Run No. 995

Date: 12 October 2001

Where: Car Park opp Queensway Secondary School actually on Margaret Drive (for all of you who got lost out there)

Occasion:  Irresistible Urge meets Impenetrable Object = Falling Objects

Hares: Iron Crotch, Hand Job and Loose Change

Members: 50

Guests:  18

- Returnees :  0

- Visitors :  2

Well, we’ve done this run backwards, forwards and sideways in recent months, but some good checks kept the pack together most of the way round the prison, the golf range, the flash houses around Bishopsgate, round the back of the embassies, through old Mindef territory, up Ridout road – and home again. The run was enlivened by the hares giving us all a good flash of their abundant melons towards the end - for which the pack was very grateful. More food back at the run site – were they trying to get out of arranging the on on? 

 Anyway, full of watermelon, curry puffs and bonhomie, everyone declared it a good run, and Iron Crotch, Hand Job and Loose Change made short work of their down downs. The on on was announced, to no-one’s surprise, at Samy’s Curry, Dempsey Road.

 Next week’s run is being hosted by a whole raft of hares, announced So Cunt Chong. He’s roped in Chastity Belt, Kiosk Loon and Gecko to help him out. We’ll all probably need about three days to get there as it’s right at the end of Lim Chu Kang Road – see details at the start of this newsletter. So Cunt Thong thought I looked as if I needed cheering up as he says that the Kittyhawk will be in town and promises a gazillion of fresh sailors.

 Frontarse then welcomed a couple of virgins – James and Kumaran.

 He wanted to welcome a couple of refugees – sorry – returnees from Indonesia, but one of them – Captain Red Arrow – still hadn’t finished beautifying himself so Fat Slag had to drink alone.

 Indianus was prowling watchfully for private partiers and her eyes – or ears – lit on the ebullient Loose Change. “I don’t care,” smirked Loose Change, tossing her golden curls as she defiantly took her place on the ice, together with her partner-in-crime, Steptoe. It was all full of decorum after last week’s flesh feast – all I got was a quick flash of LC’s g-string.

 Moving briskly along, it was time for the Mystery Whip. Delegator waltzed in and impishly charged Chilli Balls and Saliva for crimes that were so terrible she wasn’t going to repeat them. Hmm – difficult to get any mileage out of that, then. She ratted on her hubby, Dogshit, for eating before the run. “What’s wrong with that?” asked a bemused Dogshit. And she finally called in Fat Slag for fanning himself on the run and thus spreading his BO around. – Hey, I think we were all in a similar state, Delegator.

 Mystery Mystery Whip was the stoic and unflappable Steptoe, newly released from the ice. Indianus, who had left her brain in park somewhere, looked stunned. “Shit!” she muttered “I asked him to be Whip and then I put him on the ice. Ooops!” Steptoe’s not one for cheap revenge, however. He very properly called in Mr. Magoo, whose last run this was as he is leaving, and Any More, whose birthday it was. He made some ribald remarks about bonking to celebrate special occasions, but this was just so that he could segue into the next charge. “Amazing what people will do for a bonk….” - pause - “isn’t it, Gecko?” People snickered nastily at the newly wed and expensively rejuvenated one. Certainly it was about time that someone pointed out his ever-changing hair colour. Gecko waltzed in, and it was his turn to toss his golden curls. Steptoe told us that he realised he himself was getting old when the girl he was with sat up and complained that he was going grey. (Does Hungry Bum know about this little episode? – Ed.) Oh, there you are – I thought you’d gone away for the weekend. I think he was just trying to illustrate the fact that, apparently, when you go grey the pubes go first. (Have to ask Bully, Phoney Dick and So Cunt Chong about that one. – Ed.) Gecko responded in schoolboyish fashion - “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” - but as we know, modesty is not one of his vices, so without waiting for Steptoe to answer the challenge he flashed the circle enough to show that a) he’s not going grey or b) he doesn’t just dye his head hair. 

 And Steptoe consigned Loose Change back to the ice. Some guy came to the melon stop and thought the hares were giving away tee shirts. “We’re only housewives,” wittered Loose Change, “we only have melons.” Well, this is just not good enough, suggested Steptoe. Everyone knows housewives are good at knitting. Next time they set a run, we should all expect knitted tee shirts.

 Fat Slag was hauled in next, and of course his phone rang the moment he entered the circle so he was immediately consigned to the ice. He continued the boring tone of events by refusing to give anyone a flash of anything. Not much point in sitting behind the ice this week. The charge against him was that he was prudently avoiding Jakarta just before mosque chuck out time. But Steptoe provided him with a couple of Muslim girlies to keep him company and remind him of home – Hand Job and Ayam Kampong.

 Frontarse noted that Captain Red Arrow had finally finished inserting himself into his leatherette posing pouch and snakeskin bondage gear – oh, all right, he’d finished getting changed – and the Captain had his welcome drink. Fellow Scot Beagles showed whose side he was on by actually giving him a full glass. (Gasp! I thought they were extinct. – Ed.)

 And then things started going a bit pear-shaped in the order of events department. Frontarse loomed in with an AOB charge against SCC. In this huge empty car park it apparently took him three attempts to park his car. His response was that it always takes him three goes to get it in properly. Ho ho!

 Indianus announced the golf competition that Halfpenny is organising. Apparently a load of Monday  - ptui! – hashers are going in for it. 

 Indianus’ brain now lurched out of park and into reverse as she realised she had some awards to present. And it was So Cunt Thong in the limelight yet again – he got a tee –shirt for 50 runs. And didn’t he try hard to suck it all in as he changed garments, aided by Indianus and Halfpenny. Slocum was similarly honoured for his 50.

 Frontarse called in Mr. Magoo for his official sending off. Everyone wept a little tear and told him to fuck off.

 Back to AOB. Stuffy called in Hooray. He had been doing his usual short cutting and had nipped through a gate in order to try and gain a bit of ground, only to find no way through. Frontarse had suggested to those around him, “Shut the gate and lock it!” Frontarse was punished for his lack of concern for a member of his flock.

 Astronut swanned in to draw attention to Squire’s hornet sting, although the way he moaned about it all the way round the run to anyone within earshot virtually guaranteed that we all knew about it anyway. Squire had approached Bagels to ask if he had anything to put on a sting. “How about Viagra?” suggested Bugles. Obviously he keeps a supply in the boot for those unforeseen occasions. Squire demurred, as the bite was large enough already. (Do you think Astronut was making this up? – Ed.) Surely not. Then Beagles offered him some antiseptic spray that turns white on the skin. Squire showed how really picky he can be by turning that down to on the grounds that it would make him look like Michael Jackson.

 The circle was strangely unforthcoming and we still had loads of beer. Coo Chi Coo was obviously pining for something, as we didn’t hear a peep out of him. Frontarse called on on on but the circle hung around for a bit feasting on the rare sight of Bagless actually trying to give away the last cans. Phoney Dick suggested that this was one of the nicest sounds he’s ever heard – Hash Brew pleading with him to have another one.

 And on to the on on at Dempsey Road where we nearly got thrown out again as Gecko threatened to show his bum. Still, that was averted, and then a sort of combined madness overtook a large proportion of those present, as vast hordes decided to go on to Anywhere just like the old days. Even people who normally know better, such as Aye Aye and Saliva, turned up. A thoroughly entertaining night even if we didn’t quite carry tradition through and end up at Newton Circus. Must be getting old, after all.

On On!

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