Run No. 954

Date: Friday 5 January 2001

Where: Pasir Ris Park

Hares: Astronut and Poser

Members: 52

Guests: 21

Virgins: 234

Visitors: 5

New members: 1

 

No one would think from the sorry turn out at the run site at six that hashers were supposed to know their way round every nook and cranny of Singapore. Oh no, with the confidence of supreme ignorance the majority of the pack had been circling Pasir Ris like Alzheimic homing pigeons before finally deciding to call the Hot Line and finding out that – duh! – Pasir Ris Park has more than one car park. And as for Deep Throat (Leave that for later – Ed.) – yes, let’s go back to the beginning….

 

After a while, various embarrassed types managed to find their way to the right place and off we set as the sun was sinking in the west - (Stop exaggerating, it’s too obvious – Ed.) Well, at about ten past six then. Satisfied? Nice bits of the park followed, then bits of urban greenery, housing estates and then – don’t ask me ‘cos I decided to head back at about seven, thus missing the ‘regular’ run that came in at about half past. For which I was very grateful.

 

Nice to have a full contingent of Bitches back with us – Alpha and Beta swapped sex and weight stories (too much of both, apparently, and in some very peculiar places too – the sex I mean – the weight went on in all the usual areas), and Alpha took her accustomed place in the centre of the action as Astronut called the circle to order. Alpha, of course, weighed in and took over, as Astronut - as a hare - could hardly be called impartial in asking for opinions on the run. The circle awarded the good run accolade and Poser announced the on-on at the Pasir Ris Seafood Restaurant not a million miles away, and for the hard-core, the on-on-on at the regal couple’s sumptuous abode nearby.

 

Next week’s hare is Phonetic Dick, whose 96th birthday it is. Dragging his remaining brain cells into a semi-functioning - if tiny - cluster he told us that it would be at the corner of Bukit Batok somewhere and somewhere else. Helpful.

 

Alpha Butch decided she’d been away too long and needed to impose her stamp on the proceedings so, blithely ignoring visitors and guests alike, she moved straight on to the Hare Whip. Later she told me that this was at Astronaut’s request. Maybe he could already feel his underpants riding up (see last week) and was trying to get his major duty out of the way before he started going all soprano again.

 

But before he could get on with his moment of glory, Ring Pull made an impassioned plea for hash signs as they’ve all gone walkabout. Stalwart Wong Way leapt into the breach and offered to make some more, and was thanked with a down-down.

 

Now it was Astronaut’s turn. His first charge was to Crooning Shit, a hasher of some charm but with an unerring instinct for shooting himself in the foot. The hares, it seems, were lurking at the first check and were delighted to see RS sprinting off in the wrong direction ejaculating loudly (Is that legal in public? – Ed.): “It always goes this way”. In the absence of RS, who had no doubt slunk off in embarrassment, Ulay Man did lookalike duties.

 

Now I wouldn’t know Ulay Man if he wore a stuffed chicken on his head and danced the polka, so I am indebted to Zipp for all her running about on my behalf finding out who said what, people’s names etc. Normally, I’d just make it up, but Zipp had looked at me pointedly before the circle and extolled Pecker Checker’s Harriets’ newsletters because: “She always writes down exactly what happens”. Taking this as a criticism of my more er – creative - take on things, I resolved to try and get things right this time…

 

But I digress. Back to the baritone-voiced Astronut.

 

His second charge involved Indecent Exposure, some cake (which she had kindly brought from Germany) and a large knife, which he proceeded to wave about in a threatening manner. “Now we know why her husband is named Armless”, he intoned. “Better than Dickless!” various wags responded. The real Wickless, being used to all this low attention, didn’t turn a hair.

 

Before the circle, I had been getting increasingly panicky calls from Deep Throat, who was ricocheting round Pasir Ris trying to find the run site. For some reason, Astronut called her into the circle, which was a bit daft really as it was then revealed that he had told her to go to the wrong MRT station. Derision –  well-deserved - from the circle and a down-down for the Whip.

