Mekong Indochina Full Moon Hash #2.5 – Phnom Penh, 2010

Mekong Indochina Hash – Full Moon or Any Moon Run No. 2½

Hares: Flip Flop, BoBo, STD

Date: 1^st November 2010

Many things wrong here: firstly there was no full moon. It was ¾ moon to be exact, but who’s counting? Maybe the same person who determined that Sunday’s run was the P2H3’s 1,000^th when it wasn’t. Secondly, the organisers of this little event had decided that, in order to not to confuse Hashers with unnecessary details, information about the event was to be given out on a need-to-know basis. However, since they forgot to tell anybody that it was on, not many people were making enquiries!

Those who managed to remember what, when, where, and why dutifully turned up at Velkommen Inn on Monday evening where the confusion continued. Hordes of Hashers emerged out of the woodwork; many more than expected. We even had a virgin turn up –  impressive for a run that was only advertised two days prior and then only to Hashers at the run site. STD made frantic phone calls to the boat driver and the On On On proprietor to make sure they could handle the crush. They couldn’t. Amid the confusion, a nest of maggots that had found cozy refuge in Rocks Off’s shoes decided to hatch, sending a flurry of tiny insects scattering across the floor of the soon-to-be-condemned restaurant. Sorry about that Herring Choker! The rest of the Hash watched in amusement as the staff tried to stamp out the little critters, whilst quietly cancelling their food orders.

Then the rain clouds came. Our boat trip was looking less and less delightful, but in the absence of other choices the order was given by disorganizers Flip Flop, BoBo, and STD to hit the high seas, so off the Hashers went. The Gods were clearly smiling upon us, as the boat trip and scramble up the opposite river bank to Snow’s bar were mercifully uneventful. Upon hitting the eclectic, welcoming bar and in the presence of so much beer, there was excited chatter about skipping the run altogether. But cooler, more sober heads (BoBo’s) prevailed, and we bid tearful adieu to Snow in order to run around dangerous streets and filthy alleys in the pitch dark. Who came up with this idea in the first place? Also, since only three of the 50 or so Hashers remembered to bring a torch, there was little chance to avoid disaster.

The age-old question of spray paint vs. flour was put to the test. Unfortunately no one remembers the answer. STD stuck with old, white, toxic faithful, while BoBo, in the absence of his preferred shreddie, opted for the environmentally friendly white stuff. Considering how lost the pack was, it’s safe to say neither worked like a charm. Cooler weather made for a fast-moving pack, which proved a bitch when the Runners were off trail and had to trek back long distances to where the Hares were patiently waiting, wondering when they would notice that the Hares hadn’t actually moved from the Check. First casualty was Herring Choker, who abandoned trail 500 meters along to rejoin Snow at the bar. Smart man!

The rest galloped along, panting and frothing at the mouth. After several false turns and long digressions, they finally veered off the road and into interior Chroy Changva, and the ancestral homeland of venerable Hasher Check Around. A quick jaunt through his property, including a scramble over a low wall was quite shitty, literally. Overheard:

Virgin “this place smells like shit.”

Leaking Duck “there’s a good reason for that.”

After leaving the heart of darkness (the aforementioned shit-smelling abode-to-be of Check Around) the Runners continued eastward and reached the glare of a well-lit road – whereupon one bearded Runner (name unknown) stumbled over a pebble and tumbled head first into the tarmac. Go figure! He was to repeat this exercise at least once more so one assumes that he had spent a little too long hydrating in the bar prior to the run. And so the Runners muddled along. The lack of visibility of the marks ensured that at least one loop was missed by the pack but there didn’t seem to have been any complaints on that score! A visit to a brand new 20 story high-rise apartment block was not high on their priority list although both STD and Flip Flop had insisted that a thorough recce of this building was required when setting the run. Luckily the Hashers missed the trail leading up the 20 flights of stairs to the rooftop viewpoint!

Local Hasher, Blah Blah, was caught out at the second to last Check when he went straight ahead rather than turning left to go down to Snow’s. One would have thought that he would have known better but he was saved from a fate worse than death, or at least a very long run Home, by one of BoBo’s clear False Trail mark laid in flour.

