PH3 Run 1843 Scribe
Show Scribe Report by Dirt Looney
Woke up this morning and couldn’t remember what side the sun rises from. Then it dawned on me, it's Monday Hash day? Running doesn’t solve all your problems, that’s why there’s beer. Which I probably need, because I was a bit shaken after last night’s dream, where I was cutting carrots with the Grim Reaper – felt like I was dicing with death.
Met HARD ON whilst waiting for the baht bus outside Buffalo Bar. Being Australian, he had a Digeridoo and was playing Dancing Queen on it. I thought, “that’s Abba-riginal”. SIP BAHT said that somebody had complimented him on his driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen; it said “Parking Fine”. So that was nice. Then it was off to the A-site beside Maprachan reservoir.
TRY-A-FUCK had new shoes which were dutifully christened with a cold beer. It made me think of the old saying, “Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes”. After that who cares? He’s a mile away and you’ve got his shoes. Even if one of them is soaking wet with beer.
Last week SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE invited a virgin hasher, who in turn invited another lady virgin to today’s run. I am proud to be a part of a club that has these ladies as members. Welcome to PH3 and hope to see you again.
I was informed that on a previous occasion I had foolishly agreed to be scribe. Oops! Apparently, a good scribe report should have a good beginning and a good ending, and they should be as close together as possible. Erm, we’ll see. I asked what I should do and was told to just be myself. Thought that was pretty mean.
I dropped 1 baht whilst waiting for the run to start. Bent down to pick it up and it hit me on the back of the head. Well, 1 baht saved is 1 baht that will sit around in a jar for years. Unless that jar is the collection jar for the Take Care Kids charity. So, despite my Scottish heritage, rather that have a dirty coin in my pocket it went in the jar.
The hares were called in to give us some pre-run words of wisdom. Not sure if EMPEROR AIRHEAD was impressed with his co-hares, as I heard him say that the next time he sends a damn fool to do something, he’d go himself. NIGHT RIDER reckons he got his looks from his father. Mostly just looks of disappointment though. SIR SPAGHETTI HEAD wasn’t sure about that, but he’s at the age where he can’t take anything with a grain of salt. WANK-KING’S WANKER admits that he’s not a very muscular man; “the strongest thing about me is my password.” Some of my proudest moments have been when a website told me my password was “Very Strong.” Amazingly , WANK-KING’S WANKER was unusually brief. The sticks are painted Red, White and Blue, and the paper starts over there…. On On!
From the outset it appears that the Beer Hunters had the jump on us, as SIR REALLY SADISTIC BASTARD and SPAGHETTI HEAD were FRB’s for a few metres whilst heading to the nearby bar. They said that they never run as it makes the ice fall out of the glass.
Following last year’s not-so-impressive run, today’s run was excellent. There were many places for the walkers and short cutters to sneak past the FRB’s. The trouble with jogging is that by the time you realize you're not in shape for it, it's too far to walk back. Runners tell me that running is easy, but the beer hunters reckon it’s not easier than not running. Also, have to mention that the stick(s) were very well painted on all sides. It does make a difference.
Back at the A-site, the hares had laid on a veritable feast of Hot Dogs and Chili. There was more than ample food for every one of the happily sated hashers. Thanks guys. CANNONBALL was happy with the scran. Tells me he’d only weigh about 90 lbs on Mercury. He’s not overweight, just living on the wrong planet. Unfortunately, he’s allergic to cotton. There are pills he can take but he can’t get them out of the bottle.
I’m sure loads happened in the 2nd circle. I always have trouble remembering three things: faces, names, and—I can’t remember what the third thing is…? Anywho, I’m sure there was a raffle and there must’ve been a tin of biscuits. The Americans proved that they have a sense of humour by there being some bottles of Budweiser as a prize that they called beer (titter ye’ not).
As darkness enveloped the circle it was noted that ANTIQUE was still out on trail. Gallantly, the headless LORD CHICKEN FUCKER went out to find him. We gave him a picture of ANTIQUE when he was younger. This is a bit moot, because every picture of him was when he was younger. Although we’re reliably informed that he’s looked like that for decades. Apparently, 3 marriages have taken a bit of a toll. Fortunately, he made it back after a several kilometre detour along Siam Country Club Road. He walks into a bar with a chunk of asphalt under one arm and says, “Beer, please, and one for the road.”
WANK-KING’S WANKER handed out a few awards. It’s amazing to know that he spent four years in college. He didn’t learn a thing. It wasn’t really his fault. He had a double major in psychology and reverse psychology.
I don’t remember much of what happened (should have made notes, I hear you say). Do remember TELLY TUBBY getting a 5 hare shirt where we could only clearly see the word “Tubby”. She really doesn’t think she needs buns of steel and would be happy with buns of cinnamon.
Actually, it only takes one drink to get me pished, but the trouble is I can’t remember if it’s the thirteenth or fourteenth.
DESI SWALLOW was iced for being a bit of a comedian with irritable bowel syndrome… It’s all shits and giggles with him.
BARNACLE BOLLOX sang a song for the hares. Was chatting with him earlier in the evening and he told me he saw a documentary on how ships are kept together. Riveting!
Then it was Swing Low, a beer for the bus and off to I-Rovers On-On Bar to continue the beery revelries. Many buckets of beer and tasty complimentary spaghetti and meatballs were enjoyed by the merry crowd.
As I was staggering home, I recalled the old saying; “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Blue sky at night, day.” Oops, I overdid it again.
I didn’t do too well on keeping the scribe report short. Reminds me of the self-help group for compulsive talkers? It’s called On & On.
On-On! Dirt Looney