 

Alpha Botch was getting a bit fractious on the sidelines so hove in again to call in the Virgins – Peter and Paul. They were in need of a Mary and Ring Pull seemed happy to oblige.

 

Now Alpha got caught in a bit of a loop as she called in the visitors and demanded desperately from each one if they were from Perth. I don’t know - maybe she’s travelling there and wants somewhere to crash or something. Anyway, the visitors were Peter, Rod, Janet, Seaman Stains and Ulay Man - who wasn’t wearing a stuffed chicken on his head. Some or all of the above may be from Perth.

 

Returnees were Captain Red Arrow (present) and the Phantom (absent – or possibly just wearing a cloak of invisibility).

 

And the circle gave a desultory welcome to new member Front Arse, whom everyone thought was a member anyway.

 

Mystery Whip Foo Foo sidled into the circle carrying a sinister bag (Not his wife surely? – Ed.) And you call me obvious! They contained his new shoes, as yet unworn as he didn’t want to risk the usual punishment. However, he noticed that Slipstream had new shoes on the run tonight, so he allowed SS to break in his new ones, thus avoiding soil disease, rabies, liver flukes and all the other delightful hazards of drinking out of muddy shoes. He went on to castigate the shortcutting bastard he was running behind who never calls. Yes, it was the ever-silent Mandarin Lau. (He’s actually a Trappist monk – Ed.) In his absence, Wong Way was lookalike. And finally he brought in Quicksand for expostulating that a queer – sorry – weir met on the run was “curvy-wurvy.” Look, I’m just reporting what was said as Zipp ordered…

 

Dear Astronut. My friend had already informed me that was tons to write up tonight, what with three mystery whips and a raft of awards to present. I think he thought this would cheer me up after my complaints of last week, but actually, old son, I was talking about quality rather that quantity. So now we came to the awards section, and Alpha called in Zipp for a very much-delayed 100 Runs (But hasn’t she been hashing for about 40 years? – Ed.) Anyway, she’s already received the tee-shirt but the slavering circle would not allow her to slink off with her trophy without the customary baring of flesh so a garment was hastily acquired and Zipp – who had unsportingly donned a bra just in case – did the strip.

 

Aye Aye was hailed for his dogged 350 coming-from-behind appearances and given his Singer of the Year Award as well. Alpha Bitch demonstrated that she likes her men helpless by swaddling him in his tee-shirt Armless fashion and forcing him to do his down-down in this demeaning pose. No Good was also awarded her 350 tee-shirt but made such a meal of stripping off that it was only the very real threat of being molested by Free Willy that forced her to flash her underwear.

 

The final two awards were presented to Indianus for Run of the Year and Hasher of the Year. Beta Bitch had been too busy bonking in southern climes to attend the dinner dance to receive the awards (shame!), but instead of being nonplussed, embarrassed or discomfited, she paraded her Fuck Me shoes with pride and a smug little smirk. Mine don’t work, Indy – I want a refund….

 

Mystery Mystery Whip time, and Aye Aye came into the circle again. He was full of ire about the cock-up with the Xmas post, decided it was Santa’s fault, and got Bully as a lookalike. Then he needed a Scotsman and a Jap for a rugby story. The Scotsman was easy enough – the hash is riddled with ‘em – and vertically-challenged Coo Chi Coo stood in as a Nip. Aye Aye just wanted to extol his country’s prowess at tossing their oval balls around (!!) and suggested that the Nips could improve if they started eating neaps and tatties rather than rice and sushi. What this has to do with the hash I have no idea but – hey! – who cares. Finally he wanted a Welshman, and Phoney Dick, looking like a new man after getting rid of the hairy caterpillar under his nose, came in. We all know Welshmen drink too much, he intoned, but now they have a new way of drying out. Yes, apparently the new sport in Wales is to shove yourself into an industrial tumble dryer, turn the temperature to “HIGH” - and see how long you can take it before your brains are sautéed. (And no wonder we won’t give them home rule! – Ed.)