The On Home was just a straight run for about 1.3 km along a mixture of paved and dirt roads. BoBo was glad to see that his final Check, laid just metres away from Snow’s bar caught out at least three of the FRBs, including his fellow Yangon Hasher, Gigolo Joe. They turned right and followed his trail of flour until they realised that they were off flour – the only part of the trail where a False Trail mark had not been laid.

Somehow all ended up back at Snow’s.

 

Full Moon Trail (scale 1:20,000 or 4 cm = 1 km)

[Trail in yellow was the trail taken on the night. The one in red is the trail taken by the Hares while laying the run and False Trails earlier in the day]

After the Hash cooled down from the run with too many beers and too few waters, blocks of ice were brought forth and BoBo kicked off the circle in grand fashion, with Joint Venture as his enticing beer bitch.

Circle:

The Hares were iced and toasted. Herring Choker gave a glowing run report, but that may have been the aquavit talking.

First time Full Mooners fought over seats on the ice.

BoBo announced that the non beer drinkers had the opportunity to do their Down Downs with some hideous local hooch that was given the name Mr Muscles due to the picture of a ripped body-builder on the front of the bottle. Perfect for those of a gay bent!

Danes had to drink. Yanks had to drink. Aussies had to drink. The 2 virgins were sullied, one on STDs lap. One must take a moment of pity for the ice, which saw more ass than a toilet seat. Plug Her was elected ‘ball tester’ to gage whose was biggest, a role she seemed born to play. Even Yap Yap was drunk, an occurrence probably not seen since her wedding night.

Those geographically challenged at the last Check were given a beer to ease their pain.

The man who succeeded in tripping over his own feet was similarly anaesthetized.

Those who took part in the previous Full Moon Hash in Yangon drank – if they could remember that far back!

After gawking in horror at the ritual taking place in his bar, Snow eventually got into the action, and was iced as well.

Charges from the Circle were requested and received in droves. The Circle dissolved into utter carnage, there was ice, beer and Mr. Muscles all over the floor and not a few Hashers ready to pass out.

Finally we all piled on the boat which ferried us safe and sound to Velkommen Inn to continue our quest to make sure the beer population of Cambodia doesn’t get out of hand. T-shirts were doled out to those who earned them by signing up early.

Note: BoBo finally got his T-shirt!

A Brief (not at all) History of the Indochina Full Moon Hash

Author:  Bobo, GM, YH3

Some background information on this timeless tradition may be useful (or not as the case may be but you are going to get it anyway). The genesis of this run started way back in the mists of time when dinosaurs still roamed the planet – like Phlegm. Shortly before the dawn of mankind, a group of proto-hominids, known as Hashers, visited Siem Reap for the 7^th Mekong Indochina Hash. After completing a run around the temples of Angkor Wat, the Hashers assembled on a dusty plain to observe arcane rituals, which were supervised by their High Priest, Flip Flop (see picture).
Sometime after darkness fell, Flip Flop espied the moon and he determined that his congregation were sufficiently purified that they could go and eat and drink and make merry. So he dismissed them with a cheery injunction to “Get on the damn busses and go home!” The crowd instantly dispersed and got on the damn busses – but then Hash planning made itself felt. The busses were parked on a plain that consisted of something close to quicksand. Any attempt to move the busses after they had sat there for several hours only resulted in them getting further bogged down. The few busses that were free to move were used to try and pull out the ones mired in the bog. Result: you guessed it – more busses bogged down up to the axles in shiggy.

Net result was that many a Hasher had to trek out to the road and flag down a passing tuk tuk/ moto/taxi/bicycle with padded rear luggage rack, etc. Result: lots of happy Khmers making dollars from desperados The beer truck finally left (but not before beers had been safely stowed in backpacks for what looked like being a long walk home!) and during the ensuing mass exodus BoBo ventured to Flip Flop that they should call it the inaugural Mekong Indochina Full Moon Hash and that the event was worthy of a special T-shirt. Flip Flop agreed and a roll-call was taken to record for posterity those who took part. 23 names were recorded and 16 of them were drunk enough to part with cash there and then in return for a promise of an exclusive T-shirt. Flip Flop took the money off the gullible and promised that a special edition T-shirt would be promptly put in the post and would most likely be waiting on the Hashers doorsteps before they even got home.

