Pattaya H3

PH3 Run 1701 Scribe

Show Scribe Report by Gasbag

Oh my, it's Wednesday so I'd better get this started. Being press-ganged to be Scribe is ridiculous and being a visiting hasher I shouldn't be given such onerous tasks.

Previously they made me sit on ice OFTEN and sit in some kind of pig trough full of freezing cold water OFTEN, clear up the circle site and next time I'll probably be put on toilet duties.

It's a good thing I'm not feeling negative because otherwise I'd just continue grumbling which everyone knows is not part of my character. Who is this FREE WILLY who gave me this job? Surely he should be renamed WEEPING WILLY, which is what he seems to want to do if I refuse to buy one of his Raffle tickets.

Incidentally, and I can say this without fear of being put there next week due to my absence for the next couple of months by which time you will all surely have forgotten this missive, that the pig trough is so much more comfortable and relaxing than that giant ice cube.

So to the run, this time at Monastery Hill, very peaceful (apart from us lot) and bucolic. Not even so much as the tinkle of a bell was heard from the hill, so I guess the monks must have been sleeping off their satorial (no, I don't mean well-dressed, it's a Buddhist word) extravaganzas. For the rest of us, sinners everyone of us, it was more karmic suffering. Not quite 600 of us riding into the valley of death although we comprised a reasonably sized herd at 94.

Strange really, my experience of these runs. In a cloud of dust the crazed runners disappear and the laggards slowly drift back behind me. I never see those crazed (mad, insane and deluded) runners again until it's all over, but it's a source of constant bemusement to find those people I've left far in arrears suddenly reappearing up ahead of me. Sometimes this happens two or three times. I can only think some of them previously nipped into the monastery, especially the slackard ROBBING BASTARD, and learned some flying yogic skills.

And things were apparently made even more perplexing this week as MENTAL DISORDER held the walkers back and then told them there was no walk and that they should follow the already disappeared runners. Surely he got this the wrong way round?

Anyway we went round and round many fields like a revolving Buddhist prayer wheel, although I don't know if any of us earned any merit apart from surviving to do it all over again another week.

Our spiritual work done for the week it was time to fill our bellies. REAR GUNNER provided the feast, some sort of spiritually uplifting convict's gruel (was it pea soup and a crust of bread?) which is apparently 'haute cuisine' in Australia. Next time guys and girls, you can look forward to trying vegemite sandwiches. A good effort actually, and far better than when it's SEAL SUCKER's turn at which time rear end of lamb will probably be 'table d'hote'.

MENTAL DISORDER gathered the circle around in his authentic sheep auctioneer's manner. First up LOVE BOAT (shouldn't this be LOVE BITE?) thanked all for saving the beer can tops which are useful in making prosthetics at a local hospital. Well done everybody, lots of good karma.

JACKAL was first in the bucket, a reward for falling while crossing a ditch earlier.. I wonder what a punishment would be.

POCKET SOCKET and SQUEEZE MY TUBE were put on ice for picking vegetables although the only vegetable SQUEEZE MY TUBE picked was GI JOEFREE WILLY's Raffle began, always the best part of the night for THE WIZARD who wins something every time to bring home to his partner as a useful alibi for his debauchery.

Followed by donations of bottles of wine distributed by SIR MC for finding the green overhead ribbons. All of these were collected by the front runners who forgot to share them with this week's fresh virgins. The four bottle winners were put on ice but five showed up because at the mention of wine SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE had got over excited. For this she was justly and promptly dispatched into the bucket.

ARSE-HOLEO's new girlfriend (there seems to be a different one every week) felt compassion (another Buddhist) and tried to rescue SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE.

EMPEROR AIRHEAD bemoaned the fact that a whip round for SIR MC (miserable cunt)'s birthday had only yielded 7 baht. But the day was saved by the ever reliable and thoughtful POCKET SOCKET and MENSTRUAL DISORDER who prepared a special cake for him on the spot with plenty of flour and egg, chocolate and a sprinkle of salt – all over his head. Improved his look, I must say but it could have done with some baking.

Next up was a game of musical laps. SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE was very enthusiastic seeming to think think that the prize was a man and none of the enticing female opposition stood a chance. Poor SIR MC.

Countless more icings ensued  including one for all military. Special forces and not special needs, apparently. I failed to follow all this jolly fun thanks to the bellowing of WANK-KING'S WANKER who always seems to get excited after a sip of beer. We were led into a splendid song by STEPTOE – altogether now, 'These Foolish Things Remind Me of....Beer'.

Just when things were drawing to a peaceful close LONE WOLF put people seated onto the ice including yours truly, although how I'm meant to record this standing up beats me. Does this man have any friends and is that why LONE is his first name? He appears not to have a sense of humour unless he thinks being a bullying bastard is entertaining for us all.

This week as I've seen before, he seemed to take great sadistic delight in making the virgins sit on ice for a long, long time. Gentlemen and ladies, do any of you understand that this doesn't often work out, especially for first-time pretty Thai ladies (they always should be welcomed and treated in a friendly respectful manner as befitting gentlemen hashers). After this treatment they always never turn up again, which is sad because I much prefer being surrounded by pretty ladies than ugly men.

Seriously committee, talk about this among yourselves and tell him to tone it down. Preferably give him a dose of his own medicine and put him in the pig trough for half an hour at a go for two or three times a night until he understands what really is funny.

Anyway, time for me to draw to a close. I'm told that being Scribe entitles me to a free run next week but since I won't be here (off to my Mother Hash) I fully expect that I'll get one on my return in December.

Thanks for being so welcoming. It's been a pleasure running, drinking and getting to know you all. May the Hash go ON and ON.

On-On!  Gasbag

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