PH3 Run 1789 Scribe
Show Scribe Report by Barnacle Bollox
Arriving at the A site, a recently used but secluded site looking like a huge crater from a mega bomb test, I foolishly volunteered to be this week’s scribe
Just trying to make sense of my scribbling is a huge effort this morning. I am typing while most of you piss pots are still abed , nursing your hangovers. No such luck for me, as I am up at 6 a.m each morning in readiness to drive my youngest to school at Ban Amphur. Should have left my dick in my pants twelve years ago.
Anyway it took me some time to locate the scribe’s chair, which was being occupied by a very comfortable RAT VON KIEL. After claiming my seat, I mentioned that he would be needing a dose of Ice in payment for his sin. He merely laughed and said “every time”, giving the impression that he actually enjoys the ice. Sure enough he and his best mate, (her who won the Betty Boop drag queen competition recently), occupied the said cold seating for much of the circle.
Proceedings started by introducing two nice looking Thai ladies, both down from Nakhorn Nowhere. Kung was one of them, and she sports two very cute dimples each side of her smiling lips. The other lass was the lovely Mucklar. Their gallant escorts somehow both escaped new shoe down downs, but we’ll get em next time!
WEE WEE showed us the way to the paper and off we set, amid the sound of and creaking leg joints and the odd groan and fart. Twenty minutes later found me panting along behind THE WIZARD along a narrow washed out gully of small gravel and tiny stones. I had just made the comment that here was a likely place to skid and fall, when Oz did exactly that, followed immediately by myself. Fortunately no harm was done but we both scrambled out onto terra firma into the field above. I don’ t enjoy falling as the old gravel rash seems to take forever to heal these days.
On we panted up hill and down dale, cunningly laid by WEE WEE and his lady, until we came to his special water barrier. Thirty meters of cool, knee deep flowing water. Quite pleasant actually, until emerging back onto dry land my starboard shoe sole decided to part company with the rest of the shoe.
I had been expecting this to happen, and was carrying a length of twine with me, which I managed to wrap around the trainer, allowing me to hobble on. Shortly after the effing port side shoe sole did the same thing. Being an ex Boy Scout I managed to cobble them both together to complete the said 8 km run. Later it was reported to have varied from 7.5 klicks, up to 11 km. How anyone knows is beyond me, as I saw no GPS devices in use. Ah well, it’s a wonderful world.
The said shoes have just gone in the bin, minus the laces, which any Boy Scout will tell you to keep. They have been repaired twice before, and are now beyond salvation. First on my list today is a new pair of shoes, so watch my feet next Monday!!
REALLY SADISTIC BASTARD was spotted removing three beer cans from the truck, and promptly dobbed in. Actually one was for his partner in crime, and they both needed some soothing refreshment as it was reported that the Beer Hunters truck turned right onto Highway 331 and drove for 2 km against the flow of racing trucks, with wee Jimmy riding a very nervous shotgun next to the driver.
Both GENERAL KIDNEY WIPER and WANK-KING’S WANKER were chastised for talking in the circle, and told to “Shut the Fuck Up”, by our gentlemanly GM.
During the Raffle, HUNGARIAN HOOKER HUMPER was iced for pretending to hold a winning ticket, but SIR FREE WILLY promptly sat him down. Later the same chap asked if he could change his hash name to CROUCHING TIGER, which was laughed at by everybody. Suggestions of SHITTING TIGER were made, but he remains with the same “dishonourable” name, according to himself.
Then WHO CUT THE CHEESE won a furry thing, possibly a raccoon, which he claimed he would trade for a shag later in the night. Some interrogation needed there, as it was suggested he was heading for boys town.
THE WIZARD took the circle and called in KNOB MARLEY’s claim to 170 plus runs. He was iced along with R.S BASTARD, our wee Jockanese friend. Meanwhile KNOB’s lady, the aptly named BIG LUNGS looked on with pride. I say aptly named purely because of her running power. She bounced passed me a couple of times. NECROPHILIA NIGHT RIDER was iced and asked how come his cap was found in the beer truck, or in a whore house. He received the shit house seat for his crime.
G.I JOE then took a long seat, apparently for bursting balloons, and cheating while doing so. Of course vehement denials. SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE narrowly avoided a bucket seat as she told a new RA that she was a veteran bucketeer. Likely story!
The Hares, WEE WEE and TWO TIME, were rightly praised by EMPEROR AIRHEAD for putting on a top show once again. I think WEE WEE might have hared more trails than I have run!!! An incredible achievement, but the sad bastard needs to get a life. SHIT ON MY SHIRT was iced for being somewhere between seventy and a hundred years old, and we all sang "Happy Birthday, Fuck You" to him.
Then the Belgians were iced for being the land owners during the battle of Waterloo, and warned by our patriotic GM that they will be iced whether they beat England, or not in the Football World Cup.
HARBOUR WHORE was iced for forgetting the GM’s wooden spoon last time out. He relinquished the Wanker of The Week Spoon to RAT VON KIEL, who had been spreading malicious rumours about half price beer down at the Robin Hood.
RAT VON KIEL sang us a song about Zaire, which is just down the coast past Rayong, and full of really intelligent black people. Finally young BEN 10 and his Dad led us with the Hash Hymn, before we all tottered home.
P. S. Anyone not mentioned in this report, can get fucked.
On-On! Barnacle Bollox