THE RUN

We foregathered in the car park at the end of Track 15 off Mandai Lake Road – site of your scribe’s Virgin Run of last year. Started in the classic manner: South thro’ the gate (skinny hashers, excluding yours truly) or round the gate (rounded hashers); up the hill to the first T-check, then followed the track to the left; up to the second T-check, off to the right, and back thro’ the copse along the BKE; then down under the BKE to the KJE junction; across the junction was the entrance to a drainage tunnel; your scribe climbed down the manhole, took one look at the headroom, and  bottled out on account of a dicky back. My chiropractor would be less than impressed by my account of a 50 metre waddle bent double… None of the other fit bastards was so deterred, and with many a merry curse, their arses disappeared into the gloom. However, while looking for the easy trail, your scribe encountered plenty of shortcutters slagging one another off for shortage of mettle! ‘Twas ever thus…

Your scribe caught up with the front-runners of the pack by the use of a cunning ploy, together with my running mate Handbag, following part of my virgin trail of last year. The doughty band that braved the tunnel had run a long stretch on the other side of the BKE, re-crossing under the expressway at an obvious point. Nature note: Handbag and I saw a large Paradise Tree Snake, about 1 metre long, green/brown with no obvious markings, slithering hot-belly into the bush. Not a cobra. Or a python. Never mind…

Even with the remnants of the ‘pack’, we couldn’t find the proper trail back. The pack had split up into so many splinter groups, and we followed one of them, eventually finding our own way back along the metalled tracks.

We returned to an animated pre-circle gathering – obviously well-contented with the run. It must be a Leap Year Run: Kan the Kobra ran the whole trail – including the tunnel and all the other challenging bits; your scribe, Kannot Kan, took a bunch of shameless shortcuts… ‘Twas never thus before!

CIRCLE REPORT

THE HARE: Ripper (solo hare)

The usual query of “What did you think of the run?” drew variable responses, from “Too short” to “Excellent!”. Big Head had the casting vote: “A real good run!” (Why was he born…)

And Now For The…

ON-ON: Choon Seng Restaurant/Teck Ghee Community Centre. Astronut asked: “How many free beers?” – Answer came there: “None…”

NEXT WEEK’S RUN: A little guessing game – who is going to be the Hare? Shaggy Dick 2, of course! Choruses of “Will you be sober…?”, and “Whatever will be will be…” Runsite: Bukit Timah Station. Funny coincidence, that – site of Kan the Kobra’s virgin run, co-hared by Cock Radio and your scribe...

VISITORS: Cries of “Too many Dutch!”. Enter the circle: your scribe, Kannot Kan (sitting in for Croc O’Shit – come back, all is forgiven!); Handbag (delayed on his trip to Florida) – cries of “Join, U idiot!”; the very charming Tongue Job (Anita) and Bold Fokker (Hugo) from Amsterdam (on their way to Perth) – special thanks to them from Big Head; Shoeless, Jig a Jig, and Flakey (the ‘unusual’ suspects). (They are pisspots…)

And Now It’s Time For:

THE HARE WHIP

Ripper’s Leap Year Theme

Ripper: “When was Leap Year Day last on a Friday?”

Circle: “Uhhh… Duhhh….”

Ripper: “1980, of course!”

Since this was before the inception of the Lion City Hash (18:00h 26^th of November 1982), today’s run was the First Ever Lion City Hash Friday Leap Year Run (FELCH_FLYeR – how do they choose their acronyms?!) It was left to Cock Radio to redeem the pervasive ignorance of the circle:

Ripper: “Cock Radio, as a teacher, can you tell the circle when will be the next Friday Leap Year Run?”

Cock(sure) Radio: “I can.”

Ripper: “Tell us, pray!”

Cock Radio: “2036, of course!!”

