Hash report Run no 2064
Why I dobbed myself in for this week’s scribbling, I don’t know?
A pleasant spot for the meeting, down a dodgy track, for bikes, anyway.
I opted to start off walking, as after several recent mishaps, all self-inflicted, I think that the old body’s balance is not what it once was, and riding motor bikes half pished at night, can’t be the best idea.
So there I was in a slow line of perambulators, when I noticed that Hairy Arse was wandering off by himself. I called him back and we scrambled up a steep slippery bank together. The trail soon crossed the road, fortunately not too busy in mid afternoon, and we all got over this obstacle safely.
Soon after, it did become rather tricky, as the long grass hid many rocks, boulders, and fissures. It was around here that a couple of Hash Crashers measured their lengths. Again, the Hash gods were looking kindly at us, and no real injuries were recorded. I managed to get back in company with Womb Broom, and even managed a hundred yards or so jogging.
Sitting down with a delicious icy Singha, Sir Arseaholic’s chair, next to mine, got a bit wobbly and he moved off to flatter ground. He was maybe a victim of that Mandalay bottle of dark gin. Soon after, I came across the lovely Two Time, sleeping off the same stuff, in the passenger’s seat of the beer wagon.
The raffle started, with that cute lass reading out the winning numbers. GI Joe got a bit excited when he tried to win Black Panther, and drag her out of the circle. We all know how that would have ended when Squeeze My Tube found out, but she was mysteriously absent, hence Joe’s romantic ambitions.
I had just put pen to paper when the scribe’s chair finally gave up the ghost, trapping my scrawny arse in the frame, after the canvas gave up. I extracated myself with great effort, and gave the contraption the coup de grâce, with my Swiss army knife.
I have to say that the Burmese dark Rum, called Mandalay, is rather a fine drop. One of the side effects of British colonial rule, when the Raj got the lot of ‘em Pished, making taking over that country so much easier. I discovered this relic of the empire years ago when I made many a Visa run across to Victoria point, almost opposite to Ranong, coming back with a case or two of locally produced Gin and Rum. The Thai customs officer would not count how many bottles were imported, so long as he snaffled a couple of bottles. The Dastard.
Directly in front of my chair was a 3” stump sticking out of the ground, and Panzer Fister made it safer with a stick, and an empty plastic bottle on top. Of course yours truly tripped over it, like a twat, to great mirth all around.
Fattus Maximus asked me privately to use my small influence to try my best for him to keep the Wanker of the Week wooden spoon, while saying rude things about the Saturday Monkey Hash.
I had a rare spot of sensible inspiration and wisely moved my motorbike up that dodgy slope and onto the road, while it was still daylight, and before I got myself inebriated. I mentioned it to Emperor Airhead, who did the same thing with his bike, a twin of my venerable 500 cc Honda.
Later in the circle, I was punished, along with B.B and made to ride the ice, while he told the tale of an earlier biking misadventure when he missed a bend in the road, and found himself in a deep thicket of bamboo, which saved his life. It took us both several minutes to get him back onto the road, where he promptly vanished into the night at warp speed, shredding twigs and lumps of bamboo, only to have another mishap. B.B is another veteran Hasher who does enjoy a cool seat, he coming from that dusty and hot country of Australia, full of like-minded piss ‘eads.
Ball Ringer got a mention in Dispatches, for completing 900 runs. Get a Life, you bored Wanker, I say!
Next were 6 Hash Crashers who shared the ice. Manky old crash helmets were produced and adorned, plus a smelly old toilet seat.
Dirt Looney and another lost Jock, were invited to take a seat as Hash trashers, who lost various items of gear.
At about this point I made my departure, having to ride my wobbly motorbike home, while the going was still good.
Another great Hash, many thanks to the Hares, especially VV, who has done more Hares than I have done runs.
Also to our genial Grand Master, and all our friends who go to make up the World’s Best Hash.
Cheers folks,
On On. Barnacle Bollocks