Run No. 936

Date: 1 Sept 2000

Where: Chestnut Avenue

Hares: Banjo, Free Willy and a rubber Crocodile

Members: 47
Guests: 14
Virgins: 0
Visitors: 1
Returnees: 2

The Ice Man Cometh.

Remember the film "Groundhog Day", when the protagonist had to live the same day over and over again? Well I had a feeling of terminal déjà vu doing the Banjo Bailey Memorial Chestnut Avenue Run for the third time in as many weeks. Yes, we've done it forwards, backwards, and this time sideways - and I'm not talking about my sex life here.

The run took the pack on an endless lope around the reservoir, enlivened by a couple of hepatitis-inducing swims, one of which I remember had Mandarin Lau in extremis many years ago and put him in danger of an untimely and watery demise. No hilarious events of that nature this time round, although judging by the shrieks of terror at the sight of the mock-croc at a particular stretch of the trail, many of the fairer sex were close to expiring from a fit of the vapours.

And thanks for the short cut at the end, boys. Even I (and about thirty others) knew this one.
At the run site, I was delighted to find that a certain amount of linguistic scholarship is making an appearance, what with people giving me their own favourite "big words" to put in the report. Actually, chaps, very good of you and all that, but I think I'm handling it. Still, it's nice to know that even benighted Australians like Horse's Arse are keen on a bit of upgrading. So now you know what apoplexy means, HA.

Astronut was determined to restamp his authority on the circle after a week's absence and unilaterally declared that this was a "Good Run", whilst incomprehensibly moaning that we were having too many of them nowadays. Free Willy announced the on-on at The Charcoal Grill.

Bingle Virus is setting next week's run all by herself at Macritchie Reservoir. It's also going to be her leaving run. This was announced by Ring Pull to the resounding cheers of the sympathetic crowd.
Returnees these days seem to be people who just haven't bothered to turn up for a bit, so Machine and Barbarian were welcomed back. Gypsy was punished for his comment, "I didn't run last week - can I be a returnee?" by being dragged in to do lookalike duties for a strangely absent Barbarian. He took his role seriously too, by doing something inelegant with his shorts, adopting Barbarian's idiosyncratic gait, and providing the circle with an instantly recognisable impression of the cheeky little chappie himself.

Endless talents, that boy. Should be on the stage.

The still unnamed Inga was punished for deciding it was all too much for her and sitting down in the circle. The following cross-cultural exchange took place as she baulked at drinking the requisite beer.
Free Willy (in best down-home boy accent): "Smaawl" - Translation for people who speak English - "It's small." (Are you sure he was talking about the beer? - Ed.)

Inga (with Kraut incomprehension): "But I always smile!"

Yes, we're a cosmopolitan lot. Talk to any six people and you can be misunderstood by at least five of them.

Since Banjo was one of the Hare Whips, he used his prerogative - and his hands (that's called a zeugmatic construction, by the way - just thought I'd pass it on) to haul in two lots of ice for this bit. If you were lucky you got to sit on the slab on the chair, otherwise you were relegated to the cheap seat on the ground, which consisted of haemorrhoids-inducing cubes. Banjo wanted to whip Pick Up, who was supposed to set the run, said she couldn't, but ran on it anyway. In her absence, the much-picked-upon Ingot was sat on the slab. "I always smile," eh? Not any more!

Careless was done for private-partying and lifted his sarong gleefully to lower himself onto the cubes. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you, but the night would bring much worse. Enough to give strong men nightmares when Barbarian - but that came later…

Free Willy put his accent into overdrive in telling a story about how polite Septic Tanks are always told by their Moms "nart ter pee ean thur pewl" - whatever that means. Something to do with water, I think, as the thrust of his peroration (Sounds disgusting! - Ed.) was that Big Hammer had taken this a bit too seriously by stopping for a trackside piss immediately before the first swim which was in a bloody huge reservoir. Well, Big Hammer is like a Red Setter puppy - ever so willing and quite appealing, but a bit short in the brain cell department. I think he was probably just trying to flash the big hammer to a few passing chicks. Anyway, this led to a bit of a dilemma since both ice venues were occupied, but BH showed himself to be not without a certain low cunning and sat on the Croc, who was being a bit quiet for a whip.

Careless was now allowed to rise, and pieces of ice cascaded from his lower regions with a resounding tinkle. "Hey, a piece is missing!" announced resident wag Coo Chi Coo. No guess for the comments about where it had come to rest…

Barf Wader was whipped for treading on Croc's nose. She did not give an unseemly display of her bits.
Unfortunately, Barbarian, who had finally emerged from the darkness, did. He apparently had called "On Paper!" when he was nowhere near it, but the charge is irrelevant in the light of the haste in which he gleefully dropped his tasteful trews and gave the circle an enormous flash of milky white arse, for which I was unfortunately sitting right in the - er - firing line. It was only through great dedication to you, dear readers, that I was able to carry on with the task of scribing at all. And when he was finally allowed off the ice he spent an inordinate amount of time covering himself up. Oh, you exhibitionist you!

