Run No. 983

Date: 20 July 2001

Where: Jalan Tapisan, off Choa Chu Kang Road

Hares: A whole load of Shits – Running Shit, Shit Stream, Dog Shit, Pig Shit, Shit Fit

Members: 49

Guests: 24

Visitors: 2

Virgins: 5

  

A huge throng gathered at the run site – people were really crawling out of the woodwork for this one  - and they were well rewarded. The Shit family had worked hard and presented the pack with a super run through heavily paranged jungle trails and back-breaking drains, excellently kept together by clever sweeping from the hares, notably Crooning Shit at the back. And one of the most innovative giveaways in years – the doggy hats which Dog Shit modelled in the circle last week. And didn’t we all look silly wearing them in the circle? I wonder what the clients of some of these respectable doctors, lawyers and captains of industry would say if they could see these illustrious ones on a Friday night.

 

At the run site I amused myself sorting out the cards, and told everyone not to bother as I had pulled them already. (Only thing you ever pull these days. – Ed.) Big Hammer declared that he was obviously getting old, as he hadn’t noticed. Har har!

 Enough of this forced frivolity. On with the real stuff.

 

Indianus was on her own in the limelight this week – and made the most of it as the circle lasted over an hour. Phew! Firstly she called in the army of hares  - cheap bastard Bully tried to force an instant hash name change to Bullshit in order to get a free beer but was unceremoniously bundled out of the circle. (An opportunity missed. Bullshit suits him much better. – Ed.) - and much as they wanted the Hash Shit there was no way the crowd was going to accommodate them – and Good Run was the universal call. Rooming Shit announced the on on at Karu’s Curry in urbane fashion. “Plenty of head, plenty of fish – what more do you need?”

 

The ice was looming threateningly, and Indianus decided to impose order on the unruly gang by focusing on a talkative Jack Off. Realising it would be cruel and unusual punishment to prise her away from Slocum - (That would require a surgical procedure. – Ed.) - she called him to the ice as well. Jack Off sat on his knee. All together now - aaaaah!

 

Now it was time to announce next week’s run, but not before Beta Bitch got her pound of flesh by recounting a story about poor old Mr. Magoo. He had injured his leg running in KL on the Ball Breaker weekend. He was supposed to recce with co-hare White Chinaman but was so wimpy that they had to recce by car. All together now – aaaaah! Anyway, the run is in Changi Village and the on-on is on the airport runway. Or maybe he said Airport Restaurant. You figure it out.

 

Indianus suggested that Jack Off and Slocum should be allowed off the ice, but the unforgiving circle refused to countenance this so they had to stay while she worked her way through the virgins, so to speak. And what a lot there were. Scott, Song, Dean, Bjorn and Camilla – whom the GM inadvertently introduced as Kamala, causing loud protests that one was quite enough, thank you. The visitors were Cockeye and Shiggy Piggy.

 

New Member Max was welcomed, and forced to park his member on the ice recently vacated by the Velcros. 

 

We had the voluntary Hare Whip next and – what a surprise! – Rooting Shit leapt into the circle. He prowled around the crowd looking for some hapless Thai representative. Poor Tam, a visitor, was hauled in. His charge was that the Thais had been inefficient in producing the doggy hats, taking over a month to do it. And going on about the hats, he called in Sad Bastard, who had collected them in Bangkok, and the heroic BC, who had sewed on all the patches – a mammoth operation for which she deserves a medal.

 

RS then dragged in his co-hare, Pig Shit, aka Barbarian, who was seen bounding along at the front shouting “on-on!” – even thought he was a hare.

 

Indianus remembered that the run was celebrating something more that the Shit Family bonding session, and called in Shit Fit, whose birthday it was. How old are you, Shit Fit? Fourteen, he replied. No, dear boy, you merely act it…. Jack Off presented him with a 1000th run tee shirt and he gamely sucked it all in and did the off-off thing.