Circle: “Uhhh… Duhhh…” (He’s a pisspot…)

Silly Arses

It transpires that the original choice of runsite had had to be changed on account of a Serious Mistake. Take your pick from the following narrative: It has been generally disseminated amongst the Singapore hashes that no more runs will start from HDB car parks. Top amongst the parties implicated in the background to this decision is Peeking Ong, Joint Master of the venerable Monday Hash. The veterans started a run from an HDB car park, and instead of choosing a discreet middle level – out of sight and hearing of the residents – chose the top deck, in full view of the 24 or so floors of the block in question! The hapless residents and their offspring were thus treated to the terrifying sight of a raggle-taggle bunch of muddy middle-aged men rinsing, swilling and singing dubious songs at the tops of their voices. (A dreadful portent of the future?...) So, a quick recce of Track 15 produced the goods for today’s run, though not without some qualms. It had been related that previous attempts to set a run at this location had brought the hare at the time into unwelcome contact with the Singapore Defence Forces. Apparently it was a Harriettes’ run. Shock! – In fact it was Cock Radio who was the hare on that occasion, and many a long year ago – before the authorities got used to the sight of the wayward Australian kangaroo-hopping about the countryside.

And Now It’s Time For:

Prejudice and Gratuitous Insults.

Ripper pointed out the irony of a nation with a population rocketing past the 1.3 billion mark and no apparent ‘end’ in sight. That is to say, the male half of the population has difficulty in finding condoms sourced from abroad that don’t simply slide off at the crucial moment, on account of being too loose a fit. He then graciously offered around the circle for the education of those concerned a sample of suitably sized prophylactics: to me they looked a bit like finger stalls, for protection of small cuts, and when handling fiddly things like pins and needles. Maybe he has a point… At this point, a group of obvious renegades and troublemakers broke into song with: “He’s the meanest…” – a ditty banned from polite circles on account of bad taste, incomprehensibility and perversion of a perfectly good tune. They shall be hunted down and excommunicated – you have been warned…

Astronut’s ‘Homophobia’ Slot. 

“Who are the ‘Gay Boys’ wearing coordinated dress?” Welcome the new Joint Masters of the Monday Hash, Ditch and Peeking Ong! (Here’s to the New Pretenders, they’re True Blue…) Ditch’s sotto voce response: “Paybacks are gonna hurt…” Ooch, I can feel it already – where are those Chinese condoms?!

And Now For A Resuscitation Of:

THE LION CITY HASH AWARDS

Introduced by Big Head. Here re-starteth the 100 Run Milestone Awards.

·       100^th Run with LCH3: Shoeless – it’s taken him 10 years to do it, but he kept going against all the odds.

·       400^th Run: Running Shit – he’d already run off, so a brother from the Shit family - Blood Shit - stepped in for him (hope he cleans his shoes afterwards).

LCH3 apparently makes a small monetary award for such occasions, and the tradition is to donate this to a Worthy Charity. Exemplary in this regard, with kind donations to the Downs Syndrome Charity, were:

·       Stiffy – for completion of 300 runs

·       Jackoff – with no less than 600 runs.

 (Why were they born…)

And Now It’s Time For:

THE MYSTERY WHIP: Blood Shit (you can’t keep a good man down).

Congratulations: to Flakey, who has “been in Spain”. I’ve been in Spain too, but don’t recall ever having been congratulated on the achievement – of either visiting or escaping! The real reason became apparent as Blood Shit ruefully recalled a previous Ripper run in which Flakey disobligingly failed to drown in a drain, which was thought to be a possible reason for his recent extended absence. (Why was he born…)

Proper attire: Peeking Ong publicly bragging about new shoes – is he for real?? Lucky for him that the ‘rules’ now outlaw the imbibing of intoxicating liquor from recently used footwear. (It would never have happened in Cinderella’s day!)

“In their tiny minds”: Chicken Shit (alone, I suspect) had succeeded in squeezing thro’ the gap between the starting gates; two notable failures were Wet Patch, and Flakey. (Who ate all the pies?...) Maybe we should rename him Flakey Pastry…

Crème de Menthe: Peeking Ong again, whose spouse was allegedly spotted swigging the gooey green stuff the previous week, apparently a dietary must during pregnancy. Eh? (Here’s to pregnant…)

THE MYSTERY MYSTERY WHIP: Boo (to general hissing and catcalls).

