Run No. 955

Date: Friday 12 January 2001

Where: Bukit Batok Park

Hares: Phoney Dick, Gecko and Deep Throat – Birthday Run

Members: You try counting in the rain

Guests: ditto

Virgins: 3

Returnees: 2

I was late again but never mind – this was a short-cutter’s delight around around the park and the familiar bike trails of Bukit Timah. A good check gave you the option of being smeared all over the place by either a train or a truck, which I thought was very thoughtful of the hares. A quick prayer about not going up Bukit Timah and then back to the run site. Very pleasant all round. Unfortunately, God didn’t think so and showed his disapproval of the run by trying to melt the ardour of even the randiest hasher in one of the year’s most ferocious downpours. Ever-hopeful members raised umbrellas as morale sank under the deluge. GMs scurried about hopelessly trying to gather interest for the sodden circle but all the action was happening at the beer wagon where a large group of wimps were trying to give a new gloss to the old “How many people can you fit into a telephone box?” routine in a desperate attempt to save their expensive coiffeurs – yes – I’m talking about you, Gecko - and have a quick grope with the girlies – Loose Change, Iron Crotch and Hand Job were doing a sterling job of giving succour (I beg your pardon? – Ed.)  - er - ministering to the cold and bedraggled. I too kept myself warm by surrounding myself with warm flesh – at least until I found myself pressed up against a leering Molester who was attempting to justify his hash name, giggling all the while. Eventually a few hardy souls gathered around in a pathetic dripping circle as the lightning flashed overhead and Astronut attempted to bellow something over the ambient noise. I believe good run was the order of the day and Phoney, attired like a human condom, took the down-down.

Moving right along, a drowned rat-alike Ripper yelled his way through the first of the Mystery Whips to a distracted circle. The thrust of his complaint was a personal winge that everybody else gets down-downs for the birth of their children – even Wickless, who obviously doesn’t know when to stop – so why was he ignored? For breaking with hash tradition, he whipped the GMs, who fought a losing battle against the elements as their tankards got fuller rather that emptier as they valiantly attempted their down-downs. Then Astronut – sensitive as ever – noticed that it was raining a bit and – bingo! – came up with the original suggestion that instead of standing around in the inimical precipitation we should all decamp to the on-on and carry on there. He was talking to a receding array of backs as most people had thought of this first and were well on their way already….

 I was hoping to get away with a short one this week -  (You never had very high aspirations. – Ed.) so I arrived at the Ping Restaurant preparing to give my pen a rest – not that I could have held it anyway as I was numb from the neck down  (I bet all the boys tell you that. – Ed.) My my - aren’t we bitchy today… No, I was absolutely freezing but was well looked after by Deep Throat, who lent me a towel and a tee-shirt, and Jack Off, who manoeuvred my frozen fingers round a nice hot cup of tea. Feeling like a refugee from Bosnia I began to get some feeling back in my extremities – shut up, Ed. - and settled down for the food and the singing. But it was not to be, as after dinner, Astronut, finding himself in total control after Ring Pull and Free Willy decided to slope off for a romantic dinner together, dredged up his famed leadership qualities and continued the circle in the restaurant. It went something like this…

Hare Whip Phoney Dick – on fine form and in fine voice – has been fighting a valiant rearguard action against encroaching senility but this did not stop him attempting to select a scribe despite that fact that we haven’t had scribes for several decades. He tried asking So Cunt Chong, who was going away, and then Running Shit, who kindly told him to fuck off. In desperation he approached Kiasu Loon who made the very proper response of  - “What’s a scribe?” Look, he’s a relatively new member so what else do you expect? Kaisu was whipped for ignorance.

I reached into my bumbag and withdrew something nasty, limp and soggy – fnar! fnar! – which turned out to be the virgins and visitors list.  Unreadable, I’m afraid, although I do remember that we had some returnees in the form of Cupid Stunt and Amy, who were somehow overlooked in the melee.

