Run No. 976

Date: 3 June 2001

Where: Pasir Panjang Village

Hares: Vietnam Rose, Wong Way, Pontianak and Long Dong

Members: 36

Guests: 18

Virgins: 4

Returnees: 2

It was a run of two halves, the first being a stroll down memory lane through Haw Par Villa and the next being – well – South Buona Vista Road. All of it. And it was very similar to the Kampong Hash AGM run, which led to lots of gratuitous short cutting. Some of the pack assembled back at the run site were slightly less than impressed. So you’re all setting a run soon, then?

Not a very appreciative circle was called to order in the rather cramped car park by a solitary Front Arse, who made a delightful pig’s ear out of his first unaccompanied GM outing, and then tried to cover up for his ramshackle performance by suggesting that he knew what he was doing all the time and was just playing around with the usual order. Yeah, right. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. Anyway, he called in the hares, who were duly insulted by all and sundry, and declared it a Hash Shit, but on what technical basis I’m unsure. He looked around in a confused fashion as he desperately tried to remember what came next. Vietnam Rose seemed serenely unperturbed by the Hash Shit, and announced the on-on at the 228 Restaurant around the corner without waiting to be asked. Then the GM called for the Hare Whip, despite the fact that he had abolished it at the last committee meeting. I could see the way things were going and settled down for a long night. (*Hare Whip is on if requested by the hare – the other Ed)

And the ice loomed threateningly.

Vietnam Rose chose to return to tradition and as Hare Whip called in one of her co-hares, Pontianak. She wanted to thank him for all his hard work in changing the run from the one she set for the Kampong Hash. (Eh? Looked pretty much the same to me – Ed.) I think he added a check or two, but since no one did them – oh well, let’s not be picky.

Front Arse called in the virgins – Larry, Matt, Melvin and Cheeda. Visitors from Seletar hash comprised Bollocks, Pontianak and Shiny Helmet. Melvin hadn’t been listening and had to be called twice so he was the first victim of the dreaded ice.

I had the feeling that Front Arse was missing something. (Half his brain cells? – Ed.) “Next week’s run?” I hissed. Aha! Light dawned. Next week’s run will be run #977, was about the best he could do. Vietnam Rose disagreed. Rash, impetuous thing! He didn’t have much information, but at least that bit was correct, and Rose had to place her posterior on the chilly stuff, giving everyone a flash of her g-string at the same time.

Front Arse called in visitor Marc for not arriving on time but doing the run anyway. (Eh? – Ed.) Seems odd to me too, but that’s what it says here. He joined Rose on the ice.

“What’s next?” asked the frantic Front Arse desperately. I could have been mischievous here and said “any other business” - but I took pity on the poor sod and suggested that it might be time for the Mystery Whip. In came Big Hammer, whose first charge was one of these technical ones all to do with timing. It seems that at 6.23 he was with Boo and Mandarin Lau at Vigilante Drive – they went off to check up there and didn’t get back till half an hour later. What were they doing in that time? Big Hammer’s tone suggested that he thought they were up to no good. No, No Good, I’m not talking about you.

His second charge was also about timing. When he arrived back at 6.29 (Short cutting bastard!  -  Ed.) Faker was the only other person there at the run site. Hubbie Shitstream didn’t arrive back till 7.05 and then he was surrounded by lovely ladies – Lacy Lady, Quicksand, Lumberjack and Jack Off. Looks like Shitstream had more luck than Faker, said the self-deprecating Yank.

Front Arse had noticed that Boo was clutching the doomed Pussy so decided that he might as well award it as not much else was happening. Boo wanted to award it to Quicksand’s two dogs, who were taking a great interest in the happenings in the circle. Quicksand dragged them in but at the sight of Boo they cowered pathetically and tried to run away. (Who doesn’t? – Ed.) Didn’t help that the assembled multitude exhorted the poor canines to savage Boo with friendly cries of  “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

Mystery Mystery Whip was the ever-chauvinistic Coo Chi Coo, who strolled in with a witticism about dogs in the circle. “I know dogs in the circle aren’t allowed,” he said, “but on Fridays we just have to put up with them.” Geddit, ladies? Subtle as an air raid, that one. Anyway, so bloody predictable that no one even groaned. So he carried on about his favourite subject – sex. One woman on the hash was panting away as she ran and claimed that it reminded her of sex, and she hasn’t panted that way in a long time. Amid huge protests, he called in Ugly Bum and Ad Nauseam – well, it was Ugly Bum doing all of the protesting, but to no avail whatsoever. Who gives a stuff if it wasn’t true? This is the hash, remember. Ad Nauseam, who has made his loathing of the ice so well-known that he has made himself an instant slow-moving target, did the gentlemanly thing and sat on the ice while his still-protesting wife kept her knockers – sorry, knickers - dry and sat on him.

