PH3 Run 1768 Scribe
Show Scribe Report by Bimbo
The Belgians are coming, head for the hills
Some say that getting there is half the fun, so everyone thought that this would be an exceptional run since it took so long to get there. Scores of travel-worn hashers braved treacherous highways and bumpy back roads to make a journey the farthest outskirts of rural Chonburi. We were reportedly within pissing distance of the Cambodian border where the locals spoke only a previously unknown dialect of Khmer and Belgian.
CIRCLE UP: Our jovial GM called on the ragged throng to form a circle under the pretense of few words of wisdom by the hares, and a plug from Harrier Magazine founder BIMBO.
THE TRAIL: The trek started with a heart pounding accent straight up a slippery mountain landslide. Several hashers pretended they were stopping to admire the scenery while they were actually gasping for air which was evidently in short supply at this altitude.
I was passed early on the trail by a true Hash Hero named DUCHESS TADPOLE and her faithful Lady in Waiting SQUEEZE MY TUBE. They were on a virtuous mission to clean the countryside of the trash undoubtedly left by the hares when they were scouting the trail. Piles of of Belgian chocolate wrappers were found along the trail, and kept for forensic experts to examine as incriminating evidence of their heinous crime.
The pack continued on a scenic and but less traveled trail, evidenced by the abundance of tree branches constantly assaulting the faces and limbs of the hapless hashers. Walkers made it back to home base after a leisurely 4-km stroll, while the runners covered a minimum of 7-km, not counting an extra 3 km on false trails. A stalwart contingent of “Beer Hunters” reportedly sprinted 14-km to the closest bar that served only Belgian beer. These guys certainly have taste, unfortunately it is normally bad taste but this week was a notable exception. A cloud cover provided welcome relief from solar radiation, which disappointed all the Scandi’s who are here each winter to bake their bodies and return to their countries in the summer resembling dried prunes. A high pollution level was responsible for a spectacular orange sunset before darkness descended on the run site.
WARNING/Scull Buggery: We all know that hashing is a dangerous sport. Some consider it an extreme blood sport. One brave hashman returned to the run site today profusely bleeding from his scull so a tourniquet was applied around his neck to slow the flow from his jugular vein. Unfortunately the first responders had to amputate both his ears and most of his nose on the way to the Emergency Room at the closest hospital in Cambodia. This disabled veteran will not be able to hear the GM, nor smell the fragrance of BOLLYWOOD at future hashes. He told the scribe…. “I am not a hero. I am proud to make this sacrifice for the Pattaya Hash. Any other Pattaya hasher would willing do the same.” This attitude is what makes the Pattaya Hash great.
The circle was lively, and even funny at times with the likes of such renown stand up comedians as SPERM POLLUTER, EMPEROR AIRHEAD, WANK-KING'S WANKER, CHICKEN F*CKER, and SCAR W2TS. A German with the unlikely name of “NEXT WEEK” was found guilty of volunteering to sit on the ice because he thought the ice was closer than walking over to the beer wagon to get a drink. Lazy bastard.
BOLLYWOOD was honoured for bringing exotic aromas to the trail, while MENTAL was excused from the ice because he is suffering from Ebola of the ass. Speculation was rife as to how he contracted this deadly disease, but his wife was warned to avoid him at all costs or suffer the consequences. Most hashers in the circle made one or more trips to the ice, and some were even rewarded with a seat in the sacred bucket depending on the degree of their transgressions.
The hares were totally stumped when asked to sing a Belgian song, since singing has been banned in boring Belgium for the last 10 years. The circle was then prolonged for what seemed like hours because we did not drink enough beer, so the fully loaded song taus were held hostage until the remaining beer was consumed by volunteers willing to sacrifice their personal health and safety for the sake of the hash.
A new hash bar in town called “TQ” (Totally Queer?) stayed open past closing hours to wait tor the errant hashers to show up for a delicious spread of deep fried rat intestines, while their all boy dance team performed lewd sex acts on stage. How does the TQ management keep up on the latest trends in adult entertainment? Insider knowledge perhaps?
Much more happened on in the circles, on trail, and at the TQ Bar, but I was bribed, threatened, and otherwise coerced with sexual favours to keep what really happened there a secret. I can only whisper these secrets in your ear, and change the real names to Ball Ringer to protect the guilty parties.
Humbly submitted by your faithful scribe,
BIMBO (Loved by few, Loathed by many)