Ditch had been appointed, but told Boo he could ‘do it’ – presumably because of the availability of finger stalls…

Wanted to charge Pussy Lifter, who presumably escaped in advance: “The problem is: The Germans!” – nothing more specific, except for a reference to their natural blondness, but anyway a frantic search was conducted around the circle to find a ‘good-looking’ German – to no avail, of course. So Machine and Cherry Picker were roped in as the next best thing, and duly downed a beer apiece like “Good” Germans. (Why were they born…)

“What do you do on a run if you get thirsty?” Follow paper as quickly as your legs will carry you, back to the beer, or – follow Eleven and her trademark water bottle stuck provocatively down the seat of her spandex leggings? Enter the circle Stiffy, for the comment that “Looking through the water magnifies everything so nicely!” Especially builders’ cleavages, I suspect… (Drink it Down, Down…)

Next a discussion on how to break a Check, based on the experience of Coo Chi Coo at the 3^rd: hire the services of a ‘Show-off’, of course! Enter the circle Jackoff (gasps of amazement at this unusual lapse of modesty)!! (She’s the meanest!...)

Just for the benefit of any deaf or singularly obtuse hashers, Boo regaled the circle with a couple of his Favourite Calls: “Too Many Gwei Loh’s!” and “Ladies!!”. Apparently the inspiration for the latter was none other than Ugly Bum, who was duly given a down-down for encouraging the man! (Why was she born…)

ANY OTHER BUSINESS

Jackoff: Blood Shit was called in for deriding the heroic efforts of some poor deluded hashers to squeeze through a space that was clearly – to more self-aware individuals – far too tight for them to pass through. Agonised wails had been heard at the time: “It’s our boobs!” And they don’t come much more heroic than Slack Arse, in spite of not having a legitimate ‘boobs’ card to play… (Who ate all the pies?...) Love that song!

Not Tonight: “Am I petite enough?” Anyone asking such a question has to be commended on their touching faith in the self-restraint of the circle! (I think she meant: “To squeeze through the gate”.) But then she excelled herself by calling in your scribe, Kannot Kan (another pathetic self-delusionist in the pie-stakes), but ascribed his failure to make it through the gate to the size of his willy! Where do they get ‘em, I ask you?… (He’s the meanest…) Seems that song just refuses to lie down (like a recalcitrant willy) – nothing to do with me…

Circle Jerk: Apologised for having arrived late: “I went in, I went out…” Turns out he was indeed talking about Eleven, but only trying to catch up with her. Eventually, he stationed himself at his beloved’s likely exit point from the woods, only to spot her from a short distance, being followed at worryingly close quarters by a diminutive figure made even more so by being “bent double”. As the convoy drew in, the pursuing midget straightened up, presumably hoping nobody would spot his indignity – no such luck! Coo Chi Coo’s muted protests fell on deaf ears. (Bullshit, bullshit, it all sounds like…)

However, also implicated in the ‘sad’ spectacle, enter the figure-conscious Slack Arse (not his own, of course), Stiffy (QED), and Brute (eh? - who he?) – apparently surprising all and sundry by wearing glasses. Good job he didn’t have a white stick…

And Now For Something Completely Different:

Circle Jerk proposed two alternative solutions:

a)     Walk around for a few weeks carrying a litre and a half of drinking water; or:

b)     “Marry me!” Oh, dear. A moment of shocked silence later, the circle realised he was addressing Eleven, and none of the other assembled company.

The next moments were a blur of hugs and kisses, and promises to keep the bottles out of the pants for ever more (in public, at any rate). (Why were they born so…)

Only one act could possibly follow that: enter Astronut. Did the starry-eyed lovers not realise that a proposal of marriage made on Leap Year Day must come from The Woman?! Apparently not – so it’s “Bottles back!!”… (Drink it down, down, down, down…)

Congratulations to them from all of us, and here’s looking forward to the Hash Wedding. 

On-on-on!!!

Scribe: Kannot Kan

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