PH3 Run 1752 Scribe
Show Scribe Report by Barnacle Bollox
Scribe, who, me? Ah well, having been captured by the GM I couldn't really refuse, as I contribute very little to the Monday Hash, apart from the odd ditty. So after a late breakfast of Meusli and fruit I am starting to feel a little more human. See, instead of going straight home on my motorbike, like any sensible person, I made the mistake of visiting my mate's watering hole, and there downing a few more beers, hoping the rain may let up, but no. An hour later I wobbled off towards Jomtien with the rain still pissing down. What did I find when I finally arrived? My scribbled notes from the circle, were saturated, and ready to fall apart. So if this reads nothing like the run we enjoyed, that's my excuse.
On arriving at the A Site and seeing some old pals, and introducing myself to a few of the newer runners, including the famous Kiwi misadventuress SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE, I accepted this commision to write this load of old bollocks about our evenings misadventures in the rain. TURD BURGLAR regaled me with some cheap beer prices to be found in his part of London, quite tearfully, down in the dark south of England. He is a secret wanna be Northerner, for some reason.
SEAL SUCKER made the comment that he is a professional shirker, and not a worker, and was quite adamant that he was well retired and would never consider working for his daily crust. It's all right for some, I suppose. Next to be spotted was Kai, sober, which was the first time I ever saw him in that condition. Quite wonderous!
Soon after sign up was completed, we set off through the soft rain on the trail. GENERAL KIDNEY WIPER had previously warned us of the busy roads we would have to endure, and as I reached the road, an obliging car driver stopped after flashing his lights. I waited a while before walking in front of the vehicle, but then concluded it was safe to proceed, as any Thai driver flashing his lights means I am coming, so watch out! However this must have been a fellow farang, probably wondering what this mad bunch of road runners were up to, in the rain.
A devious false trail soon had the pack wandering about, which gave me the chance to catch up, as I had foolishly followed a spirited front runner down through the jungle. I was passed by a very fit little girl by the name of NINJA PRINCESS who galloped past me, like I was standing still.
About this time I decided that my almost healed broken toe, was not quite ready for the rigours of the run, and decided to go onto the walkers shorter route back to the run site. However I fell in with a conversation about the horrible amount of rubbish, mainly plastic bags thrown about. DIRT LOONEY and I had just passed a stream next to a house, which was almost choked with garbage, and we made the comment that the Thai people don't deserve to live in such a lovely country, (and by the way a big thanks to the lovely DUCHESS TADPOLE who was picking up as much rubbish as she could could carry, whilst running. Well done Love!)
If I lived next to that stream I would make it into a garden feature, perhaps with a bridge and a pixie complete with fishing rod. DIRT LOONEY said he would have rigged up a water wheel, and put a table and some chairs out. Anyway I missed the split sign about this time, due to too much talking and not enough running, and had to back track to find the walkers sign.
Fifteen minutes later I came out on the lake side road, which was just a stroll back to the beer truck. Shortly after arriving the first runners came thirstily pounding in, which was the signal for the first can to be opened. No more bottles I commented to VV, who quoted me some health and safety rules about the dangers of using glass. That may be correct, but I do know that beer from a can always tastes like shit, due to the tinny taste. Anyone interested in health should know that quite a few people have died from Rat's piss, from the top of beverage cans, so always wipe clean the top before putting it to your mouth. Wiels disease, it's called. So there, VV, put that in your pipe, and smoke it! Next time my wife let's me out, I will bring my good old 100 run pewter pot along, and show a bit of class.
The Raffle was held, and a lissom Kenyan lady was the first winner. We all hoped she would choose the G string and give us all a flash, but no such luck. Actually, SQUEEZE MY TUBE's double won them. Anyone else notice how similar these two girls look?
Pause here for coffee. Just ground 20 beans in my newly delivered hand powered mill, just enough of for a cup of Chiang Mai's secret and delicious coffee. I need to count the beans now, being retired and needing to watch my miserly pension! This Brexit vote in the dis-United Kingdom has hammered the Pound Sterling, but it's a small price to pay to say goodbye, au revoire, a bien tot, and Fuck Off to the bureaucrats in Brussels.
While mentioning Belgium, I have to say what an utter load of crap it was to have to listen to RAT VON KIEL's nonsensical version of the Battle of Hastings, when he suggested the Normans were really Belgians in disguise, or some such shit. RAT VON KIEL may know something about VV's dangerous beer cans, judging by his name, the fucking ignoramous. Anyway the Belgians were all iced, for being Belgians.
REALLY SADISTIC BASTARD gave us a couple of notes, quite surprisingly in a sweet sort of way, a wanna be balladeer, I would suggest. Michael Buble', move over. SPERM POLLUTER was introduced for saving the life of NAH HEE MAN (great name that) from a quicksand, and is a real Hash Hero. He will be admiring himself in his bathroom mirror for the next few weeks, his missus told me.
STUPID KRAUT KUNT was iced for turning up sober and was told off by EMPEROR AIRHEAD for exposing his wedding tackle and pink fat arse, in front of some children. The Kraut pervert. EMPEROR AIRHEAD told us a funny story about Derek cooling off in an irrigation ditch up near Chiang Mai, and almost getting sucked down the whirlpool from the drainage pipe, when he couldn't get a grip of the slippery concrete side. He also had to be rescued.
ANTIQUE then told us how he is building a modest love nest on the beach, and is accepting donations of furniture to help him out. Several offers of pissed mattresses were refused.
WANK-KING'S WANKER then iced MENTAL DISORDER for haring the extraordinary number of 55 runs, in just 2 years. I remember showing him the ropes on his first venture, seems like just a couple of months ago.
Yours truly then presented the Hash with a proper Yee Olde English hunting horn, and asking the circle of there were any musicians amongst us. Both STEPTOE, and GENERAL KIDNEY WIPER demonstrated it with aplomb, unlike the lady boy, who it was suggested, should be an expert horn blower, due to her obvious professionalism.
We were told that SIR MISERABLE CUNT, whose birthday it is next week, is going to push the boat out, as they say on the Isle of Wight, where he comes from, and will put on a gourmet spread for next week's Hash. I have just got off the telephone to his mate BABY WIPES reminding him that his presence is required, and he told me some pussy whipped lame story about having to drive up to Nackorn Nowhere with his girlfriend and a car full of tarts! The Fanny! That's another hero, only bloke in a car full of adoring women, the wanker!
Finally the Hares produced some funny words to a traditional song. Well done both of you, and thanks to everybody for a great evening Hashing.
On-On! Barnacle Bollox