We moved on to the Pussy for some reason and Dirty Hacker tottered into the limelight and presented it to a now family-less Molester, as no doubt he will need some female companionship. Although having seen his performance in the cramped confines of the beer wagon I’d say he can handle that sort of thing perfectly adequately, thank you…

Of course, many beers had flown under the bridge at this stage and things were rollicking along quite nicely until it was time for the Pisstery Mystery Whip who turned out to be Corny Linguist – for some reason welded to his handphone. In his question-and-answer session with the mysterious other on the end of the line he managed to witter on about someone on the hash complaining about little prickles, and Japanese hashers wearing different colours to show their level of sexual arousal. (So what does pink tell us about Diskless? – Ed.) This went on for – oh, about twenty minutes or so - until a concerted cry of: “Bring back Sybil!” was raised and Corny disappeared under a barrage of flying towels. Suddenly the offending handphone rang (thank you, Chastity Belt) putting us out of our misery and we finally got on to the charge whatever it was. Astronut decided to translate, but even so I couldn’t work out if Warlike Talkie or Swanky Poo was the one having trouble with little pricks, and then G-String came in because she’s a Nip, and told us that wearing red means you’re ready for hot torrid sex complete with lightly oiled handcuffs and a tub of peanut butter. Degenital was wearing red so he was grabbed for a down-down for being ready for it. There was some attempt to drag me in for my borrowed tee-shirt but it was only half red (Does that mean you’re half ready for it? – Ed.) No, I mean all I need is one handcuff and half a tub – I’m very easy to please…

Flakey was keeping up an ongoing barrage of flak at this point, but undaunted, the Scottish git carried on and entered into another involved story involving lost shoes – a reference to Quicksand still having Beta Bitch Indy’s from last week’s debauchery at Astronut’s place and Indy having to run in an inferior pair. After an interminable bit of shoe swappery, Corny Linguist left the stage. It was now about 4 a.m.

Astronut aroused himself (Now you’re being personal! –Ed.) – let me finish, will you? – from his slumbers and called in the venereal – sorry – venerable Dirty Hacker and Mother Mary for having survived eleven years of being shackled to each other. They obviously have one of these modern relationships as they celebrated their years of married bliss by doing down-downs with other people - Hacker with Zippo and MM with Gypsy.

AOB – Phoney, three sheets to the wind and smiling benignly at all – hove into the circle. “When I –“ he intoned sonorously and then paused. “When I –“ he started again. The hash helped him along by rousingly continuing with  “ The Old Cotton Fields Back Home” at great length. Finally, he managed to continue. He wanted to make a point about the new hash signs, lovingly crafted in Titanic-like proportions by Wong Way. Long Dong inveigled his way into the circle which was rather unkind on poor old half blind Phoney as he was dressed identically to Long Dong and went some way to proving that – yes – they do actually all look alike. Phoney was totally befuddled by seeing double and in the end had to blearily accept a down-down from the GM for getting it all wrong. And staying with the Titanic metaphor he charged Gecko with breaking one of the signs on its maiden voyage. Gecko blamed Hand Job for arousing him so much in the back of the beer wagon that he broke the sign in a fit of passion.

The slightly dodgy Astronut vocal cords started protesting at this point and he went all soprano again as he squeaked for any other other business. We all kindly pretended not to notice. Flakey came to his rescue with an almost linguistically clever – if contrived – story that encompassed social comment, geography and endurance. Yes, really. He informed the ignorant that in Liverpool the unemployed collect their benefit in the form of a Giro cheque. One of our number, from Liverpool, was wandering around Africa and decided he could collect a cheque by climbing to the top of Mount Kilomangiro. Geddit? Well I did, but it was hardly worth the wait. Shoeless was duly charged.

Astronut finally remembered the cause of tonight’s shenanigans and called in the birthday people – Phoney, Gecko and Deep Throat for their down-downs. Of course, DT outdrank the boys with one hand tied behind her back and was daintily strolling back to the table while they were still working their way through the amber fluid with bulging eyes and distended throats.

Indy had been saving her little bit of vitriol until the end. Earlier in the evening several of us had been mulling over the somewhat outré goings on at Astronut’s party, to which Astronut kept accusing us of making it all up. People naked in the pool? – Yeah, right! Indy losing her g-string? – Come off it!  Everyone going home in someone else’s shorts? – Pull the other one! Poor old Astronut doesn’t remember a thing except his mother phoning at some stage and him burbling incomprehensibly across the miles. Indy got him for his lack of Grand Masterliness in losing the plot at his own party.

Then it was back to the serious business of drinking. Phoney, Gecko and Dirty Hacker contributed to the riotous nature of the proceedings by getting the singing going – and if Phoney couldn’t remember any of the words – well – what are birthdays for? And Aye Aye, whom we all know likes to come from behind, broke his own record by turning up at 11.40 p.m. Then lots of people staggered on to Muddy Murphy’s. “I’m only going for one,” said Beta Bitch primly. And if you believe that – you’ll believe anything. (She got home at 5.a.m. – Ed.)

On on!

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