A month or so later, when BoBo noted that his doorstep remained free of Hasherdabbery, he made a casual enquiry to Flip Flop to find out what progress he had made. “None,” was the answer but it did prompt Flip Flop to come up with a design (which looks strangely similar to the one dished out in Phnom Penh in 2010!). In true Flip Flop Hash fashion he then tried to pass on all responsibility for further enhancements to BoBo, who politely declined.

And there, dear reader, the ball stopped rolling. The 16 Hashers who invested their hard-earned cash in T-shirt futures, got burned and so endeth Run No. ½.

Fast forward the clock from the Cretaceous Period (ca. 2004) to 2009 when the Mekong Indochina Hash visited Yangon and turned back its watch by 30 years. BoBo was still waiting for his T-shirt from Flip Flop but had come to realise that if he wanted a Mekong Indochina Full Moon Hash T-shirt he would have to make one himself. This he decided to do and so he announced Run 1½ and persuaded 80-odd souls to take a run around the Shwedagon, through monasteries and ancient bamboo groves in the middle of downtown Yangon and to get bombarded with missiles hurled by the irate abbot of a religious establishment who took umbrage at Hashers disturbing the peace and tranquility of his little empire. Apart from some slight injuries to the leg of Yogi Bra, the Hash otherwise went off without incident and it was adjudged by all and sundry as being a bloody good run and perhaps better than the regular weekend runs. All who took part were presented with a lovely bespoke T-shirt – and it looked nothing like the design that Flip Flop had sent to BoBo five years earlier!

Fast forward another year and BoBo found out that Flip Flop was again in residence in Phnom Penh after a long sojourn to Australia, Africa and elsewhere. “Where’s my T-shirt?” enquired BoBo. Flip Flop’s replies were akin to those that would have been sent by a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights – if only rabbits could write (and it’s arguable whether Flip Flop can write – well write anything other than technogeek). BoBo suggested that things could be remedied if another Full moon Run was organised. Easy!

To cut a very long story short, Flip Flop agreed to produce a T-shirt if BoBo would help to Hare a run and produce a design. Done deal said BoBo. He instantly mailed back the (unproduced) design for the Siem Reap Run. However, since he didn’t know diddly squat about Phnom Penh, he asked for some help on the run-setting front and so Flip Flop volunteered the services of STD. That’s delegation for you. He must be an excellent manager in the real world. So, after running around the countryside of Phnom Penh for two days, BoBo found himself having breakfast with STD and Flip Flop on Monday morning and was gratified to hear that all was under control – well all except the fact that the T-shirts had not yet been printed, that the route of the Hash had not been decided upon and the method of marking the trail had not even been thought about. Thus Run No. 2 ½ started in the manner in which it meant to continue!

However, planning of a sort had in fact started a couple of days previously. BoBo remarked to Flip Flop that it might help if an announcement was made at the Circle at the end of the Saturday Hash to let people know that there would be a “Special Run” on Monday. This seemed to resonate with Flip Flop but unfortunately the hurried cold and wet Circle on the boat wasn’t an ideal venue to make such an announcement and so BoBo put Plan B into action. Enlist the services of a good-looking Harriette!

Yogi Bra’s fervent attempt to collect money for this thing on Saturday evening, when all were well and drunk, resulted in a huge influx of cash and a huge lack of comprehension over what exactly one would get for one’s $5 contribution. In truth, the lack of comprehension extended to the Hares, who, at their Monday morning pre-trail-laying breakfast meeting, wondered how many slabs of beer they needed to steal in order to satisfy the thirsts of everyone that threatened to show up.

Will anyone figure out what the hell is going on?  Stay tuned for the actual run report…

On On!

INTER MEKONG HASH 2010 – PHNOM PENH

Phnom Penh narrowly avoids disaster as they attempt to mismanage the hash hordes invading their fair countryside.  No one lost a leg.  No one died.  So our petty, insignificant screw-ups really look quite small, comparatively.

