Run No. 935

Date: 25 August 2000

Where: Seletar Country Club

Hares: Big Hammer and Kiasu Lun (despite what it says on the towels)

Members: 47
Guests: 0
Virgins: 1
Visitors: 0
Returnees: 0

I really wanted to award the Prick to my taxi driver. "Ah, jogging, lah!" he intoned cheerfully. "Maybe you read about my uncle last year. He died jogging. But he old already. Forty nine." Hmm.

No deaths among the old-already contingent on this hash (and I don't mean me, you bastards - I'm not there quite yet), although I think a lot of people thought of it as a possibly pleasant alternative since the checks were about three kilometres apart. I thought it was an excellent run, with plenty of interesting countryside and lots of stretches where you could open your legs and show your class. (Nice trick if you can do it - Ed.) Lots of wimps, including an under the weather Wickless (well done, Spell Check!) and a distinctly miffed Cookie, were misled by the hares pessimistic timing of the "long" run and did the short, which in fact turned out to be a minimalist 30 minutes. Braver souls, such as your scribe, dug in for the long haul, and were rewarded with a fast but well set second half which kept everyone together (I could still see Coo Chi Coo's tiny but well-formed torso twinkling in the distance) until the drain under the expressway, which had a bit of a bottleneck at the climb out. Nevertheless, I was pathetically pleased with myself as I passed a moribund Spiffy (oh, I'll suffer for that one!) on the road to the Club and was neck and neck with Faker at the end. Of course, my bubble was burst (!) by the lugubrious Ripper - "She's got a bad knee" - but I got him back by leaving something incriminating in his car which he has to explain to the wife….

So when Ring Pull called for opinions on the run, I can only assume that the universal cries of "Hash Shit" were either ironic or came from the disappointed where's-the-big-towel-I-was-expecting brigade. Kiasu Loon and Big Hammer were magnanimous in the face of this barrage of unjustified abuse and promptly announced that the on-on price had just trebled and the free beer they had organised was withdrawn. Ring Pull told Kiasu Lun to f- off out of her circle. Such a good natured lot, aren't we?

The circle was a bit rowdy at this stage, so gallant Free Willy hove in in support of his wife and robustly called for Hash Hush. To which the response was "Thank you, dear," from our revered GM. How cosy. And sinking further into a morass of sentimentality and married concord, the GM called out "Dear" to announce next week's run at Chestnut Avenue. To be fair (Since when has that bothered you? - Ed.) he and Banjo are setting it at very short notice, but being typically anal-retentive lads have got it all sorted out already, even down to the on-on at the Charcoal Grill.

Ring Pull was revelling in undiluted power this week in the absence of Astronut (Give that woman an inch and she thinks she's a ruler - Ed.) and proceeded to attempt to deflower the only virgin - a bemused Bill - in the middle of the circle. Well, he didn't seem to mind - maybe it's the best offer he's had all week.

The Hare Whip was Big Hammer, who was hampered by the fact that most of his whippees had disappeared. He got Corny Linguist for leaving his T-shirt to be laundered after having a shower at his car - lookalike CCC (a small fast-moving target) took the down-down.

He wanted to get Judy for her amazing contortions after the run, but Jack Off (who looks like she knows a few contortions of her own) was called in instead.
Ah, but someone was there. Dickless is an amateur astronomer with a huge telescope (Is that something to do with the lack of Dick? - Ed) and BH telephoned him to discuss the fact that NASA has just discovered that Europa has water. Diskless responded by saying of course Europa has water, it also has beer, whiskey etc. - he should know as he's a member. This convoluted in-jokery was only apparent to people who knew that Europa is: a) a moon of Jupiter; and b) a pub in Changi. Ho ho ho!

Big Hammer then got fixated on skirts and called in Ring Pull and Not Tonight for doing the business with their abbreviated minis. Strange, isn't it - the girls' skirts get shorter while the boys' shorts get skirtier as they all succumb to the sarong craze.

Saliva, Aye Aye and Suzee Wong were justly chastised for finding all of this slightly less interesting than watching paint dry and having a private party by the beer wagon.

Mystery Whip Stash commented on the fact that even though all our hash saddos who still think hashing is something to do with endurance have gone to KL to (excuse me while I laugh) run through the jungle for eight hours, we still have one testosterone-fuelled imbecile running with us. Well actually, I think it was mean to point out that no-one wanted Rusty Tits on their team.

Stash moved on to sexual fantasies. - Actually I have one concerning a well-oiled gladiator and a large - (That's enough - Ed.) Sorry. I get carried away. This is what comes of being single. You know what they say - being single is like death by drowning: a really delightful sensation after you cease to struggle.
But I digress. As usual. I blame it on a hangover for which I hold Kiasu Lun very much to blame. But more of that later….

