PH3 Run 1848 Scribe
Show Scribe Report by Barnacle Bollox
A comfortable shaded A site, and a great running trail, at a nice high elevation, which benefited from a cool breeze, that, with the cloud cover, made for a perfect and pleasant work out. A gentle one for me, as I was suffering from a massive piss up from the day before, so I took the Walkers trail, while I celebrated my 200th run. It only took me 35 years!
Shortly after the split I came across TELLY TUBBY and her two dogs, which were belly up in a stream, and steaming under a fallen tree, a natural bridge. Soon after I passed the lovely DUCHESS TADPOLE, doing a great job picking up discarded plastic bottles, before I staggered back into the A site.
I had decided to scribe while out on the trail, so wanted to get back in time to see the front runners return. Nothing to do with a free run next time, but more for a mild feeling of guilt for not doing enough for the Hash in general, although, beware dear readers, as I will be Haring soon with two more elder gentlemen.
DEL BOY and SEAL SUCKER were first back, followed closely by REALLY SADISTIC BASTARD, freshly arrived back with DESI SWALLOW and the other Beer Hunters. DESI settled down next to me in a borrowed camp chair and very kindly let rip with a smelly Welsh fart. Generous chap is our Neale.
So there we were in the gloaming, swatting mosquitoes, attracted no doubt by the shitty aroma. My loosing raffle ticket was purchased from CHIP CHIP, while my smelly mate bought his from MADAM SIN, while sitting next to me was TWO TIME, patiently sorting out the raffle tickets, so that her girlfriends could win the majority of the prizes.
Wee Jimmy nearly kicked over my beer, quoting he, “I would rather spill blood than beer.” BALL RINGER's missus was missing on the trail, while young BEN 10 celebrated, and Dad apparently sneaked off to Soi 6, to take advantage.
UNSTABLE LOAD was spotted depositing his 13th empty bottle of Full Moon Vino, while LORD LUCAN was busily bashing his meat under an Easki cooler. His words, not mine. Poor frustrated chap, just back from Africa, where he was probably rebutted by too many dusky maidens.
DESI and I were reminiscing about the good old days on the Hash, and the dear departed “Ole Red” the tiny beer truck. He told me a story when sitting on the Temple bus, named Jittajap, if I remember correctly, when a motorcyclist came flying through one of the small and high up windows. He was quite dead on arrival, was this two wheeled enthusiast. But the Hash carried on regardless, with a few shocked runners on board.
Meanwhile LOST CAUSE was dishing out a very tasty Macaroni, quite Aroy too.
SPERM POLLUTER praised the well painted sticks, gloriously painted, were his words, supported by a famous chap with a Jockanese accent, who is the acknowledged painted stick champion.
Hares were iced, but unfortunately the only bit of bum we saw was GOLDEN RIVET’s. During the much anticipated raffle, EMPEROR AIRHEAD made off with the much coveted electric drill, which he dedicated to DUCHESS TADPOLE, for reasons which only he knows. Something going on perhaps, or maybe just wishful thinking? One lady hasher won a box of Viagra, for which SPERM POLLUTER offered 100 baht and 6 inches, the nasty man.
EMPEROR AIRHEAD took the circle, then had the ice washed down in preparation for a lengthy sit down for THE WIZARD. He then gave us a rather garbled version of how he thought the Hash was started, with dismounted British Cavalry men hiding behind coconut trees taking pot shots at Japanese soldiers during the Second World War. Too much Mary Jane perhaps?
Our long suffering GM received a plaque, in recognition for his hard work, putting up with all us noisy twats in the circle. BONE COLLECTOR and PC PORN were Iced for not singing, and received a bollocking from EMPEROR AIRHEAD, quite rightly too. Virgins were introduced into the circle, and welcomed to the PH3.
WANK-KING'S WANKER then took over, and congratulated EMPEROR AIRHEAD for completing 1,500 runs, a staggering amount. LORD CHICKEN FUCKER is a close runner up. But really, they do need to get a life. Myself, BEETROOT HEAD and DIRT LOONEY were lined up, with 200 runs, 100 runs and 200 runs completed.
BURL IVES gave us a quick ditty, about a Sphinx’s inscrutable smile.
I had hoped for a T shirt in recognition of my double century of runs, but with UNSTABLE LOAD in charge of this, I was not surprised as when he was a Paratrooper in the Belgian Army, he was dropped on his head too many times.
So UNSTABLE LOAD was Iced, along with SEAL SUCKER for taking too long to piss. Then SAUSAGE HEAD was punished with the dreaded bucket for bringing his girlfriend to the Hash with no T Shirt. UNSTABLE LOAD received the Wanker of the Week wooden spoon, for generally being a wanker.
JACK WOW was iced, along with BEETROOT HEAD for being a new Father and giving his daughter a misspelled name, apparently. At the conclusion, WARM PISS, BANANAS, CANNONBALL, BALL RINGER and LORD CHICKEN FUCKER led us in the hallowed Hash Hymn, before we all wended our weary ways homeward.
On-On! Barnacle Bollox