After a lengthy hiatus, hash trash is back with a vengence.  Please see in the following order:  1. IMH3 report by our beloved Short Time, who, true to name, has already fled the country.  2.  History of the Annual Full Moon Hash, complete with table of contents, index and glossary by uber-hash trasher and GM of the YH3, Bobo.  3.  Actual Phnom Penh Full Moon Hash 2010, which in true hash fasion,  took place during a waning crescent moon.  Please read and enjoy.

Love,

Yogi Bra

 

Indochina Mekong Hash 2010 – P2H3 1,000 run – Full Moon Hash
Hares – Herring Choker,Blah Blah,Yap Yap,Yogi Bra,Ikea,Runs Well and Wanna Cracker
Dates – October 30 – November 1
Run Report – Short Time

Overheard by a foreign hasher on his first trip to Cambodia, stepping onto the shore of Koh Dach – “Are there active land mines here?”

A veteran P2H3 hasher replied, “Nah, after you …”
Day 1:
The Indochina Mekong Hash weekend began with a registration party at Sharkys Bar & Restaurant where ice cold Anchor Beer and a barbecue dinner was served. Hashers were given goodie bags with shirts, a hat and a map of the host city. A new friend was made by all, Schubert, our host representing the Anchor Brewery.

Schubert is the kind of guy who is your best friend at night as beer is flowing. You thank God for individuals like him, who make this brew for alcoholics, I mean hashers. But the next morning Schubert’s popularity takes a severe hit when bloodshot eyes open and aspirin bottles are fumbled for. Fortunately, this was a weekend event and upon returning for the actual run, several large coolers filled with Anchor awaited. Schubert was once again, the man.
Day 2:

The Indochina Mekong Hash began under cloudy skies, intermittent rain with a sail up the Mekong River to Koh Dach. A 18 km and 12 km run awaited, along with an 8 km walk circuiting the island, famous for its silk products. Perhaps the happiest people on this chilly, rainy day were all the silk sellers who found 225 hashers, rather than the usual 30 P2H3 hashers they are used to seeing. After the run, hashers were buying scarves to keep warm and they shivered under windy, rainy conditions.

P2H3 GM Sarsy convened a circle on the boat, with Scoutmaster leading the group in “Our Lager …” while sailing back to Phnom Penh. Hashers from the various foreign kennels were recognized over the course of these two days. Although it was difficult to determine which kennel sent the most hashers, one thing was clear this day, “Hammersley takes it up the ass, do dah, do dah.”

After the Indochina run, dinner was held at the Hotel Cambodiana where the two moments of excitement seemed to be confusion over what time food was to be served and the disappearance of 30 liters of wine, the latter obviously being more important. Once the wine was located, it disappeared again within an hour.
Day 3 (oy, still going):

Morning dawned, the rain stopped and hashers rode on eight trucks to Kambol, where the 1,000 run of P2H3 was held. Kambol is a fun park, with go karts, a barbecue pit and swimming pool. But the real attraction in this area is the military shooting range located just a kilometer or so down the road.

In Cambodia, there is a lot of military surplus from years of involvement in various wars, dating from the 1960s to 1979. Customers have the opportunity to fire weapons ranging from pistols to machine guns to rocket propelled grenade launchers. Prices increase as ammunition gets bigger.

But what fun is shooting without a target? The military sells targets that include traditional bulls-eyes to old jeeps, even live chickens and cows are reputedly offered. Fortunately, our hares for the day laid a course in the opposite direction of the range, through rice paddies, past Buddhist temples, an old graveyard, and of course, the signature of a true Phnom Penh hash, grazing cows and cow shit.

Flip Flop served as RA for the circle after the run. The two newest members of the Phnom Penh hash were named. A lovely, young virgin, who was very embarrassed and didn’t want to stand in front of the 200+ person circle, opened the door for the name “Doesn’t want to cum.” Luckily, her brother was close at hand to escort her into the middle of the group. He also earned a name based on his action “Cums with his sister.”

Barbecue was eaten. Hashers were thrown into the pool. Anchor was drunk. But probably the highlight were the many different songs that were sung. “A Gay Caballero” along with “Me no likey British sailor, Yankee pay 5 dollar more” were amongst the highlights.
Mini circles formed after the main circle ended. And singing continued back to Phnom Penh on the trucks. The On On On was held at Velkommen Inn ,the hash bar on street 104.

