Run No. 978

Date: 15 June 2001

Where: Dairy Farm Road

Hares: Pontianak and Flakey

Members: 36

Guests: 18

Virgins: 3

Visitors: 3

The Guys Who Eat Alligators For Breakfast  - Part 2. Hoping to make up for last week’s debacle, those pesky Seletar boys treated us to a re-run – and for the last possible time from this location as the highway was due to open the next day and running along it would not be too advisable. Before the run we were treated to the bizarre sight of Pecker Checker attempting to sex an immature cockroach that Barbarian had found in a drain. Well, we have to do something while we’re waiting around for the run to start, don’t we?  “It’s a female,” she pronounced. “Yes,” agreed Coo Chi Coo. “ It’s talking rubbish and wants to go shopping.” Ooh, how he gets away with it I’ll never know. Frontarse decided that he was going to extend his time in the circle even longer by having a pre- run circle in addition. He went on for so long with his announcements that dusk was rapidly falling before we even started off.  The run itself took in the bike trail, Bukit Timah Hill and the pipeline. My brother, Rubber Duck, said it was the best hash he’d been on in Singapore – he doesn’t see as much of that wretched hill as the rest of us. Still, it was a very well laid run with lots of good checks – a particularly clever one at the top of the hill that got the straggly pack together again. So they sort of got back a bit of street cred after last week.

Frontarse found himself slight lacking on the committee front and commandeered Dirty Hacker for beer pouring duties, which he did with great organisation and aplomb – and a bit of help from Mother Mary. And he called in the hares for the judgement of the mob – which was that they had given us a Good Run. Frontarse then, with the complete scorn for established order that seems to have become his trademark, went on to blither on about the upcoming footy match with Seletar. Anyway, the LCH3 team looks a bit skimpy at the moment, comprising Flakey, Shoeless, Fat Slag, Hand Job, Vietnam Rose, Frontarse, Ad Nauseam, Strapless, Loos Change (read on and you’ll see that the Spellcheck is actually quite perceptive) and Slocum. (Don’t you need eleven to make a team? – Ed.) Normally yes, but since the Seletar boys will never get anywhere near our goal, we’re dispensing with the goalkeeper…

“What about the on-on?” Warlike Talkie helpfully prompted Frontarse as he was going through this rigmarole. “Who cares? We know where it is,” was the snarled response from the GM. So he went straight on to next week’s run. Stiff sauntered in and announced Seletar Farmway something off Jalan Kayu, at which Barbarian threw his toys out of the pram and burst into tears. “He’s taken my run!” he wailed. “You can’t take my run!” Later on he and Stiff were seen in desperately serious fashion comparing notes of their trails, so hopefully that got things sorted out.

Frontarse was finally persuaded to let the rest of the circle in on the secret location of the on on – the Rail Mall.

Frontarse, as well as demonstrating his lack of memory of procedure, now proceeded to demonstrate that he’s not much cop at reading either. (Amazing he holds down a job at all – Ed.) Don’t be cheeky. He had the list of virgins and visitors but had a lot of trouble reading the joined-up writing. He struggled through the virgins – Ho, Bill and Mark – and played for time by getting them to introduce themselves as he attempted to decipher the names of the visitors. But no – it was beyond him. Stash, getting impatient, and with the bravado of an ex-GM, cried, “Do your job, you fucking bastard!” in whimsical fashion, and the GM whimsically put him on the ice. The visitors were finally revealed as Tight Arse, Riviera and Rubber Duck.

Frontarse went through his usual routine of asking me what came next and this time I decided that since whimsy was the order of the day, I wouldn’t tell him. Well, he has to learn. (You sanctimonious prig! – Ed.) So Barbarian hove into the circle unasked to present a grave charge. Apparently the GM ran off trail, shouted on on, and took a large part of the pack with him, thus buggering up the run. (A hanging offence, if you ask me – Ed.) I totally agree, and so did the rest of the circle, forcing the poor GM to sit on his own ice.

He finally got his act together and called in the Mystery Whip, who turned out to be White Chinaman, which always makes me groan as I have a lot of trouble making sense of his arcane thought processes. Anyway, his charges all involved strange women on the hash (Aren’t they all – Ed.) Some stranger than others if you ask me. Loose Change had been overheard describing LCH3 as the hash for the 50 plus men – age, rather than number. G-String was seen happily disrobing after the hash without realising that 15 foreign workers were being treated to sights unheard of in Bangladesh. And Strapless (Strange lady indeed – Ed.) was less interested in ogling the lovely ladies running past him that censuring them for racing on the hash. Lookalike for Hungry Bum was Pecker Checker (!)

Mystery Mystery Whip was a here-come-de-grudge Loose Change, but she had more on her mind than mere revenge as she called in Strapless to model her new shoes – in which he looked bizarrely comfortable. Then she called in Frontarse for bribing her with a water container on Wednesday (She comes pretty cheap, doesn’t she? - Ed.) and then snaffling her for the whip tonight by muttering desperately, “Have you got any?” Many cries of “Got any what?” echoed through the massed group. And Loose Change carried on to tell us an elevating story about rushing round to Iron Crotch's place to mend her toilet seat, at which she was flushed with pride. (Groan – Ed.) Then she had some gonad related charges for Titmouse, who was busy fondling his balls as LC walked past him as he was showering and Diskless for wittering on about wanting to give his snake a frog. All very strange.

