Run No. 994

Date: 5 October 2001

Where: Fort Road

Occasion:  -

Hares: Forest Cunt, BC

Members: 62

Guests:  24

- Returnees :  -

- Visitors :  4

- Virgins : 9

It was the week of the R(A), X-rated circle, what with Indianus practising for her next career change - “Just call me Lulu – I’m your personal lap dancer” - and more naked male bums around than in the shower room on HMAS Sydney. (How would you know? – Ed.) – Don’t underestimate me, matey.

More of the smut later.

Firstly, it was the regular stuff. Frontarse called in the hares and asked for comments, which were pretty mixed, but overall it was considered a good run for the area. The on on was announced at the Hua Yu Wee seafood restaurant – one of our favourite haunts from the eighties when there were a lot more runs from the East Coast area as it hadn’t completely turned into condoland at that stage. I seem to remember that we were banned from there once – a vague memory about a large wooden antelope is lurking at the corners of consciousness. Can anyone enlighten me?

Next week’s hares are Iron Crotch and Hand Job. They were duly given the hare hats – Hand Job has apparently turned into a man for the occasion – she got a blue hat anyway. And very fetching it looked, too. The run is at Margaret Drive and the on on is at Iron Crotch’s house.

A whole load of virgins wafted in – Andy, Kevin, Steve, Kamita, Pauline, Frank, Barry, Thomas and – er – Gweneal. Honest, that’s what it says here.

And an enthusiastic Quicksand was so busy trying to sell tee shirts to the virgins as they hotfooted it from the circle that I had trouble hearing who the visitors were – about as much trouble as poor Bagels was having keeping up with the beer flow, washing the glasses, adjusting his apron etc. Indianus came in to give him a hand, but I realised later it was just because she had worked out the advantages of being positioned by the beer table – best view of the icees and whatever they wished to flash. And she had a cunning plan, having already picked out her hapless victim. But first, the visitors: Tambourine Man from Bangkok, Ben and Dieter from Scotland and Blah Blah from Tokyo Ladies were welcomed to Lion City.

Back to Indianus’ plan. Shamelessly using an innocent Footrot as part of her devilish scheme, she hauled him into the circle, protesting mightily, and insisted that he go on the ice for keeping up an incessant chatter. But, of course, she was far too humane to expect him to suffer alone. Who should keep him company? Her beady little eye fell on the likely shape of macho virgin Gweneal. (That surely can’t be his – or anyone’s - real name? – Ed.) Doesn’t seem likely to me either, but there you are. Gweneal showed himself to be a sporting type and followed Footrot’s lead and dropped the lot, so we at the beer table got bums in stereo. Anyone of a nervous disposition should stop reading right now…. Crazed by the sight of a pert little pair of masculine buttocks – Gweneal’s, not Footrot’s - Indianus threw caution – and self control – to the winds and leapt on the poor chap from a great height in flagrant lap dancing mode - swinging one leg over in proprietary fashion – and exposing enough flesh to prove that - yes – she was just wearing a g-string. Now my granny used to tell me that you can do anything you like in public as long as it doesn’t frighten the horses – and I swear I could hear a wild terrified whinnying all the way from Kranji Turf Club. People averted their gaze delicately from the simulated rumpy-pumpy. Indianus wrapped her legs round the innocent, did a bit of bumping and grinding, and suggested that the rest of us could go home.

Thank God it was time for the Mystery Whip. Frontarse decided to keep it in-house and do it himself. (Is that 'cos he’d forgotten to appoint one? – Ed.) An ignoble thought, even for you. He called in Maxipad, who had just signed up for the 1000th run. He had told his wife it cost $40 but in fact paid $50 and she wanted to know why the difference of $10. “Extras,” he suggested. So when she saw that the receipt was signed by Hand Job, well, you can fill in the rest for yourself.

On to the Prick of the Week, which was Halfpenny. She’s been living with the sex toy for a week and every night she finds it on her pillow. She thought it was her landlord – Frontarse – playing tricks on her but it turned out to be the maid – obviously very concerned about her sexual well–being.

She also recalled her party last week – Indianus came in S & M mode wearing very little – Halfpenny told her that if she didn’t pull in that gear, well, there was no hope for her. (So did she or didn’t she? – Ed). Dunno, but she was certainly going for that guy on the ice as if she was well in the mood. I’m saying no more.

The next victim was Stuffy, who had gone round to Indianus’ place for a 1000th run meeting. Couldn’t get any reply to the doorbell so went round the side to call her on his mobile – and was treated to the sight of a naked Indianus sprinting out of the shower to answer the phone in her seeable-into living room. Well done Stiffy, but I don’t think you’re the first.

Going back to her party last week, it was her birthday and Popeye had produced the ingredients for a Seletar type “cake” - you know the type – flour, raw eggs, cocoa powder, golden syrup – all mixed on the person of the unlucky recipient. Well, Coo Chi Coo – having told his wife he was “just popping out for some milk”- turned up for a swift half at this point – and got covered with the cake mix. “Ah, what the heck,” he thought, and stayed for a few more – arriving home four hours later looking and smelling like a wino refugee from Skid Row. I believe he’s being served with the divorce papers next week.

Footrot was dragged in for eying up the visiting hunky Froggy male hashers snootily and declaring that they were not that good looking, a bit podgy etc. Halfpenny dragged out a couple of representatives and got the guys to compare their bodies to Footrot’s. The strain of holding his stomach in caused him to turn a bright shade of purple while huge veins throbbed in his neck. Indianus was rushing round checking the semi naked visitors like a whippet on heat as the two Froggies displayed their six-pack bellies. Bully added an ironic factor when he tried to join in.

Finally, Halfpenny called in the hare. Forest Cunt had been talking to someone rather senior to him at the LTA about setting the run. How was he arranging to get the time off, he was asked. “That’s okay,” he replied, “I take every Friday off.” Good thing the recipient of this potentially explosive piece of information was the urbane and humane Ripper.

After a round of voting from the floor, Footrest Cunt was given the Prick.

Frontarse called in Andy and Blah-Blah to drink from their new shoes. It was all getting pretty noisy now – the circle had been going on for a while - so Indianus called in the venerable Dirty Hacker to sit on the ice, joined yet again by Footrot, and also Puss in Boots who had to sit on Hacker’s lap.

More ˝ keg people were announced – Puss in Boots, Mr. T, and Long Dong. Corny Linguist proudly announced that the beer is being subsidised by Brewerks.

Slightly different order of things this week as now it was time for Indianus to present the awards. Ad Nauseam got a tankard for 300 runs, and White Chinaman got one for 200 runs.

And there was a leaving down down for one guy – Mark Fellows - who didn’t even stay long enough to get a hash name.

And time for AOB. Coo Chi Coo, of course, came in first to add a bit more to the party cake story. He was in the loo trying to get all the gunk out of his hair – eggs, cream, hundreds and thousands etc – and the mess was collecting in a gooey technicolor pile in the basin. Another guy comes in, takes a look at the unholy mess, and enquires, “What an earth have you been eating?”  (Yuck! – Ed.) That was why he had to stay for 4 hours – he had to wait till his clothes dried. Yeah, I believe it too.

On more award to come – to Long Dong, Wong Way – er – Long Way. Oh, sod it, it was 50 runs for one of them (I think it was Long Dong. – Ed.) and the other one came in the circle as a lookalike. Or vice versa.

Last bit of AOB as Delegator tells tales on her co-hare as he made her pay for all the beer on the recce. Cheap bastard!

The on on was well attended and the food was the usual high standard of this eatery. Thanks to the hares for a good evening.

On on!

Black Widow

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