Run No: 929

Hares: Molester, Too Good and Fat Slag

Where: Telok Blangah Park

When: 14 July (Bastille Day) 2000

Members: 57

Visitors: 6

Guests: Lots

Returnees: 3

Virgins: Too scared to pop their heads above ground

This one will have to be rattled off pretty quickly, folks, as I've got a bit of a crowded weekend ahead (so crowded that I can't even make the Red Dress Run ) and some real work (gasp!) to do before Monday ( thanks to my hero, Corny Linguist. I owe you one, mate.) Yes, BW is dipping her toe in the rat race again. (Trouble with the rat race is that, even if you win, you're still a rat. No, no, Astronut - I wasn't talking about you. Honest.)

But I digress.

Ah, the French. So many things to note about the French. The comical berets. The funny idea the men have that they're red-hot lovers. The fact that one in three of them doesn't own a toothbrush (true!) Hope you're not one of them, Footrot, or it doesn't bode well for your honeymoon…

But I digress again.

This was apparently the Bastille Day run. Except the hares weren't French. The food wasn't French. There was nothing Frog about the run at all. Unless you count Indy being got up like a French tart for her trip on board the Brit ship later. (Stop this digressing and get on with the report! - Ed.) Oh, all right.

The good sized pack set off from the run site after some self-aggrandizing trumpet-blowing from the GM, who is still going on about his Canada Day run and making sure no-one is allowed to forget it. In fact, it turned out to be a fine old lope around fairly familiar territory, the highlight for many being the abseil down the steep bank where many of us narrowly escaped an early demise through killer-litter in the shape of Hungry Bum and Careless. I managed to get rope burns, which although not as much fun as carpet burns, at least gave me my hash injury for the week. Careless is still sporting his tiger wounds, and Ring Pull apparently has a nasty bruise on her nether regions. She blames the hash, but I think it could be more to do with her torrid farewell to Free Willy when he set off to India….Could also account for her bizarre attack of echolalia (bet you don't know that one, Coo Chi Coo!) later on in the circle. (If you don't get on with it I won't let you go down the pub! - Ed.)

Right. After the usual barracking - "too flat, too short, not enough Frenchmen" etc.- Good Run was, deservedly, awarded and the hares eventually did their down down. I say eventually, because our tyro ( that means learner) hash brews, Gypsy and Zipp, were having a bit of trouble, such as working out which way up the mugs went, what a can of beer looked like etc. Still, shouldn't mock the afflicted, and they did prove they were capable of training 'cos - oh, about half an hour later - the hares finally got to drink, although not all at the same time. 
Ring Pull dragged in the hares yet again for not getting their act together vis-à-vis the signs and leaving her to pick them up at last week's run site. Molester blamed Too Good. Too God (the Spell Check strikes!) blamed Molester. They both tried to blame Fat Slag even though he wasn't there. Ah, the camaraderie of the hash!

Phoney Dick accepted the signs as he is doing next week's run. He made the good point that since loads of people haven't set a run this year, how come he gets earmarked by Ring Pull when in a slightly alcoholically-challenged state? (Phoney, not RP!) Ever heard the phrase large, slow-moving target, Phoney?

Ring Pull - still compos mentis at this stage - called in the visitors - Bob from Taiwan, Agnes from Harriets, Bob from Sunday, David, another Bob, and Ferret from Southside in Hong Kong. 
Returnees Pink and Tight and Bouncer were welcomed back.

Molester was the minimalist Hare Whip. He could only call in that other large, slow-moving (increasingly so, as the circle progressed) target, Careless, for ignoring a T-check. So what else is new?

The hapless TI Joe was dragged in by Astronut for being the nearest thing to a representative Frenchman around. Two weeks ago he got whipped for being a representative Canadian. Poor guy just can't win.

Astronut called for the Mystery Whip, and in true hash cock-up style, the Mystery Mystery Whip, Murkury, revealed himself, only having to slink off and wait his turn. MW Front Arse took his rightful place and called in the circle squatters - Barf Wader, Comes Too Soon, Suzee Wong, Quicksand and Lacy Lady, most of whom were far too well dressed for the company. What ever happened to the circle T-shirt rule? Now when I were a lass just starting on the hash (do the records go back that far? - Ed.) it was really bad form not to wear hash togs in the circle. Or to sit down. Or not to sing the song. Are there some other agenda (correct plural - it's Latin) going on these days?