 

The vigilant GM noted that Mr. Magoo and Ugly Bum had been nattering away so they were iced. Mr. Magoo took his punishment like a man, and Ugly Bum used the increasingly common practice of sitting on the guy’s knee. Now come on, girls – whatever happened to equality? Anyway. Mr. Magoo didn’t seem to mind as he got a dreamy look in his eyes and started fondling his umbrella handle in suggestive fashion. He was also presented with his hare hat by the GM. Some wag suggested the tonsorially challenged Mr. Magoo looked good with hare. Hare/hair. Geddit? Oh, never mind. Ugly Bum got out of danger pretty quickly, but Mr. Magoo remained willingly on the ice rather than face a jealous Ad Nauseam back in the crowd.

 

Now we had a Mystery Mystery Hare Whip – the irrepressible Pig Shit. In a totally unprepared  (Ha! – Ed.) manner, he expounded on the fact that people who have a long association with animals often grow to look like that animal. It has also been said that you can tell a person’s job from the way he looks. Crowbarring these two ideas together with an audible thud, he went on to expound that you would get a person who looks like the animal or fish associated with his job. (Er? – Ed.) Don’t worry about it. He then said – and I quote from his notes, “With that in mind I would like you to tell me what industry this person works in and what animal or fish you would associate with him.” He then distributed photographs of a certain not-entirely-anonymous maritimely-inclined wee hasher giving an unmistakable impression of a fish in labour. “I was eating,” protested the piscine Coo Chi Coo, but was drowned out by the howls of laughter from the masses. “He looks like a grouper,” declared Barbarian. “Looks more like a groper to me!” added Shit Stream nastily.

 

Mr Magoo was finally allowed off the ice and limped off into the crowd, nursing his war wound. But Indianus had noticed a whole gaggle of private partiers – Pontianak, Peanuts, Suzee Wong, Lacy Lady and Wonky Poo. There were so many of them that they couldn’t all fit on the ice. In the end Pontianak offered to sacrifice himself – although it wasn’t that much of a sacrifice as he got Lacy Lady on his lap.

 

Now you’d think this would have been quite enough, but no. This circle looked set to last rather longer than World War II and your war correspondent was beginning to develop writer’s cramp. Poor old Bagless was severely under strain as he laboured manfully with his beer distribution and had to call for more supplies. And  we had only just got as far as the Mystery Whip. Not Tonight hove into the circle and started complaining about hash etiquette - or the lack of it. The hares had set a good example of chivalry helping people in and out of drains and over barriers. But there were many infringements. Bully wouldn’t go into the drain as he “didn’t want to get his feet wet” - and Kiosk Lun also avoided it as he “wanted to keep dry.” Now to be known as the Wet and Dry Boys. Her second charge was to Skidmark, who bellowed “on-on!” in the drain so loudly that she had nearly lost an eardrum. What was the point of that, she wanted to know, when you could only possibly go in one direction. Then Speedy Tits got out of the drain by standing on Sherpa’s head. And Gerard was so busy shouting, “Trip! Trip! Trip!” that he went arse over tit himself. Ho ho! Down-downs all round.

 

But she had to give credit where credit was due and mentioned the gentlemanly Stuffy who heroically aided many timid souls into the drain. I can attest to this as I was one of them. But Stoopy was far too busy having an incredibly protracted private party to even notice the charge and had to be physically hauled away and placed on the ice. Running Shit called for equality – after all Stumpy hadn’t been nattering to himself – and dragged in the protesting Peanuts and Suzee Wong to share his fate.

 

Mystery Mystery Whip was Chastity Belt. He wittered on for a while about famous couples, Bill and Ben – (He’s showing his age. – Ed.) - so are you – Laurel and Hardy, Marks and Spencer etc. I think we all knew where this was leading. Yes, it was the large, slow moving target of the Velcros, who as well as having the habit of wearing the same tee-shirts are now both sporting his-and-hers knee bandages. All together now – aaaaah!