Mystery Whip Falsies suggested that half the fun came before the hash when Kiosk Loon distributed a load of condoms - or was that tampons? - to the members. Or for the members. And there was some story about jugs on the run that had led GM Ring Pull to announce that the only jugs anyone would be seeing on the run would be hers. Coo Chi Coo showed his snide side now by shouting "Espresso Cups!" for which he was duly iced. For flagrant crocodile mistreatment, Free Willy, Banjo, Barf Wader and Big Hammer were forced to do penance. Croc did not seem any the worse for being stuffed with toilet paper, filled with alcohol, stepped on and sexually abused, although he did have a look of surprise on his little latex face…Faker was apparently supposed to be the Mystery Whip but - as usual - was just faking it and pulled out at the last minute. (I thought that was her husband's job - Ed.) A lubricious Coo Chi Coo was desperate to offer her his seat - or any other part of his anatomy, come to that. Even icing the little member's little member has no effect on the vertically-challenged one's rampant libido.

Mystery Mystery Whip was an oh-my-God-I-forgot-so-I'll-just-make-it-up Gecko. He called in Bully. On the marathon stretch round the reservoir the boys had a bantering exchange of the "Why are you always behind me?" variety. Gecko courteously replied that he was going to rescue Bully if he had a heart attack to which Bully's response was "Why don't you just give me a blow-job?" Too horrible to continue - I need a reviving glass of something quickly…Ah, that's better.

Then Gecko wanted a lawyer - Boo - but in his absence Strapless stood in. Boo had to do a 23-point turn at the end of the road to park his enormous flashy motor and Gecko had asked him why he had such a big car. Boo's reply was that he paid the same for parking etc. so might as well have more bang for his buck. ("He gets banged for a buck?" someone cried, green with envy.) Don't worry - you had to be there.
Prick of the Week was presented by White Chinaman in the absence of Tiptoe. He meanly took Banjo to task for being so fossilized in his hashing that he is unable to set a run anywhere else but Chestnut Avenue despite the fact that he doesn't live there anymore. Associate hare Croc muscled in on the act and gave the Prick a blow-job in the circle. Gracious and cultured as ever, aren't we.

Ring Pull pulled her alpha-female I'm The Boss bit and announced that the new street directories are out and she's selling them and if we don't all buy one too bad because only the new map references will appear in the newsletter. Yes, ma'am. She's struck a good deal though, 'cos if we buy them through the Hash, twenty-five percent of the proceeds go to charity, so remember to bring $13.20 next week - or is it the week after? - I can't remember.

AOB - TI Joe wanted to blow his own trumpet by calling in - hopefully for the last time - the self-aggrandising show-offs who completed the Hash (Let's Run-Through-The-Jungle-For-Nine-Hours-And-Call-It-Fun) Challenge. (Your jealousy is showing - Ed.) Do you really need me to name them all again? Oh, all right, I'll give it a go - Strapless, Lacy Lady, Careless, Barbarian, Machine, Quicksand, Front Arse, Comes Alone, Skidmarks, Sherpa and Ming. The chorus from the admiring crowd went along the lines of "Stu-pid! Stu-pid! Stu-pid!" TI Joe informed the heathen mob that one guy who completed it was seventy-five years old, at which news the chant changed to "Sen-ile! Sen-ile! Sen-ile!" And the hash song went "Here's to dumb fucks, they're true blue…." Nothing if not supportive, us. Astronut called TI Joe back and charged him with using up all the hash beer on the "stupids."
Now I'm into the twilight zone of hash scribing since I can't read a word of the next page of scribble, so if it gets surreal, please be kind.

Ring Pull called in Strapless for the free headbands (So that's what the condoms/tampons were - Ed.) handed out at the start of the run. She had a feminist grouch about the fact that these were Monday Hash headbands, obviously "designed for Monday hashers with tiny brains who are so narrow-minded that they refer to women as unmentionables". Ouch. A rain of the despised headbands now bombarded the circle. I wore one for a while and now have no feeling below the ears. (And not much between - Ed.) Bugger off.

Two committee members are leaving us and need to be replaced - DingleVirus and Pussyfoot. (Resounding cries of "Who?") There'll be an EGM in two weeks to vote in replacements. Don't all offer at once or we'll have to bring in crowd control to manage the throngs who wish to partake in the glory of being on a hash committee….

Astronut called in Inga who is also leaving. She was still looking a bit damp around the posterior region from her stint on the ice earlier so the GM had the bright - duh! - idea of naming her on her last run. I quite liked Cold Cut but in fact Cold Arse got the nod. Cold Arse then got Astronut to do the chilly balls bit - which he didn't seem to mind at all - and then snuggled onto his lap and edified us with a story of how she used to be a virgin before the hash but is now very experienced.

The circle dispersed at this point and a few of us partook of a last coldie before drivelling off to the Charcoal Grill. Big Hammer asked me what the thing round his neck was. This guy is obviously away with the fairies most of the time, as he had no idea that it was one of Zipp's little hash name thingies. And he couldn't remember who gave it to him. "It was someone with black hair," was the best he could do. Then he confided to me that he couldn't see a thing without his glasses. "Why don't you wear them, then?" was my obvious retort. Apparently they fog up when he gets excited. Which he does a lot. He said it - I leave the rest to your dirty little speculative minds….

And compliments to the hares for the excellent food at the on-on. I only eat about once a fortnight so I was grateful. The Charcoal Grill has a special resonance for me as many years ago we had to stop going there for a while. This was after a particularly memorable incident involving yours truly, a table full of glasses and a spirited rendition of the Sperm Whale song. I'll bet some of you remember it. And no, I'm not going to do it again. That was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away….This time we were sober and restrained - honest.

And the Old Fart correcting me this week was Ripper - but he said he'd kill me if I called him an Old Fart, so I'd better not mention that.

Time for the Spell Check. Shame I haven't been able to mention Boggles in the newsletter - the Spell Check loves him. (You are so obvious - Ed.)

On on!

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