Coo Chi Coo went on the remind everyone about the wince-inducing bollards we had to negotiate in the Tiger Balm Gardens. “I can’t get my leg over,” complained Crooning Shit. The sad bastard was iced.

Finally, Coo Chi Coo shared with us the changing times we live in. Nowadays you can get absolutely any thing in a petrol station – except it seems, things for your car like fan belts and windscreen wipers. As he was in one for lunch, buying a tuna sandwich, some M and M’s and a Cornetto, the server asked him, “Would you like any petrol with that?” And in KFC they ask if you’d like a large coke or a handphone. Stick-in the mud CCC would like everything to stay the same, so he pulled in a representative Singaporean – Zipp – to take the blame.

Front Arse was desperate to continue the circle as he could see his moment of glory coming to an end, so he grabbed virgin Matt and Peanuts for lolling around on the bonnet of a car for all the world as if they were attending a Roman orgy. After installing them on the ice he obviously thought he’d like to go back to the beginning of the circle and start it all again as he went back to welcoming some returnees. Murkury and Barf Wader hove into view. “I don’t want to sit on the ice – I don’t like getting wet,” cried Barf Wader. “That’s not what you told me,” retorted the irrepressible, my-mind’s-in–the-gutter-and-it’s-going-to-stay-there Coo Chi Coo.

Front Arse complained that his voice was getting sore as it was the most he’d said in the circle all year. (Hasn’t had much of a chance with Indianus around. – Ed.). And he then proved that he really did want to go back to the beginning and start over by calling in the hares again. No, he hadn’t actually lost the plot, but wanted to give them down-downs for their various birthdays and anniversaries that were the occasion of the run. People wanted to know how old Rose was. “From the back I look twenty one,” intoned Rose. Oh dear, trouble brewing, thinks I. “And from the front….” she continued  - “101!” interrupted Stash, taking his life in his hands.

Front Arse, chortling away, declared how much he loves virgins (Enough about his personal life – Ed.) – no not like that – or at least- not in this case. He loves virgins ‘cos they never learn. And he dragged in Matt again because as soon as he had been released from the ice he had gone back and lolled on the car again.

AOB was called for, but no one seemed to have anything to say, so Front Arse came in again and used a big word. Someone wants to amalgamate (ooh!!)  various hashes or something and pursuant to this is organising a Seletar v. Lion City football match on June 21. Flakey was iced for this for some reason and Rose did the biz with his shorts so we all got an unwelcome view of his bum. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you. Sybil got jealous of all this fondling and jumped on poor stricken Matt, who is probably in therapy now and will never join us again. “I’m not married,” she screamed. Matt passed out. Flakey had to do his down-down through the Rubber Chicken. And then limped off the floor frozen limbs flailing.

Coo Chi Coo walked in and announced, “ I’ve got Indy on the phone and she says, ‘Get out of my circle’.” Front Arse looked terrified for a moment before realising it was actually a joke.

And Lumberjack was hauled in for her farewell down-down. “I hear it’s seal-clubbing season in Norway,” was Flakey’s tasteless comment. And just to make sure the acrimony was flying truly indiscriminately, Rose suggested that as Front Arse and Quicksand live just round the corner we should all go to their place after the on-on. They looked somewhat less than thrilled by this suggestion.

The on-on was just next door and was a lot of fun, as the the booze and conversation flowed merrily, even though it’s not an ideal venue if you want to get some singing going. Thanks for the run, hares – it was good fun seeing Tiger Balm Gardens again. Reminds me of my youth. (Which one? – Ed.)

On on!!!

Blind Winker

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