PH3 Run 1529 Scribe
Show Scribe Report by Barnacle Bollox
I hope you are all suffering hangovers this morning, just as I am.
A good leg opening run, with not much shaggy, and very few animals to worry about. (Actually these days its usually a chance to rest when someone calls, Cattle. Walk!) Anyway that wasn’t heard, neither were there any irate dogs to be seen. Nice and secluded, and off the beaten track. Our Norweigen hares had reassured the pack that the run was flat. Lying B……..! Maybe to them from that land of mountains, but there were a couple of real hills to toil up. A great view of the sea from the highest, and an easy trot down the other side. Until Vaseline Thighs went hurtling past in a shower of dust, reminding me of how unfit I am these days. I wonder what all those pints of 150 Baht Guinness ( Maggy Mays bar on Soi Wat Boon Kanchana, Jomtien) do to my fitness level, and ever expanding waist line? Anyway I staggered in, in my usual position, about the the middle of the pack, breathing hard. That’s about the only thing that gets hard these days!
Well done Arseaholic and Peler.
A fly blown A site amongst the trees with plenty of parking available. Our Aussie mates must have really felt at home with all the various types of, Sand flies, Blue bottles, Horseflies, Shit flies, Mosquitoes and House flies got lost, which pestered everybody. None more so than VV, trying his best to keep his boxes of sarnie fillings fly free. He complained to me that he was having trouble consuming his beer as his hands were busy acting as fly wafters.
I was just getting comfortable, in my newly bought folding arm chair at the A site, when Rabbit Shooter reported to me that in his opinion Really Sadistic bastard drinks too much beer! No revelations there, as I’m sure everyone will agree with him. Cheers Jimmy!
I was sat initially near to the table full of raffle prizes, and noticed there a nasty looking bottle of rot gut whisky, the same that Sir Miserable Cunt was dispensing last week, and of which I had one too many, causing me to fall of my wife’s motor bike, breaking a mirror and removing some bark off my leg . I received some Hash shit from her next morning, after having bled on the newly made up marital bed. Anyway SMC was later iced for poisoning me, and for being dressed in a long white cost, looking like some Prostrate gland massager.
A bit difficult to read my scribble here as my notes got a tad wet last night, and my scribble has not improved ever since leaving school.
Wankings Wanker stalked past me or perhaps it should be storked, with his long skinny legs, and with his head wrapped in a towel. I did a double take thinking I was back in Arabia. Not for another two weeks fortunately! Much banter between the Ozzie’s and Pomm’s regarding the recent Rugby test result in which the Ozzie kicker fell on his arse while taking what should have been the winning kick. Anyway long may he suffer. Bet he hasn’t had his wobbly leg over since. Thinking about it neither have I though!
Later when I had some ice power, I regaled the circle about a lazy black feller who used to sleep in the afternoon, so tired was he. Think his name was Curtly someone.
I also iced the lovely Torpedo Tits for not having been around for nearly a year, she having been running her restaurant up in Nakhorn Nowhere. Free scoff for any hasher who can make it up there, she reckons. For details please ask Really Sadistic Bastard, that Chang champion, who by now might have some knowledge of the afore mentioned ladies’ business. The loving couple sat sweetly side by side on the cold stuff, which may have cooled his ardour somewhat.
About this time the clouds opened and down came the rain in torrents. People scarpered for cover and umbrellas. One hasher showed some initiative by wearing a plastic stool over his head, looking like Ned Kelly according to Lone Wolf, and an Alien by Sir Airhead. A goodly crowd vanished onto the bus for cover, only emerging when their supply of beer ran out. The GM announced that we were 59 runners. I got quite exited and dropped my pen as I misheard him say 69!
Two visiting runners iced , one for not wearing a hash shirt. He was grimacing with pain, not being used to a really cold arse, and the temperature being rather low, in the heavy rain. Poofter. Not so the visiting GM of the Jungle Run who was bucketed for some imagined infringement, but he took it like a real man, and even managed some quips, while having his nether regions chilled.
About this time, I decided to leave while the going was good, and snuck off , like a visitor to Josh’s prostrate clinic, into the dark, leaving a crowd of damp, but happy runners.
Well done all the organizers, and not forgetting Bottomless Pit for his weekly non stop efforts. I do wish he would select some healthier bottles of liquor though. Vietnemese Whisky indeed, whatever next?
On-On! Barnacle Bollox