Scribe Report – Pattaya H3 run # 2039 – Monday, March 25, 2024
The 2nd circle predictably started with the Hares (Beetroot head & Panzer Fister) being iced in appreciation for laying such a magnificently scenic, civilized and flat run/walk (described in the pre-run 1st circle as an 8 km/4 km affair, which in truth was more like 11+ km/6 km)…..no ice bucket, however, for this energetic duo of hares, who had energetically run the latest Jungle Monkey HHH event just two days prior, dragged themselves – hungover and hurting from 16+ km of continuous running and 16++ beers each in the circle and beyond into the night – from their respective fart racks to wander, dehydrated, back through the jungle heat to lay paper for today’s ambulatory extravaganza.
Ode to the above-alluded HHH adage of ‘never letting the truth get in the way of a good story’, 8 Hash Crashers, adorned in helmets, red cross-embossed toilet seats, et al were planted on-the-ice for various shit-house-slips (the details of which no one seemed to want nor care) endured along the trail. The focus instead was on two diminutive HHH Thai virgins (apparently sisters or cousins), who seemed to take to hashing like two peas in a small pod; neither being taller than 4’ 6”, one sported a bright, white, very toothy, yet lovely smile and the other an immaculately-pressed Sun Yat Sen-style suit (remember your Chinese history classes from youth?) in soft gray cloth; the latter repeatedly saluted the GM (all 6’ 4’’ of his Wizardry) with military precision, though no one seemed to decipher why so…..alas, they adjusted well to frozen buttocks cheeks and cheerily chimed in that they would both definitely return.
Hash Trash was the next issue broached, with another 8 Hash Losers losing or discarding wallets, eyewear, towels, hats, water bottles, food wrappers, etc: along the trail and recognized for doing so by planting themselves on-the-ice- en-masse. None were relegated to the ice bucket, save for Up The Back, who unwittingly committed the egregious blunder of losing his mobile phone, not once, yet twice, while negotiating today’s runners’ loop. Immersed in chill, he prattled on in his baritone, very properly-accented King’s English with a barrage of inconsequential platitudes and nonsense, in lieu of being profusely apologetic and thankful to those who luckily found his link-with-the-world in the shiggy. Not only that, for in the phone case (crafted from finest Moroccan goat leather, dyed in red henna) were his credit cards, driver’s license and a yellow post-it note with ATM ID#, password and a written note to himself ‘not to forget the above numbers’! Go figure…..or not.
Speaking of notes (mine were lost somewhere between the 2nd circle end and Kubla Bar on Soi Pothole), Emperor Airhead, armed with his trusty pen and cardboard beer case bottom of important reminders so scrawled thereon, iced the hares and thanked them for a lovely HHH site with shade canopy trees and an adjacent meandering muddy stream – he forgot to mention the in-plain-site sewer pipe that spewed sewage from the nearby village directly into the watering hole; Na Hee Man, who has poor vision, came to know of this while he cooled and refreshed himself in the putrid effluvium, as the local kids at waterside pointed it out to him while laughing hysterically and reveling in his misfortune…..EA continued in bringing Super Virgin’s now grown-up (physically) son (Mamasans Big Boy!) onto the ice for spending a small fortune of his father’s money on bar girls and drinks in the Tahitian Queen Bar (Pattaya’s first and oldest!); he was then relegated into the ice bucket for spending an even larger sum at the Kings Club, on the order of some several thousands of Thai Baht –again from Super Virgin’s coffers. Last, yet certainly not least in any sense. EA invited Gasman to plonk himself into the ice bucket, much to the joy of all remaining ice bucket dwellers of the evening, as the process of doing so nearly emptied the receptacle! The offense was not emptying the ice bucket due to volumetric (Gasman induced!) displacement, yet was for taking the regular risk of driving the explosives truck (20+ tons of TNT, apparently, on a regular basis!) in an open pit mine(s) in Australia and/or Papua New Guinea, or both…..
The raffle showed a surprise, as winner Really Sadistic Bastard forewent the bottle of Scotch whiskey and the 4-pack of Chang beer for a box of Ovaltine; the entire circle was dumbfounded and went silent for an unusually long period; again, go figure!
The GM found himself in need of using his stentorian voice to keep Hash naer-do-wells from skulking off for private conversations into the shadows just beyond the Circle’s perimeter. Gangreen was singled out multiple times for such infractions long after he returned from swilling beer and smoking spleefs with Ferry Queen, his queeze Mooky Queen and other luminaries on the Beer Hunters’ jaunt to the nearest place purveying plonk. The GM’s choice words to Gangreen: ‘No, turning your back on the circle and continuing to talk will not work; nor will sticking your head in a foxhole, like a hunting dog, who assumes that, having done so, no one can see the rest of him, plain as day, with his/her rump in the air’.
Ode to the GM Wizard for again being inventive to introduce another Hash Circle relay race. This version’s key was a dozen giant drinking straws (each 4’ long). The 1st team member had to drink the contents of a full beer can placed on the ground, using the straw (which he/she had to manipulate using only one’s mouth to get the straw end into the beer can’s narrow opening); it proved a troublesome challenge and the ever steady, sturdy, stalwart piss-head Englishmen looked strong, with Sperm Polluter sucking (what he purportedly does best) up a storm to earn substantial advantage as he crushed his now empty beer can onto his cranium (signifying that his teammate could now begin to follow suit. Little Tommy Two Lips (whom I believe is English too) proved to perform dismally and went from ‘hero to zero’ status in a few short minutes as the Scandihooligans, led by the infamous Scar with Two T's, surged into contention and (with Super Virgin’s valiant effort) to the victors went the spoils (2 free run registrations), as they were accoladed with thunderous applause from the absolutely rapt circular audience. Little Tommy Two Lips and Sperm Polluter, finishing last, took seats in the ice bucket to cool their jets if not their lips.
Scar with Two T's took the circle and did some yelling, though about what I don’t recall, as I was steadily moving into my pots of beer.
The ‘final down-down’ was sung in glorious fashion with the shade trees – now engulfed in the pitch black of tropical night – quaking in their tops from the booming vibrations of the vocal chords belting out the lyrics from the circle below; again, kudos to Sperm Polluter for taking the song lead and then on into ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’, with the able assistance of Ball Ringer (the man with the golden cock!).
Migrating from the A site to Kubla bar on Soi Pothole, a 60-strong contingent descended to drink buckets of iced bottles of beer, and proprietor/hasher Milky Piss reached another milestone in the annals of hashing; namely, he served up excellent dishes of international cuisine in surplus quantity – enough to feed a small army and to the fact that leftovers remained until the sweet end; this does not happen at HHH events, at least not in my lifetime of hashing.
…..the final remembrance was that of the GM, crooning his version of ‘Dirty Old Girl’ into the din & glare
On On Na Hee Man