Run No. 987

Date: 17 August 2001

Where: Sembawang CDANS Club (Old Fern Leaf Club)

Occasion: Indonesian National Day

Hares: Bagless & Gypsy

Members: 45

Guests:  15

- Returnees : 0

- Visitors : 0

- Virgins : 1

 

An interesting run over fairly unfamiliar territory – I will mainly remember it for my flying dive into the tarmac, which left a fair amount of skin stuck to the gravel. Thanks to Death Wish 4 for the impromptu first aid back at the run site, since the first aid box didn’t seem to be around.

 

And for some reason the establishment allowed us to use their showers but didn’t want our sweaty –or even showered- bodies infecting their swimming pool. Troublemaker Rooming Shit seemed set on flouting the rules but was persuaded against it. Troublemaking was on the cards for most of the evening.

 

In the absence of both GMs we had an old-economy style circle, with Astronut doing stand in duties. And with a mischievous while-the-cat’s-away smirk, he asked the circle to vote on whether they wanted the ice in the circle or not. It was a fairly convincing – er – well let’s not put too fine a point on it – unanimous vote against from the mutinous horde. Insurrection in the ranks!! Having got the ice out of the way, Astronut called in the hares. Gypsy came in disguised as Tommy Suharto–cum-Grouch Marx. Beagles came in disguised as Michelangelo’s David. He’s really far too attached to that anatomically flattering apron. What did the multitude think of the run? Just showing how fickle the mob can be, there were huge cries of  - “Ice the bastards!!” Saliva was obviously a little unsure about the process of voting ‘cos after voting against she tried to bring an ice stand back into the circle. “I just like causing trouble,” was her feeble excuse.

 

But the crowd was only jesting. There was a call of Good Run, and Gypsy announced that in honour of Indonesian National Day the makan would be Indonesian and would be provided by another manifestation of Tommy Suharto, this time disguised as Mr. Ho. And lots of free beers were promised.

 

Next week’s run was announced by Ditch – who seemed a little uncertain about where it was going to be - or how to pronounce it. The hash kindly corrected the idiot boy. We all know where Lorong Sesuai is – even if he doesn’t.

 

Things were falling into disarray here as various committee members both in and out of the circle tripped over each other, groped around in bags for cups and hats and things – and generally showed we would have a lot of trouble organising the proverbial piss-up in a brewery. Astronut finally located a hare hat for Ditch – lucky it was a blue one, but with Ditch’s insatiable and peculiar affection for lurid shades of pink, maybe I should rethink that.

 

Following the old-economy bit, I fancied my moment of glory back in the circle as well, so I shouldered Poser and Saliva aside and threw myself into the circle to welcome the masses of visitors and virgins. Hah! One virgin, Julaina – and no visitors at all. – or at least, Ripper said they’d all run before. Ayam Kampong was welcomed as a new member. I had three milestone awards to give away but they’d all gone. Thus my moment of glory evaporated in about fifteen seconds.

 

One farewell – although she seems to have hundreds of them. No, this time we really have got rid of her, folks. Warlike Talkie was sent off to Dubai with the customary song.

 

Straight on to the Mystery Whip. This was White Chinaman, who had witnessed my flying forward somersault with two twists with great hilarity. I needed to try the Indianus training regimen, he suggested. Three beers before the run and a packet of fags – and she never falls over. Not fair, says I, having been totally unbeered and unfagged at the time. Still, I got charged with unsuccessful training methods.

 

His second charge was against Faker – the one Indonesian on the hash and she forgot her own National Day.

 

He brought up a really old grudge charge against Walkie Talkie. It’s obviously been festering for months and he realised that this was his last chance to bring it up. At their Christmas party WT, Careless and drunken guests had been hooting and hollering, roaring out Christmas carols – and basically behaving like a load of irresponsible teenagers. (Like the rest of us, then? – Ed.) Unfortunately, the neighbours were none too impressed and complained about the racket. Warlike Talkie and Careless replied in terms that made it abundantly clear what they thought about the neighbours concerns. I believe the epithet - “F*$#  off!!” was employed. So what was the problem? One of the neighbours happened to be White Chinaman’s boss! Walkie Talkie was punished for her lack of consideration.

 

Mystery Mystery Whip was Stuffy, who was particularly miffed at Ripper, who had started the run two minutes early. Ripper blamed Gypsy, but that wasn’t really Stiffy’s charge. No indeed – Ripper had immediately pounced on the wheezing, breathless, trying-to-catch-up Spiffy and asked him to whip. “But I’m right at the back! I’m not prepared!” complained Stiffy. “Just make it up,” soothed Ripper. “That’s what I always do…” A well deserved down-down for that.

 

And while he was wheezing his way to catch up with the pack he passed a sweeping Gypsy, who tried to engage him in conversation. Getting no reply from the about-to-expire Stuffy he got thoroughly upset. “Not talking tonight then?” he sulked, like a slighted prima donna. Down-down for trying to engage a terminally breathless runner in frivolous conversation.

 

He finally picked on Faker for giving a fine example of pole dancing at the poolside. The drooling masses asked for a repeat performance.

 

Prick of the Week put in an appearance. Zipp produced it and then made a great display of her apparent inability to work out its methods of operation. (A likely story! – Ed.) Mother Mary, she of the boundless realms of experience, kindly offered to help. Anyway, Zipp wanted to focus on the lady hasher who stripped off down to her undies in the shower and then realised she’d left her bag in the car and had to beg someone to fetch it. But she then revealed that the naked one was Walkie Talkie. Those of you who run on Wednesdays will know that she’s already managed to send the Tits to Dubai and Zipp was concerned about the same thing happening to our revered Prick. So she had another suggestion. How about giving it to the snitch who ratted on Walkie? That would be Halfpenny. Halfpenny got it by popular acclaim.

 

Stiffy came in to do his 1000th run spiel. Over 100 have registered so far and 17.5 barrels of beer have been pledged.

 

We were moving along at a cracking pace, straight on to AOB. Running Shit got the hares into the circle. He came over all Churchillian. “Never - ” he intoned, “ - never in the field of hashing has there been a pool that we’re not allowed to use.” Gypsy protested that there was a swim on the run, so who needed the pool? Protests ignored. Gypsy and Bangles – guilty as charged.

 

My charge was next. During the run I received an embarrassing confidence from Ditch, which he made me swear faithfully I would never divulge. So of course I was dying to spill the beans. I had commented on his fondness for the lurid, day-glo pink shorts he habitually wears on a Friday. I made some remark about them being – a bit – well – girly in my opinion. “That’s right,” he said sheepishly. “They’re my sister’s.” (He apparently makes a habit of dressing up in sis’s clothing then? – Ed.) I wanted to follow this up but then I went head first into the concrete. “Don’t ask him about his underwear,” begged Coo Chi Coo, obviously worried where this charge was leading.

 

And a final bit of AOB from the leprechaun himself.  Coo Chi Coo was running behind Faker and noticed she had a water bottle tucked down her shorts. He wanted to thank her for her thoughtfulness, ‘cos CCC had found out that he could peer down it and “see all the way to Slipstream’s playground.” You know, they say that the average man thinks about sex roughly every two minutes – I don’t think they’ve factored our own horny little devil into that equation somehow. Every two milliseconds, in his case.

 

Then it was on to the on-site on on outside Jimm’s pub with copious amounts of beer and impromptu karaoke for the late stayers. Thanks for a great evening, hares, but Ayam Kampong still wants to know what happened to her Reeboks, last seen outside the ladies’ loos…..

 

On On!!

 

Black Widow

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