Stash accused Gecko of discussing going on a sex tour with Faker. Well, that's the way I heard it. Gecko was heard to aver, "I've never paid for sex in my life." This statement was greeted with obvious derision by the massed ranks, including the snide comment from Coo Chi Coo - "How much did your first divorce cost you?" Quick he is - nice he ain't.

Stash got the ubiquitous CCC in his next change but highlighting something that sounded utterly disgusting involving a mud filled drain, a rubbish tip, CCC up the side and Mr. Magoo on his knees. I leave it to your imagination. Mine has just packed its bags and gone on holiday to Bali.

The Mystery Mystery whip was delightfully comprehensible after the impenetrability of the proceeding charges. Swanky Poo produced a newspaper article that suggests that ogling big-busted women for ten minutes a day is better than a workout when it comes to maintaining longevity. She pulled in a couple of well-endowed representatives - shy and retiring Aftershock and - well - me, delighted to have the chance to maximise my assets. And guess who was called in as an example of a perpetual breast ogler. Yes, it was Coo Chi Coo yet again. This guy is becoming a legend in his own lunchtime. And, judging by his breast ogling propensities will live forever.

The tonsorially-challenged Rusty Twits rambled on about his on-going affair with the Pussy, told a long and old joke about - oh never mind - I want to go down the pub - and after some disconnected stuff awarded it to Lost Patrol for showing his legs. Or having a moan about his legs. Or something. Last week I was worried about what RT puts in his tea. Now I think he must be mainlining the stuff 'cos I haven't a clue what he was waffling on about….

I had many candidates for Prick of the Week. (You're just gutted that you couldn't give it back to the "Fuck Me" shoes thief aren't you? - Ed.) True enough, but in the absence of Indy I couldn't resist giving it to a kiasu Steptoe who tried to short cut at a check and then found himself having to ignominiously clamber over a bollock-removing fence in full view of a delighted pack. Spiderman, eat your heart out!
Ring Pull was getting a bit antsy at this stage having been out of the circle for about two minutes, so she went for the easy lay - sorry - way and called in the hares again for their short-long run debacle, the minuscule (yes, that is the correct spelling - look it up if you don't believe me, you un-Latin educated morons) towel, and the missing two hares Deep Valley and Nisam. And the fact that the showers cost three dollars. Moan moan moan.

AOB - A welcome almost-returnee Deep Throat had read an article stating that there are no more men in New Zealand. (Presumably the sheep fought back - Ed.) Rusty Tits was called in to represent the dying breed.

Rusty Tits refused to leave the circle and proceeded to join the ever-swelling ranks of those Philistines who insist on despising my creativity and delighting in pointing out my report inaccuracies. (The Old Farts are particularly guilty of this. Aye Aye was the critic this week. I don't know - you give these people a fleeting second of publicity and all they do is nag…) Anyway, RT said I didn't get it right with the Pussy last week. (Story of your life - Ed.)

Dirty Hacker got Molester for a farewell down-down, highlighting the fact that this new - and now old - boy had been in Singapore for 22 weeks and managed to do 37 runs. A convert, or what?
Phoney Dick may be over my taxi dtiver's age limit for sensible joggers but he proved there's life in the lascivious old dog yet by salivating over Jack Off's van. No, not literally, you fools. Over the fact that her van is obviously a passion wagon for illicit sexual encounters, complete with the requisite blinds to cover the windows. (Another quickie from Coo Chi Coo - "She used to have newspaper over the windows but we could read between the lines".)

Big Hammer wittered on about something to do with tyre dumping, the Straits Times, police and resetting a check. The circle were as befuddled as your scribe and he was forced to do a down down for his tortuous delivery. Oh yes - and because it was his birthday.

The guy with the hash name that even he can't remember - and certainly can't tell his mother - So C--t Chong (I think) had another weird tale about a boat he sails - called Simba - on which the crew wear taste-free t-shirts with "Serious Pussy" inscribed on them. So he called in Judy and Jack Off. Yes. Right. Let's move on.

And we did move on - to the on-on, at the poolside of the club. The food was apparently very good - certainly the carnivores at my table were pressing for seconds, thirds etc. Big Hammer was presented with a cake, in his face (oh what a wag you are, Dickless!) the hares presented the die-hards with beer - and Judy sang karaoke songs. And I got a long moan from So C--t Chong - who really wants another hash name. He thinks Jailbird is more appropriate. Ask him why and he'll tell you an interesting story….

A very jolly time. I was wondering how to get home (Oh go on - you were going to the Colbar - Ed.) when a gentlemanly Kiasu Lun offered his services. And a ride home. (Cheap joke - Ed.) You know, you're getting very intrusive. I don't think I'm going to let you into my newsletter anymore. (Sorry - Ed.)
So we got to the Colbar in the end and Kiasu came in for a drink. And got into National Service stories with my flatmate. These boys - what can you do with 'em?

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