Prick of the Week was Stiff, who's had it for so long that it’s broken. It obviously needs attention and he called in Hand Job and Pecker Checker to see what they could do. He decided that a hand job might do the trick – it works for him - so Hand Job got it. He also noted that she hadn’t even done the run but had been sitting in the kopitiam all the time. Anyway, she was obviously too full for the beer as she flung it over her shoulder, forcing a weeping Gypsy to sink to his knees and attempt to scoop up the wastage.

Hand Job was not wearing hash apparel, noted Frontarse, and also called in Iron Crotch, Pandora’s Box, Down Under and Fanny Flasher for the same crime. He tried to get Diskless but Dickless pointed out that he was actually wearing his Hash Hare as a codpiece, so there. He was hoping that a few people would fondle it. Then Frontarse decided he was in punishment mode and called in all the miscreants sitting down in the circle – White Chinaman, Lacy Lady and Shitstream. I was sitting in the wrong place again as Shitstream, ever shy and retiring, whipped off his knickers and flashed his (Don’t go on – please! – Ed.) All right, I’ll spare your blushes.

Time for a milestone. Frontarse wanted a woman – Zipp came hurtling in but Frontarse was fixed on Aftershock. He wanted her to have the first drink out of the tankard on her knees (All getting a bit kinky, isn’t it – Ed.) but she primly refused, and I have no idea what this has to do with anything as the award was for Hooray’s 500 runs. Now Hooray never pulls his card so he had only two things to say. “Actually,” said the venerable one, “it’s 900 runs. And thank you to the people who have pulled my card.”

Frontarse gave the icees down-downs to terminate their punishment, but the unwary WC threw his at the GM so had to stay there.

Frontarse called for AOB and Dickless strode in. He dragged in two 6ft plus hashers, Chastity Belt and Stuffy, and got the vertically challenged Coo Chi Coo to stand in between them, which was a funny enough sight in itself. He had read in the paper today that scientists have worked out that tall men live longer than short men. “So, “ he intoned, “let’s celebrated Coo Chi Coo’s last run.” All in the best possible taste. A good laugh had by all, anyway.

Not Tonight wanted Flakey and Barbarian in for being insensitive to virgins. She made them line up with the three virgins behind them to demonstrate how they held them up going up the hill path ‘cos they were too busy yakking away – apparently about Lick Neeson. (That’s what she said – honest!) Lots of Chariots of Fire style re-enacting from the boys in the circle. Flakey did yet another down down. “’Scuse me while I puke,” he groaned.

Then Flakey got in Tight Arse and Pontianak as Seletar representatives and put them on the ice while he explained the football rules and showed off the cup. Tight Arse dropped everything, showing us – well, particularly me, where I was sitting – exactly why he got his hash name. Vietnam Rose helpfully suggested that the Seletar boys start off at Muddy Murphy’s at about midday

Spiffy announced that the hash was getting old – everyone’s got Alzheimer’s, the GM can’t read his notes, and the 1000th run is coming up. He introduced the committee and announced that the registration fee is only S$30, with special black tee shirts for the first 5 to sign up. So my clipboard was flung aside as I sprinted over to get in there. (As if you need another black tee shirt – Ed.)

Fanny Flasher gives Coo Chi Coo as much trouble with her prolixity in the circle as I do with the circle report. She’s one of only two other people I’ve ever met who knows the meaning of sesquipedalian. She went on about the hash being a sensorial and aural experience. The circle scratched its collective head and looked stupid. Today she had been treated to tactile kinaesthetics (British spelling). The circle looked even stupider. Well, I knew what she meant but didn’t know where she was going with it. She wanted to talk about the smell of dried squid she experienced on the run, and blamed Pontianak for this. (Er – what? – Ed.) Don’t ask me.  She also called in someone she called Flanky – well, we knew who she meant – for doing something, and Frontarse for blithering on about the four tastes – salt, sweet, sour and bitter – and saying he was a salt man himself. I love it when he talks dirty – as I assume that was supposed to be. The circle obligingly tried to follow her drift, but I think had largely given up at ‘sensorial’.

Frontarse was loathe to get out of the circle, so after it was decided there was no more AOB, and Dirty Hacker was whining plaintively that he was hungry, Front Arse sternly reminded everyone that the highway was opening tomorrow so please remove all of your trash. So Gypsy – hidden reserves of strength, that boy – hove into the circle, picked up Frontarse – and deposited him in the rubbish bin, to an enormous round of applause.

If you have been reading this with any care at all, you would have noticed that Flakey – or Flanky – appears quite a lot. And had a lot of down downs. He lurched up to Shitstream as we were all milling around and slurred, “Lesh have a go on your bike, mate.” Shitstream unwisely agreed, and Flakey roared off down the new highway on Shitstream's beloved Harley. We thought we’d finally got rid of the old bugger, but miraculously he returned unscathed.

The on on at the Rail Mall was lots of fun and the food was great. Well done, hares – a good evening all round.

On on!

Black Widow