Run No. 1001

Date:                      16 November 2001

Where:                 Upper Seletar Reservoir

Occasion:                  Deeper Valley

Hares:                    Squire, After Shock, Death Wish IV,

Sybil, Mouthfull, Iron Crotch, Mr T

Members:                55

Guests:                     20           

- Returnees :              1             

- Visitors :                 4             

- Virgins :                  1             

The official Deepavali run was a well-set affair around the environs of the Reservoir Park and Sembawang Road with all the pack making it back in good time to change into a variety of Indian costumes to enliven the circle. Spiffy made a passable - if rather well fed  - Gandhi, Shoeless came as Mother Teresa-a-go-go, Coo Chi Coo had scalped a feather duster, stripped down to his undies, and tried to look like a pocket-sized Crazy Horse. (Or “Crazy Shetland Pony” in his case! – Ed.) Oh, ha ha! And Indy had togged herself up in various off cuts from Serangoon Road to produce a costume that would cause blushes in the red light district of Calcutta.

The hares were called in to receive the opinion of the crowd – and Good Run was the resounding call. On on was announced on site in the gazebo – if that’s what it’s called – with plenty of music and dancing to follow.

Next week’s run is the annual St. Andrew’s Day run courtesy of a gaggle of Hibernian hares – Dogshit, Aye Aye, Bagels, Ad Nauseam and Corny Linguist. Expect a drinks stop of the whisky persuasion, if I were you.

Meanwhile Dave and Mr. T were consigned to the naughty chairs by form teacher Indy for not paying attention in class.

Frontarse welcomed nubile virgin Kelly, taking far too long about it if you ask me.

Visitors welcomed were Little Dinghy from Yankee Land, Hagar and Joy.

Frontarse also welcomed back Mr. Singapore.

And Frontarse wanted to return some lost property to its rightful owner. He produced a tiny little red bra and Kelly stepped forward, but Coo Chi Coo – as a self-professed amateur cup-size expert, hove in to conduct some research of his own. The circle decided that the bra probably belonged to the diminutive one himself and Kelly strapped it round his naked torso – it went very well with his lion – sorry, too big - loin cloth, too. And when he finally returned to the ranks, and inflamed Loose Change just couldn’t keep her hands off the cross-dressing one, so they were both forced to take to the ice where Loose Change continued to molest the less than protesting Aussie. This sex on the ice thing is becoming somewhat – er – rampant these days.

Time for a milestone. This was to Shitstream for his 100 FRB runs. I seldom see him on the runs but I know he’s out in the front somewhere.

Back on the ice, Loose Change had just succeeded in removing Coo Chi Coo’s bra with her teeth. Before things could get out of hand, the floorshow was dismissed.

Mystery Whip Stuffy hitched up his dhoti and shimmied into the circle, calling for world peace and amity. Well, not really. He actually called for the shy and retiring quartet of bum-exposing Village People dancers from the 1000th run. Coo Chi Coo, Sad Bastard, Shoeless and Running Shit were called in. Spiffy reminded the populace that Robbie Williams had been fined $6000 for baring his assets so this foursome had cost the hash $24000. Although, he added, Sad Bastard’s arse is so small that the police have reduced his fine to $3000. Down downs for the exhibitionists.

Barbarian was than called in. Obviously things aren’t going too well at home, Stiffy suggested sympathetically. He’s not giving Bushy the romance and affection she needs, `cos on the run Bushy grabbed hold of Stiffy’s hand. Bushy was then called in and asked to close her eyes and see if she could tell whose hand was whose. Bushy innocently did as she was told and her hand was guided to Barbarian’s crotch – where she immediately found something she recognised.

Mystery Mystery Whip was new boy Kamikaze, dressed in full Sioux regalia. He started off by trying to advertise his Sunday hash, which caused a certain amount of turmoil, as in came representatives from Kampong, Bike Hash, Monday, Wednesday et al to noisily advertise their respective chapters. Scant regard was given to the poor boy’s novice status and eager beaver approach, and he was given a down down for shameless self-promotion.

His first charge was to Delegator who had been spotted wolfing down power biscuits before the run. They obviously worked as he had spotted her way out in front towards the end of the run. Then he proceeded to blow his own trumpet (Disgusting! – Ed.) by saying that the problem with whipping on the hash is he never gets a chance to see anyone as he’s always in front. Loud jeers from the circle, but the shameless one blundered on regardless. This time after the first set of trees he’d come across Skidmark who was not only ahead but was sitting on a log tying his laces. Later on in the run he spied Slipstream finding trail after a check but in true competitive, FRB fashion, not calling it. And finally he called in Fanny Flasher who was steaming on like a train towards the end of the run explaining that she has to get back early to change into her Indian outfit. This turned out not to be a full-scale elegant sari like Sherpa’s but a t-shirt with a semi Indian motif. How long did that take to put on? - And back at the run site Kamikaze had heard Indianus excusing herself from the beer truck saying she had to put on her Indian – and leaving everyone wondering who he was. Down downs for all the miscreants.

