Run No. 1008

Date:                  5 January 2002

Where:               Pasir Ris Drive 1

Occasion:         Life’s A Beach

Hares:                Astronut, CJ, Poser

Members:          47

Guests:              ask Ripper 

- Returnees:        0         

- Visitors :           3         

- Virgins :            5 (plus 1 dubious )

- New Members: 2

The theme of the first run of the New Year was “Life’s a Beach” - appropriate considering the balmy locale – so many of the large pack that eventually found the car park were attired in sarongs and bikinis - and the women had dressed up as well. Astronut provided a variety of coloured sunscreen sticks and people got to painting themselves in odd rituals that any Neanderthal would recognise. Suitably ridiculous, the hash set off to bemuse the natives of Pasir Ris.

It was actually a very enjoyable run with enough scrambly bits to unnerve the faint-hearted and weak-kneed, nice fast stretches through the park and sea views all over the place. The well–set checks did their stuff in keeping the pack in touch and we all got back in in good time to be greeted by a tee shirt and more sun-related cosmetic giveaways, thanks to the hares.

At the circle the beach theme really came into its own – Frontarse was dressed as a Bondi Beach lifesaver and Indy was dressed as an underwater temptress – if flippers turn you on. Several comments were made concerning her new idea of Fuck Me shoes (Maybe they work in Australia – Ed.) Frontarse called in the hares, Astronut, Poser and guest hare CJ looked suitably gratified at the universal Good Run call and did their down downs. However, Astronut obviously hadn’t trained his novice hare in circle procedure, as she was so busy nattering away to her mate as she went back to the crowd that Indy promptly lurched over there at the speed of a pregnant dugong – difficult to move fast in flippers – and placed her and Anthony on the ice. There were huge cries of “Off! Off!” directed at the nubile CJ and she merrily whisked her shorts off and sat on the ice on her swimmers to thunderous applause. Astronut announced the on on at his bijoux modest residence at 509 Elias Road.

Next week’s run is a celebration run – against all odds, Phoney Dick has finally made it to his 60th birthday. Co-hares are Bully and Aye Aye and we’re invited to totter around Jalan Kampong Chantek with them. Those who survive the effort are invited to the On On at the Red Lantern. Since the combined age of the hares is about 243 the theme is Dirty Old Men and Lolitas. The oldies obviously are looking for a cheap thrill, girls.

Frontarse had quite a few visitors and guests to deal with.. Virgins were Dale, Shawn. Gro (?) Suzi and Serene. Visitors were Shiny Helmet and Fuzz Flyer from Seletar and Awkward Dick from San Diego. We all wanted to see evidence of his awkwardness but he came over all shy.

Meanwhile, Comes Alone had been barracking the GMs and was hauled onto the newly vacated ice together with partner-in-crime Christy. He gamely did the big drop, flashing his pert marathon-honed bum at all of us in the cheap seats. (Bet you moved specially – Ed.) No need – Frontarse always ensures I get the best view, the dear boy.

And there were a very welcome two new members tonight - Anu and Anthony.

Ever-vigilant Indianus noted that Phoney Dick and Temporary Erection hadn’t stopped talking since the start of the circle and invited them to partake of the cold stuff. Phoney suggested that her flippers really were Fuck Me shoes as if you stepped on them she couldn’t get away, and demonstrated the manoeuvre. At which Indy promptly fell on her back. (Which she did with the grace of long experience. – Ed.) The talkers were consigned to the ice.

Frontarse awarded Faker with her 100 runs tankard, but to the desolation of all red-blooded males, she didn’t have to take off her tee shirt.

Now it was time for the Mystery Whip. Sad Bastard hove into the circle. He called in people in weird beach attire – Kamikaze in his Hawaiian shirt and Coo Chi Coo in loincloth and war paint. And, living up to his name, that was sadly it. CCC was extremely unimpressed and gave him the imperial thumbs down for sub-standard whippery.

Mystery Mystery Whip was the more loquacious Ugly Bum. Her first charge was to Machine and the ubiquitous Coo Chi Coo. She had been running along at the front of the pack – at this statement the circle dissolved into hysterical mirth as they wept with laughter and clutched each other for support. Ugly Bum stoically waited for the hilarity to subside and then continued. There she was following these two fit bastards when they suddenly peeled off in opposite directions, neither of them deigning to call, so UB was left stranded with a comical look on her face not knowing which way to go. The idea of following trail didn’t occur to her, as she’d never been in that position before, obviously.

Secondly, she noted sternly that she’d heard a lot of whinging on the hash and she wanted to highlight a miscreant. Black Widow, while trundling along in replete post-festive season fashion, had complained that she’d had far too much stuffing over the past two weeks (Fat chance! – Ed.) and was duly punished.