 

Secondly he called in Ruining Shit for doing a Flakey – I’m leaving, no I’m not, yes I am etc. Down-down for indecisiveness.

 

A virgin, Song, was brought into the circle where she awaited her fate with trembling anticipation. Was there anything wrong with her, he asked. Looked perfectly normal, we thought. But she wasn’t the target – it was her partner, Dean, as he had run past her at one stage and inquired solicitously, “Big fat bum, how are you doing.” Down- down for unchivalrous behaviour. And he had to sit on the ice as Beta had spotted him using a hand phone earlier. The poor virgin just didn’t know any better, but he was punished anyway.

 

Indianus called in Tight Arse to be congratulated on the birth of his son.

 

The Prick of the Week was awarded by Jack Off. She firstly picked on Running Shit. This was because he was helping her out of the drain and suddenly ejaculated - (I beg your pardon? – Ed.) - you’ve just got a dirty mind – suddenly remarked, “I’m holding the wrong arse!” Or what about Diskless, the great macho pansy, who despite his huge musculature couldn’t pull himself out of the drain without help? Nancy boy Wickless was voted the recipient by popular acclaim, despite his feeble protests.

 

Finally time for AOB. Corney Linguist was first in. His wife was washing his hash gear (Still living in the Middle Ages then? – Ed.) and found some alien shorts. - No, not that sort of alien. - He waved the fetching little black item of sportswear tantalisingly over his head and was rewarded by an embarrassed Iron Crotch desperately trying to retrieve the shorts by jumping up at him like a demented puppy. He put her out of her misery in the end and returned them but she had to do a down-down. CL wasn’t finished, though, and zeroed in on Sad Bastard for giving the entire road a full flash of his fundamentals as he was changing before the run.

 

And poor virgin Dean was still on the ice at this point and turning a peculiar shade of blue, but he managed to escape in the melee as the circle fragmented to make way for a sodding great lorry thundering through.

 

AOB – Dog Shit called in all the people who were actually wearing their doggy hats as they were to be given an extra goody – a rubber elephant key ring that does something absolutely disgusting with its bottom when you squeeze it. Think of the Shit family and you’ll get the idea. 

 

The circle had gone on for so long that we had actually run out of softies, but that wasn’t stopping Coo Chi Coo and his ongoing quest to highlight the more improbable items in the national press. This was an article in the Straits Times on teenage sex in Britain and the myths some girls have about avoiding getting pregnant. For instance, you won’t get pregnant if you close your eyes while bonking. Sad Bastard suggested that he always closes his eyes as he doesn’t want to see what he wakes up next to. Then it got increasingly bizarre as the next myth was that you should stand on telephone directories and drink milk while having sex. Ripper unkindly suggested that it would stop anyone getting pregnant with Coo Chi Coo as he couldn’t reach. Then there was the myth that after sex you should jump up and down. CCC doubted the veracity of this as he said girls always jump up and down after sex with him, crying ecstatically –“You were fantastic! (In his dreams! – Ed.) It was all getting decidedly down and dirty, with various hashers yelling all sorts of mean things about how to not get pregnant, such as being as ugly as Bullshit or as rotund as Barbarian. Anyway, as representatives of pregnancy-avoiding aficionados, Beta Bitch and moi were down-downed – which was about the only was you could get a beer at this stage. 

 

And that was largely it, with hordes of rabidly famished hashers descending on Karu’s like a flock of starving vultures. Thank, hares, for a truly memorable run, great giveaways – and the longest circle in living memory.

 

On On!

 

Blur Window

 

PS – The plastic elephant with an anal problem was such a success at the Colbar last night that one of my mates – who is certainly old enough to know better – managed to explode its expanding bum. I was then treated to the edifying sight of four experienced and revered educators, including a university professor, trying to stuff the shit back up the elephant’s arse - sadly, to no avail. My elephant now has a terminal case of piles…

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