Now After Shock called all the Indian dressers into the circle to the accompaniment of appropriate music. The hares had gathered a galaxy of prizes for the best dressed. There were the traditionalists in saris, turbans and Punjabi suits (Not all at the came time, surely? – Ed), the geographically challenged Native Americans – and the refugee from a Bollywood soft porn movie – Indy. We all did our little dance and the hares selected the winners – well – everybody, really. In descending order, the lucky ones were Black Widow, Indianus, Stuffy, Squire, Sherpa, Shoeless, Loose Change, Bushy, Kamikaze, Mother Mary, Suzee Wong Ayam Kampong, Coo Chi Coo, Jack Off, Frontarse, Big Hammer – have I missed anyone out? Blame Fanny Flasher – she was scribing here as her Indian – ha! - tee shirt just didn’t make the cut. And one by one we trooped up to the table groaning with goodies to select our prizes although with so many people heaving around the table it was reminiscent of the first day of Robinson’s sale with Iron Crotch keeping order over the crazed hordes. An excellent show by the hares – I’ll drink your health several times at Brewerks.

Now I can’t quite decipher FF’s shorthand here but I know Frontarse’s charge had something to do with Death Wish, vegetarianism – and chicken. Anyway, I’m sure the charge is relatively unimportant except that it allowed Frontarse to get the rubber chicken out, fill it with beer, and force the horrified Death Wish to drink out of its posterior.

Do you think the circle was standing around in respectful silence during these shenanigans, dear readers? Not a bit of it – there were private parties going on all over the place and Mr. Singapore and BA were called in to take their place on the ice for relentless chattering.

More appreciation for 1000th run workers. Armless was applauded for his work as MC and the 1000th run committee was thanked again with copious beers.

AOB – Coo Chi Coo threw in his tomahawk and leapt into the circle threatening to scalp anyone who stood in his way. He firstly pointed out the little red dot that various Indians were sporting on their foreheads. This was invented by the British, he informed us, to give their soldiers something to aim at. Ba boom! He also wanted to rabbit on about the 1000th run. Yes, he agreed, it had been a great night, except for the food. (Picky little bastard, isn’t he? – Ed.) He had taken some of the fish back for his dogs and they had positively sneered at it. But he really just wanted to get Indianus out for her surprising wardrobe of S&M gear that she had worn on the night. He had complemented her - as he was trying to get his hand into her g-string – and she had informed him that she had lots more at home but could never wear them in public. The mind boggles.

And he called in Loose Change, as she was responsible for the skits. Husband Slack Arse has been a tower of strength as a dresser behind the scenes. He told Coo Chi Coo that he used to be a dresser in a strip club. What was the money like? enquired Coo Chi Coo. About $50 a week, was the reply. That’s not much, said Coo Chi Coo. – I know, said Slack Arse, but it was all I could afford at the time. Ba boom again.

And a special thank you to Dirty Hacker for helping with the music. Mother Mary took the down down in his stead.

Moving in a somewhat crabwise fashion procedurally, it was now time for the Prick of the Week. Frontarse donated it to Hand Job as her family is going away for a month and she’s going to be lonely. All together now – aaaaah!

It got all weird and technical now as that egghead Shitstream muscled his way into the circle to give us a lesson in physics, Archimedes’ principle, and tit sizing. He brought out some representative cup sizes – Loose Change to represent the voluptuous Ds, and virgin Kelly to represent the under endowed As. (That’s the last we’ll see of her then. – Ed.) Too right. Fanny Flasher represented the B/C types. With weights, pulleys, plastic cups, beer and the circle’s rapt attention he demonstrated that well, fill it in for yourselves. The difference from the norm is never more than about 66% anyway, not the 243% that Coo Chi Coo reported in the magazine. This just proves that all his wittering on about breasts is just a load of wishful thinking. A well deserved down down was awarded to the sleazy-minded one.

But you can’t keep Coo Chi Coo down for long and he was straight back into the circle with a post-skit story from the 1000th run. Shoeless found out that his undies were too tight and made the astonishing leap of thought to find that they weren’t his. Maybe they were Indy’s? No – they were Coo Chi Coos – and he’s already burnt them.

Loose Change now moaned away about all the sweaty G-strings she had to take care of – methinks she doth protest too much. She’s always the first to offer after all…

The circle was now descending into general disarray, all conversation seemingly centred on buttocks and underwear – and it was definitely time to adjourn to the gazebo and party on. The food was excellent and the music was great and everyone enjoyed themselves trying to look like extras from a Bollywood movie. Well done, hares, for the giveaway pouch, the fancy dress competition and great prizes, and an altogether excellent night,

On On!

Black Widow

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