PH3 Run 1507 Scribe
Show Scribe Report by Barnacle Bollox
Found it this time! After getting lost last week and after driving nearly 40ks, before giving up, going home and getting on the piss.
What a lovely A site. Whispering Pines and Causarina trees, carpeted with pine needles and surrounded by green hills. Even the climate was on our side, being cool this time of the year. Well done Hares.
After falling for scribe, (due to Wanking Wankings persuasion), I started wondering around chatting with runners, and immediately came across a group discussing the merits of the various sausages available in town. Robbing Bastard explained that the English ones were best, and who can argue, after Bell End’s own English sausage is apparently still in good working order, he proudly telling us that he is going to be a Daddy again. Silly Bugger at 64!
Came across Really Sadistic bastard, looking clean and no sign of having ran at all, having been out strolling with Sir spaghetti Head, and another unnamed skiving bastard, in search of a bar. They have obviously been corrupted by General Kidney Wiper.
Then Paprika Smiley , who really should have been scribe, but talked himself out of it by saying that his English language skills were not good enough. Good enough to book himself a 15 baht flight to Manila and back though, with Air Asia. Incredible it sounds, apparently you have to book a year in advance. Better ask him for details, you other cheap cunts.
Next was Tampax, explaining that he went to bed at four in the morning, leaving the front door wide open, and having no fucking idea where he had been. He might have said something about having a sore bum.
Flying Finn was kindly dishing out his 32% cough medicine, made from rendered down Reindeer. I was very careful to just have a wee taste, being in charge of my new bright red rocket bike.
The circle was called at 18.20, the day cooling down perfectly and off we went. Up Hill and down Dale, then more hills. Much muttering was to be heard behing me where one of the Ozzie contingent was heard wingeing and complaining. They coming from a flat and featureless waste, you see.
Still a pleasant run, with nary a dog or tapioca file to trample. Plenty of young rubber trees for the ever expanding condom industry. Pity Bell End is too cheap to make use of them.
The runners came in in drips and drabs, panting with exhaustion after all the hills,with me these days being a FMRB, sort of. That’s front middle running bastard. Too tottery these days to be up front proper.
Raffle was up next and Steptoe took away a super looking barbecue. Yours truly also had a winning ticket, and I chose a cute little girls tank top. Too small even for my tiny racing snake of a missus. She has a niece somewhere, who might be ready in another couple of years! !
Hell Boy took a set of Hair curlers, and he being bald, was promptly iced by Sir Air Head. Tom then showed us a T shirt sent to him from Ozzie Bob, with TQ Retirement home emblazoned across the front. A thoughtful gift.
VV then snuck up to me and asked that I give his food business a bit of free advertising as he is planning to put on a suckling pig in the near future. I’m sure the pig won’t be free though. Virgins were brought in and toasted as being ‘No Fucking use to anyone’.
Returners were then brought into the circle and suitably abused. None more so than Pugsley,the Beer Policeman, who bravely took the bucket no less than three times. Sir Air Head being extremely jealous at Pugsley’s perks’ when flying, usually Business class.
Cattle Stampeders were then iced, and quite rightly, as there was a huge Brahmin Bull went berserk and broke his tether, racing off into the hills with the irate owner shaking his fist at the pack.
Mental Disorder took the circle and iced various innocent people just for being there, it seemed to me. The G.M came back and iced Robbing bastard for being pissed and taking a nap head down in the sand, during the recent day on the beach . Thought he might have died, he said.
Ole and Rudi, quite rightly Iced for paying up to 1,600 Baht in Bar fines, talk about inflating prices! Wanking’s Wanker took to the Nam Keng, for being a scruffy bastard, and looking like some kind of street bum. The Danes were next on Ice just for being Danish, by our Noggie G.M, who was enraged at being mistaken for being Swedish. Strange lot these Skandihooligans!
I was then coerced into giving a musical rendition of the Robster song, which most folk seemed to enjoy, despite some having heard it a dozen times before. A kindly audience. From lobsters we degenerated to Crabs, and interrogated those among us who have sported the little beasts in our nether regions from time to time. One Norweigan lady was horrified at admitting to having had crabs previously, when she found out where the little buggers normally live! Told you what a strange lot the Skandi’s are.
Sir Spaghetti Head drunkenly lead the assembly in the Hash hymn, and I wobbled homeward on me bike.
A great afternoon’s Hashing. Thanks to all, and particularly the Hares.
A special mention needs to go to Bottomless Pit, and his lady, for doing such a great job week in and week out. Prost, Michael!
On-On! Barnacle Bollox