Run No. 964
Date: Friday 16 March 2001
Where:
Muddy Murphy’s
Hares: Flakey, Stiff and Depositor
Guests:
15
Visitors: 9
Returnees:
2
Ah, the Oirish Run. I don’t know how much you remember about Friday’s incident-filled St. Patrick’s Day run and on-on, but it was certainly – er - different from the usual. The run itself had a slight touch of the deja-vu stuff about it if you’d done the Wednesday jaunt – this one went the other way round, in the main, starting off down the long drain and heading off toward the Botanic Gardens after the Sultan’s palace. Flakey, resplendent in orange wig, was particularly proud of his punning drink stop on the island in the Gardens. “Welcome to Ireland,” he repeated significantly to anyone who would listen. “Island. Ireland. Geddit?” Oh yes, Flakey, we got it. And then he plied everyone with the most toxic –looking green stuff, which actually tasted quite nice - just as well really, since only about half of us actually made the drinks stop so we had to double up on the amount. Then it was a short lurch back to Muddy’s and the circle in the upstairs bar. A good run for the area, everyone thought, even thought the pack got rather spread out – and we managed to avoid the hornets this time around…
Astronut called in the hares – he was having a bit of trouble competing with the music from the loudspeakers but boldly carried on against fairly bad acoustics and the fact that the rowdy bunch who couldn’t cram into the rather confined space just carried on private partying at high volume. Not easy being GM sometimes. Anyway, Good Run was pronounced and Flakey announced the Irish stew on–on. (“All the foot-and-mouth you can eat,” declared the ebullient CCC.)
Next week’s run was announced by Vietnam Rose. It’s at Sime Road Cemetery and the on-on is at the Dutch Club. But we’re not allowed to go swimming, apparently. Rose is thoughtfully providing 15 sailors for the occasion.
Ring Pull now had her go at overcoming the ambient noise factor as she called in zillions of visitors. Judy from Melbourne, Ball Breaker, Big Ears, Maggot and Goh from Sunday, Henrik from Monday (ptui!), Cindy and Wet Wet Wet from Kampong – and Paul from God knows where – he wasn’t saying.
Returnees welcomed in were Prosperous Chicken – still looking prosperous – and Peanuts.
Flakey did the first Hare Whip. He wanted the Shit family out in force, so Running Shit, Shitstream and Dog Shit nervously entered the arena. And they were right to be nervous, ‘cos Flakey had worked out a way of getting rid of the rest of the noxious green liquid. He made some spurious connection between said liquid – now distributed between three plastic bags – and shit – (I’m glad my shit doesn’t look like that – Ed.) but the whole point was that the Shit family had to down-down the lethal cocktail. Showing an inventive flair in the different ways they attacked the problem – after all, drinking from a plastic bag ain’t easy, you know – they proceeded to spray it all over themselves, the circle, the hare, but mostly the floor - but I think they managed to imbibe about a pint each of the concoction. Shitstream proved to be the most adept at the task.
Flakey’s second charge was a grave one. Someone had enjoyed the previous session on Wednesday just a bit too much and didn’t actually make it to work the next day. Front Arse proved to be the wimp in question.
Hare Whip No 2 now muscled in on the act. Stiff grabbed the rather quaintly attired Flakey for commenting at the drinks stop on a peculiarly dressed child, obviously oblivious to the ironic fact that he wasn’t exactly looking entirely sensible himself.
Ring Pull hauled in Poser for 350 posing events. Now I know the tee-shirt was too big, Poser, but at least it had the right numbers as it was one that never got awarded for some reason. Anyway, after much persuasion by Gypsy – he was doing the presentation as it would have been just a little cosy for hubby Astronut to do it – she stripped off to a very revealing Wonderbra. Gypsy then unsurprisingly refused to give her the tee-shirt, giving her a chance to pose for a good length of time and chase him round the circle. She was so exhausted by her display that Gypsy had to finish her beer for her.
Time for the Mystery Whip. Suzee Wong only had one charge which was that Hand Job and Delegator went off to their favourite coffee shop on Orchard Road instead of doing the run – a charge that they emphatically denied – but - hey! – this is the hash, so who cares…
Mystery Mystery whip was the indefatigable – if occasionally forgetful - Phoney Dick who had already had three pints of Kilkenny’s and was feeling no pain. He complained that he hadn’t had any warning and was late for the run anyway – all of this in a very silly Irish accent. So he told a joke instead which I won’t bother to repeat here but did involve dramatic actions on the part of the heroine – one Brenda O’Malley – being performed by an overly enthusiastic Sybil. Her idea of playing the grieving widow is to wail loudly and pull up her blouse. If you have imaginations fevered enough I’m sure you can imagine it for yourself. No, better not – could give you nightmares.
Ring Pull sadly parted with the Prick of the Week. She had several candidates, including Depositor who was leading the pack at one stage and drawing attention to the fact – not a course of action to be advised for one of the hares. Stash was also noticed for allowing his two guests to do the suicide leap into the ditch when there was a perfectly easy way down a little further on. But she wanted to stick to the new idea of giving it to a woman and now the new Prick is so – er – hard and solid it would need an Iron Crotch to appreciate it.
Pussy was not there, so it was straight on to AOB. Sybil came in to demand justice for someone but honestly at this stage the noise level was pretty horrendous and I have no idea. Strapless was got for phoning his wife to tell her about the run, no, he wasn’t drinking, yes, he’s be home soon etc. etc. Delegator called in Shoeless for something, Phooey reminded people of King Leer’s party, and Cornet Langouste called in Comes Alone and Pecker Checker for having a wet tee-shirt wringing-out competition at the end of the run but being beaten by visitor Rob, who proved himself to the the King of Sweat. (Pretty disgusting! – Ed.)
It was all going severely pear-shaped and impossibly noisy by now, so it was with thanks that the circle folded and we got on the the important business of the night which was being as typically Irish as possible and all getting merrily slaughtered. The free beer upstairs held out really well and after that ran out many moved downstairs and eventually inside for the dancing. There it degenerated somewhat as the evening progressed - bodies crashed, glasses smashed, people threw up and a fight broke out outside. (Usual night in an Irish bar, then? – Ed.) To be sure, to be sure, to be sure…
On On!
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