After a long motor cycle ride from my house, (around 40 minutes), and after much meandering along dirt lanes I reached the nicely secluded run site. Might be tricky finding the right track with a skin full of beer and after dark, were my thoughts, which later proved to be correct, as I was late packing my things, and the baht buses had already left, with their usually helpful tail lights to show the way homeward.
But I am getting ahead of myself here.
Upon arriving at the A site, I was almost immediately apprehended by our hard working G.M, and was volunteered to be chief scribbler for the nights events. I haven’t seen any statistics, but The Wizard is probably the longest serving G.M. ever. Many have come and gone over the years, but Oz always seems to be there. Much appreciated, but I do wonder if he has another life, doing something else.
V.V. is a similar character, always constant, but I do wish he would buy some Singha beer, for us real old timers, who do appreciate a proper drink.
I was just looking at our web site, with the list of Hashers names, and noticed my nationality as being Canadian. Incorrect dear friends. My passport is Irish, despite being dragged up mainly in England. Just so you all know. Take note, Web master please. [Webmaster edit - Oops, noted and will endeavour to correct the laxness of our record keeping].
After much calling of Circle Up, and form a fucking circle, the various factions of friends, stoners, girls gossiping groups, etc were eventually cajoled into a loose group of wanna be Hashers. Harried by Scar, our fierce religious advisor.
Off we all trotted or walked, along a well marked trail, through mainly farmland. Some streams of gravel and sometimes mud. Fortunately no mountains. I said a well marked trail, apart from being confronted by a wire fence, without paper, in one spot. I was alone at this time, a few hundred yards behind YMCA, that miserable Dutch git who was never heard to call On On, for the lost and confused, like myself. He is not the only silent Hasher. So come on, all you selfish fuckers, and call out!
I had decided to walk and take the short trail, but completely missed the split. Shortly after I tripped on a cunningly laid booby trap, and sprawled full length, grazing my legs, then later doing the same thing, this time spraining my wrist. I may be getting too old for this game, and must start to be more careful.
I actually measured my length three times, and may bring on a law suit against the Hares.
The site, when I eventually found it, was a welcome sight, and the first beer never touched the sides of my throat .The proceedings started soon after. Arse Van Hole was iced for claiming a very grotty old towel someone had discarded.
During the raffle, I won some nasty German Beers.
Hash crashes were then iced, myself including.
I sat next to an American Virgin who whispered his shock at the numbing sensation on his skinny arse.
Noisy bastards around the beer truck were hushed by the G.M and promptly iced. Milky Piss spent many uncomfortable minutes squirming about, in the cold stuff.
Next were Klaas and his squeeze, who were invited to sit down. He admitted to being both a massage therapist, and a Lumberjack?
Milky Piss was cooled down again, and his drinking prowess in the Tahitian Queen was mentioned.
Too Loose Arse hole was sat down and interrogated by VV, along with another couple of Frogs. One of them who cannot speak either Thai or English, was questioned as to how he manages to live here. Sperm Polluter took the circle and presented Drag Queen and the Great Nit with 50 run T shirts.
Our religious adviser then took over and iced the American Virgin for talking. Mini Mouse is implicated here. She is suspected of offering unnatural comforts. Don’t ask me, I just made that up, but there is something going on.
The G.M was iced for not paying his bar bill, in some den of iniquity. Woe betide when his missus finds out.
Singing Granny sportingly took the bucket, it being reportedly therapeutic for wrinkly bottoms.
The three Virgins were formally welcomed to the club.
An English Hasher from York and his Chinese girlfriend, were Iced for attending the UK Hash Nash.
Hares were iced again. Squeeze my Tube needs to start showing some skin, it was heard.
Hissing Sid, and Magic Mogu were Iced for running with the North Wiltshire Hash, rotters the lot of them.
Some noisy Aussie fucker, took the circle (most of them are} and gave us a rendition of the Foreskin song. He then iced a collection of wankers, his words.
Fucking Arthur Wong took to the Ice with an American lass called Bare Arse, or similar.
Paprika Smiley was Iced, next to her, and wriggled his backside rather romantically.
Then Dirt Looney and Crap Thai were seated, along with a chubby chap from Salford, who was quite properly iced for supporting Manchester Yoonited football team. The sad bastard.
Crap Thai talked himself into the bucket for losing his keys, and himself.
VV was iced for producing the wooden spoons, too late.
Alex, the Beer Policeman caused a noticeable Tsunami when he sat in the bucket.
Crap Thai is now Wanker of the Week.
For the Hares song, Milky Piss sang an original and funny song called “with his running boots on”.
Sperm Polluter lead is into the Final Down Down, and Ball Ringer was choir master for the Hash Hymn.
Here undeth the Lesson. Apologies for those who are not mentioned.
We will get you next time!
Another entertaining day out, something for everyone on the PH3. Many thanks for all you folk, who work so hard, and contribute so much.
ON ON. Barnacle Bollocks