She then called in Mini Humper. She pointed out his lovely legs and trim body. She had been walking with him when he suddenly whispered, “Lets do it.” She thought her luck was in and came over all a flutter, but then Mini Humper just sprinted off into the distance.

Now I’ve just given you the thrust of her charges but obviously she embellished and meandered somewhat as she went along, so much so in fact that Foo Foo started a Sit Down, It’s Sybil movement. This was noted by Frontarse who hauled him, Ditch and Ivy over to the ice for insubordination.

And Ugly Bum had it in for another whinger. There was a bit of green carpet over one of the muddy bits and Corny Linguist had the gall to moan that it wasn’t red. Some people are never satisfied.

Frontarse came back in to produce a pair off sunglasses found on the run. Whose were they? CJ sprang into the circle at a rate of knots saying, “I may as well take my shorts off, right?” Far too eager, that one.

Time for the Prick of the Week. Indy lurched gracelessly into the circle on her Fuck Me flippers. She said she’s been in Oz for five weeks and everyone wears them there. Foo Foo asked archly why she’d stayed down so long. Indy ignored the double entendre, saying that she had no idea what he meant as she’d been mixing with the refined and sober types down under and had forgotten all that sort of rude stuff. Boo, who had been pretty quiet so far, started doing his Indy imitation ack ack ack and was – as has now become traditional – put on the ice.

Anyway, Indy had candidates for the Prick. Firstly was Faker, who had been so turned on by the flippers that she had grabbed Indy’s arse before the circle. And secondly was Dirty Hacker, who had sent Indy an email in Australia asking her to “clear her box”. Really.  Much ribaldry at this, which I shall leave you to imagine, dear reader. Indy apparently replied to Hacker that she had indeed cleared her box. Kamikaze suggested, “In the States we use penicillin!” However, when she got back to Singapore, Hacker confessed that he couldn’t remember sending the email. Thus, went Indy’s argument, he’s obviously suffering from Alzheimer’s, which means he’s probably forgotten lots of other things – and Mother Mary will need the Prick to keep her company in the future. Or something like that. Mother Mary was duly awarded with the maroon thing.

Time for AOB, and tiny but beautifully formed Coo Chi Coo leapt into the fray. He commented that he had asked Indy why she wasn’t wearing a wetsuit tonight and she had told him she doesn’t need one as she gets wet enough without. Boom boom! But his charge was for all the people who had made a real effort to do the beach theme tonight. Hash Brew Bagless nearly had a heart attack behind me as he thought of our mounting beer bill. But CCC had something else in mind. Some people, he said had really worked hard on their tans, so he called in Squire, Mini Humper and Anu. Political correctness gets short shrift on this hash, I can tell you.

The venerable Phoney Dick then came in to announce the Dinner Dance on 4 March. People looked bemused. People scratched their heads. People wondered if Lion City was being cutting edge and new economy having its D and D on a Monday. Phoney, aided by the baying mob, corrected himself. Oh yes, 2 March. If anyone has any idea for a theme, he went on, please let him know. Coo Chi Coo suggested that going on Phoney’s performance, Senile Old Men would be about right. This piece of impertinence was loftily ignored by the aged one, who went on to say that he did actually have an observation about the configuration of the circle. At MRT stations there are all these lines painted on the platform: one is supposed to stand behind them until passengers have alighted but being Singapore everyone totally ignores them. The hash, of course, is much better disciplined. And he pointed out the west end of the circle, where they were all dutifully standing behind the lines delineating the parking bays like obedient cattle waiting for the slaughter. And it was true. The guilty ones looked a bit shamefaced and discomfited and shuffled about trying to look non-conformist, but they had been duly spotted. However, it was Phoney who got the down down for his memory lapse.

And a last bit of AOB from BA. The American military tonight was represented by visitors Dale and Shawn. They had left their gear in someone’s car and couldn’t find the person, so there they were trying to pick the boot lock with lock picks, skeleton keys, infra red oscilloscopes etc. (Carried away here, I think – Ed.) but to no avail. A passing hasher helpfully suggested, “ Try pressing the button,” and hey presto! So much for the military intelligence of the US.

Then it was on on to the hares’ place for Mr. Ho’s great food and free swimsuits for the jacuzzi set. Then everyone availed themselves of the fabulous hospitality and the more extrovert types did all sorts of innovative and mature things like throwing each other in the pool until the wee hours of the morning. No one was safe from the marauding Kamikaze – but at least I had brought two changes of clothes. I think Indy, slightly less well prepared, had to go home in her undies. (So what else is new? – Ed.) But at least Shitstream kept his clothes on! All thanks to the hares for a truly memorable evening all round.

On On!

Black Widow

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