Front Arse hailed the hares for thoughtfully providing a mobile drinks stop - Strapless had a Camelback.
Unfortunately, the only hasher to benefit from this was Rusty Tits. Apparently, Strapless was heard to suggest to RT, "Just turn around and suck on this." Could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. (Or an illegal one. - Ed.)

The Mystery Mystery Whip was - what a surprise! - Murkury, and his first charge was Boo, whom many of us saw parking his Merc half way round the run and then pretending he did the whole thing. I call that creative shortcutting, myself.

Murkury also justly whipped Careless (getting slightly cross-eyed by now) and Hungry Bum for the aforementioned trapeze act.

Ring Pull now lost the plot and barreled into the circle to announce…who knows? Probably the price of potatoes in Colombia - or something.

"But I haven't finished yet!" bewailed the Whip. Obviously coitus interruptus (whippus interruptus?) is not his thing.

After a dazed Ring Pull was forced to down-down for her circle solecism (another one for the dictionary, CCC - it must be looking well-thumbed by now), Murkury whipped the ever-elegant Poser for losing her key whilst having a pee - and then having to retrace her steps to find the damp spot.

Ring Pull slunk into the circle in circumspect fashion. "Are you finished yet?" she checked. Yes. So she called in Sara Lee and Doggie Style for having a baby on the hash. Well, you know what I mean.

Ring Pull, whose brain had moved to Alpha Centauri, now called for AOB, which, as most of us know, comes at the end of the circle rather than half way through. And refused to do another down-down so managed to get a stalwart Stash to do it on her behalf. Don't worry - it gets worse.

Dragging the circle back to some semblance of an even keel, Astronut asked for the Pussy of the Week, which entered the circle tucked down Gypsy's shorts, a place where no man has gone before (I presume). He awarded it to Fuck-a-Bunny (one of those hash names you really can't tell your mother) so that he could do unspeakable things to another denizen of the animal kingdom. Bestiality's best, boys, so they say.
Ring Pull, showing that she was at this stage fully two-sandwiches-short-of-a-picnic, called for - er - Pussy of the Week. Again.Very loudly.

A stunned silence fell. Astronut was seen surreptitiously calling Woodbridge Hospital on his hand phone and asking for a heavy-duty straightjacket. Ring Pull settled for another down-down and poured this one over her head, then got it together enough to work out where - and who - she was, and called for the Prick of the Week. We all sighed with relief as we realised there was no need to get her committed - yet.
(Coo Chi Coo. "Tip of the Week, Ring Pull. - Keep your mouth shut!")

AOB TI Joe hauled in Doggie Style for new shoes.

Barf Wader got Molester for grinning at the long/short run junction. Didn't really understand that one.
Phoney Dick meandered on about the Fourth of July actually being Mandarin Lau's birthday, and then got Canadian Astronut to do a down-down. Go figure.

King Leer, at the fag end of the proceedings, actually managed to find something French-associated. An I'm-far-too-well-dressed-for-you-lot After Shock was global Froggie representative.

Then it was on on to the on-on at The Manhole (Spell Check again!) - for most of you, anyway. I was going to go, but my naval propensities (she means she likes sailors - Ed.) got the better of me and I was persuaded (ha!) to head for the HMS Fort Victoria with such renowned sailor groupies as - er - Corny Linguist and Careless. Indy, Warlike Talkie and I went along to see they didn't get into too much trouble. Of course, we'd missed the boat (story of my life) by the time we got to Clifford Pier. Never fear, Careless girded his loins and went off to hunt the mammoth, so in a trice there we were on the high seas in a leaky old water taxi driven by a pilot working on the Braille system of navigation, which meant we nearly ended up on board the Iranian ship Jihad looking for a party. Could've been interesting. We found the right place in the end, and I got chatted up by all number of men in uniform - proving they really had been at sea far too long. Hope you had as good a time at the Manhill - I'm sure you did.

Ah, Spell Check time. I love this bit. Working out what I've typed is nearly as hard as working out what I've written.

On on

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PS Got a great e-mail from Peeking Ong who sends love to all and hopes to be back before the end of the year.

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