 

Mystery Mystery Mystery Whip (gasp!) was the vocally superior Captain Red Arrow. Sybil yelled out: “Too many Scotsmen”, CRA threw his toys out of the pram and called for Kamala to do a down-down for interrupting the Whip, and eagle–eared Astronut forced CRA to do one himself for not remembering Sybil’s hash name. (Don’t you think you’re getting just a little bit too old for this sort of thing? – Ed.) Oh well, what else have I got to do on Friday night? (Or any night for that matter – Ed.) Oh bugger off! Let’s get back to the Whip. He launched into some long story about the history of the combustion engine (These engineers never realise when they’ve lost their audience – Ed.), the upshot of which was that King Leer has still yet to recognise that engines need both oil and water to run, thus explaining his car’s - er – stationary aspect at some stage on his trip back from Phuket. Well, he’s only an English teacher after all.

 

Now the next story involved the Tanglin Club New Year’s Eve celebrations where King Leer – I think - was banished to the kitchen for playing the spoons, but then the Fairy Godmother appeared and waved her wand and – oops! – sorry – wrong story. Bully was banished to the kitchen as well for lifting up Beagles’ kilt to have a quick look at his tackle, any way. These boys!

 

Finally Aye Aye had a go at Gypsy for complaining about his Trihashalon announcement at last weeks’ circle. What’s he got to complain about? demanded Aye Aye. What sort of a hasher is he anyway? Doesn’t run, doesn’t drink… Perfect! cry the committee – and he pays his subs…

 

Pussy of the Week was Phoney, who managed to drag in the only person on the hash older than he, the venerable Dirty Hacker, who had left his Zimmer frame and ear trumpet at home this week. Phoney commented on the deteriorating standards of the Hot Line – no more painstakingly chosen music – and decided that Hacker needs a perk up. Sybil offered to oblige at this point and Hacker proved that he can move fast enough if he has to – backwards…. He was grateful to accept the Pussy instead.

 

Ring Pull finally called in Deep Throat to accept the good wishes of the hash for her 29th birthday. DT made her customary short work of the down-down. “Age has not withered her nor custom staled her infinite capacity…” (Shakespeare, you morons…Antony and Cleopatra Act IV Scene iii)

 

Then it was off to a thoroughly riotous on-on where the singing started early and continued long, various newbies were dissuaded from dropping their shorts, and towels flew at objects of derision. All the old ones came out – but there’s no way to persuade me to do Irian Jhaya in January when I’m off the lubricating nectar. We were eventually asked by the exhausted staff to please move on which we did to the hares’ home and their amazing hospitality. Beer, wine, whisky and in my case, water, flowed in copious amounts, Captain Red Arrow gave us an impromptu concert during which everyone discovered they couldn’t remember the words to any songs at all (it’s dead sad to see middle aged people scratching their heads and trying to remember the second line of Puff the Magic Dragon), there was orgy on the lawn with Faker at the bottom complaining about grass stains, and various people got nekkid in the pool. Now I know the topography of Shitsteam’s and Flakey’s arses in far more detail than I ever wanted to, believe me! And some one made away with Beta’s g-string while she was in the water, making her predicament similar to, but far worse than, the girl with the itsy-witsy teeny-weeny yellow polka dot bikini. I think I actually saw Indy looking slightly less than her confident self as she piteously begged for the item back. “I’m getting cold!” she whinged. Anyway she spent so long in the water that her lift went off without her, with her bag, keys etc. and she had to beg a lift from Flakey back to Front Arse’s place. I begged a lift as well, which was probably a mistake as I never really expected to see Tomlinson Road from that direction - (Hey, you promised not to mention the driving on the wrong side of the road bit! – Ed.) Look, I’m just trying to live up to Zippo’s lofty ideals of verisimilitude. (Look it up, CCC!)

 

Thanks, hares, for a thoroughly entertaining and  – er- memorable evening.

 

On on!

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