P2H3 Run #913 – The Unholy Reign of Cicciolina

Date: 17/5/2009

Hares: Scoutmaster (run) and Flying Plod (walk)

Run Report: Yogi Bra

Over the meadow and through the woods to Scoutmaster’s house we go. And over the Monivong Bridge. With a brief stop to pick me up at Norodom and Mao Tse Tung after I missed you all at the railway station. That’ll teach you to answer your cell phones.

Flying Plod and Scoutmaster were the brave hares who set Run #913 (why 913 remained after 911 was scrapped for being unlucky is anyone’s guess). Good run:  long, wet and shady. Many, many holds. Many, many check-arounds. Plod carried an umbrella and Blah Blah the horn, to ensure runners and walkers alike had an equal shot at electrocution via lightning.

Hold ‘Em and Blah Blah did the dirty work of trail-checking. The rest of us just got dirty, thanks to a rainstorm that quickly turned the village lanes we traversed into a muddy ice skating rink. Here’s where I would normally name Runswell, Wannacracker and other FRBs, but I don’t pay enough attention to the back of the pack. Slogging along slower than a snail sprinkled with MSG and chili powder: I have no idea, I was somewhere near the front. Will check next time.

At a particularly hairy river crossing, Blah Blah and a few brave souls opting for the 6 centimeter-wide log, while the rest of us hobbled across the 12 centimeter-wide “bridge” that looked like it was fashioned by drunk beavers. I’m still amazed we all made it over alive.

We don’t have enough Italian porn star/politicians on the hash, a situation now rectified by Seth, aka Cicciolina (named for his tireless work on providing access to internet porn). I’m personally shocked that Blah Blah, possessor of knowledge of everything that’s ever happened in the universe, didn’t mention the other famous porn star candidate: Mary Carey, who unsuccessfully ran for Governor of California. Governor?  Imagine! That would be like electing some dumb, muscle-bound action-movie hero who’s not even from America. Oh… wait a minute.  It’s worth noting that Ms. Carey also flashed her breasts during her campaign. Though it’s not that surprising. These women were famous for one thing, and it wasn’t splitting the atom or hitting the most home runs at the All Star game in ’97. Sad to say what works in Italian politics does not necessarily translate in America, and Ms. Carey has since returned to adult films. Oh well, we’ll miss her legislation on tax-deductible lap dances (this was actually part of her platform), but we’ll always have her groundbreaking performance in Indecent Dentist.

Other things happened at circle that did not involve Italians or chest-baring. Leaking Duck and Mrs. Tinkle returned to hash, and Sir Walter bid us adieu. Norwegian Day was celebrated and we all sung a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday”, loaded with curses, to Pick Me Up.

After we were treated to an excellent BBQ feast courtesy of Scoutmaster and Pick Me Up. Much thanks and gratitude for a lovely banquet on the banks of the Mekong under the stars.

On On!

P2H3 Run #912 – The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Panting

Date:  10/5/2009

Hares:  Milky Discharge, Horny Cow (run), Joy (walk)

Run Report:  Yogi Bra

Ok, I’m back.  Sorry for the absence, all those who bemoaned the lack of reports are hereby conscripted to write one in the near future.

What’s new pussycat? The truck now has a roof.  Good thinking, someone.  I didn’t get to experience it first-hand as I opted for May Not’s 4-wheel drive luxury chariot, but from my plush, air-con seat you all looked, well, like a bunch of people on a truck.  Godspeed.

We trundled out to Phnom Brassat, the closest thing the area has to the Alps.  However, this would not be the hilly, oxygen-depriving, yodel-inducing climb of Blitzkrieg fame.  Hares Milky Discharge and Horny Cow kept us on the straight and narrow for most of the run, with only one punishing hill, which looked like K2 compared to the usual Cambodian turf.  We were rewarded for our steady climb by a gorgeous pagoda and sweeping views at the top, for the half-way.

What else is new?  Some guy with red-hair is quite the FRB.  Most impressive was his ability to choose the wrong trail 99.9% of the time.  But really he should be applauded for attempting in the first place – the rest of us kicked at the ground and peered down various trails, waiting for the ‘all-clear’.  That nice blonde family was back, the Von Trapps.  The 9-year old girl, who beat me in the Mekong River Swim by a couple strokes, put lots of us to shame with her impressive running.  Even her parents had trouble keeping up. Herring Choker, another notable FRB, pulled a Runswell and refused to hold at the holds.  Blah Blah was running quite well, guess his arse is healed.  The other notable addition – we were graced with the presence of the four horsemen – I mean foreign spies from Malaysia.

Overall a great run: around 12kms, gorgeous scenery, good running ground, great weather, few marauding cows and almost no ankle-twisting holes.

Circle: With Flying Plod as stand-in choirmaster, virgins were serenaded, including one fresh from Mexico City. Attention NGOers: you can now add Swine Flu to the list of causes you’re begging for! Technology abuse for the other 2 virgins, one of whom took a tree-side phone call on his mobile at a hold. The Malaysian Spies spoke fondly of the STD-GM days, and welcomed us to come visit any time we liked. On on to your living rooms, guys! The Hares were thanked for an awesome run, and through some extraneous, irrelevant chit-chat during circle, discovered they may be on the same Trans-Siberian Railroad trip as Tokyo Joe. Good God. Blah Blah reassured them it was a big train.

In other news: Joy is leaving; Jeremie was named Shoots Blanks, despite his plea for “Cybershot” (see Lickety Slit for details on what happens when you try to name yourself). Number One celebrated 90 runs. In a Swat valley re-enactment, Tokyo Joe got 2 of his 4 cheeks slapped, unfortunately not the ones he was hoping for.

At Wagon Wheel for the on on on, the pizza came flying from the ovens faster than a tuk tuk in evening rush hour.  We were serenaded by the foreign spies with some naughty limericks, which made only the German owner blush – the rest of us were used to this plus much worse. Speaking of which, where did that big wooden thing go?

On on, baby