was catching the morning bus to Ekamai Tuesday morning so headed back to the Ice Inn leaving Ferry Queen and the visitor from Indonesia to close up the T.Q with Emperor Airhead.
I leave you with the famous words from Oliver: Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night. See you next Monday when I will again be a leaver.
On - on.
E.T.