Day 4 (Christ, not this again):

Day 4 saw a reduction in the number of hashers and also the length of the run. The hash was held across the river starting and ending at Snowy’s Bar. It was supposed to be a full moon hash, even though the full moon was the week prior and no one could see the moon on an overcast night.

Bobo of the Yangon Hash was made honorary GM. Herring Choker was asked for a run report by Mr. Tinkle. But Herring Choker claimed he got lost 700 meters down the well-lit paved road and luckily was able to find his way back to the bar, and low and behold, 300 cans of beer. Mr. Tinkle accused Herring Choker that he got lost finding the door to get out of the bar.

Everyone got iced in this final circle of the weekend. And as the full moon did not rise on this Monday night, the events of the Indochina Mekong Hash and P2H3 1000 run came to an end.

Lots of  Anchor beer. Lots of running. More important, lots of fun.

On on.

Run #976 – The Sound of Hashing

Hares:  Bulimia & Yogi Bra (running), Welcome In (walking)

Date 13^th June

Run Report: Blah Blah

It was a run full of hills, a run full of rain, a run truly worthy of Phnom Prassat.  There were people in love and there were Nazis.  There were governesses and there were songs.  The pack couldn’t restrain it’s glee as Yogi Bra clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes at the darkening sky and declared she would sing about homophones.  The pack erupted with glee until they were informed that a homophone isn’t a sexually alternative telecommunications device.  This sent some of them sulking however they listened all the same.  And clasping Bulimia’s hand in the driving rain she began:

“Doh, Mr. Tinkle, a walking Tinkle,

“Ray, something not seen through all the clouds

“Me, the noodles Laverne gobbles,

“Fa, followed by “ck” said Scoutmaster on the cliff

“So, the wild oats that STD spreads

“La, at the end of each sentence by Sarsy

“Ti, money taken by May Not

and that brings us back to “doh-n’t-you-think- Petr-look- good-wet?”

Bulimia then broke hands with Yogi Bra and, sodden and wet, launched into:

“Raindrops on hashers and the legs on Town Whore,

“Trails that are sodden and hills that make legs sore,

“Barbwire fences mistaken for strings,

“These are a few of my favourite things,”

“Temples on hills lost in the downpour,

“Leking Duck and Little Willie wet to the core,

“Herring Choker finding a bush that stings

“These are a few of my favourite things,”

“When Yogi’s lost,

“When the checks broken

“When I’m feeling sad,

“I simply remember my favourite things,

“And then I don’t feel, sooooo baaaaaaaaad,”

Then the Nazi’s came, and we left.

On On

Run #975 – Wrong Side of the Tracks

Hares:  Daipers & Blah Blah (running), Herring Choker (walking)

Date 6^th June

Run Report: Blah Blah

The hash this week was on a hunt for that most elusive of Cambodian features.  Are we talking of the critically endangered javan rhinoceros or the mysterious kouprey?  Were we looking for the fable Apsara of Kambol or the legendary hidden temple of Ang Snoul?  Were we even in search of the pre-Angkor era micro-brewery depicted on the friezes of Angkor Wat?  No we are talking of something even rarer, verging on mythical status; we were searching for the Cambodian rail network.

The run was set from Kambol and those who arrive early by means of air-conditioned comfort were greeted by the friendly whine of a ricochet overhead from the nearby army shooting range.  This resulted in a surreptitious movement towards the rear of the cars by Leking Duck and a few nervous glances towards the thin wall of dirt and tyres that separated the pack from Cambodia’s finest.

Not to be perturbed the hash surged forth into the paddy fields where Runs Well confidently launched left whilst Scoutmaster went straight.  No-one wanted to go right, it was the wrong way, obviously.  It was a pattern of thought that was set to define the hash for the day.  On right we went once the reluctant Jan Hannig and Raw Sex had been convinced to check in that direction.

Into the Graveyard surged the hash, seeking the tell tales signs of railway networks (commuters, subway entrances, that sort of thing) however amongst the totems to the dearly departed such things were not be seen.  Yap Yap had taken a commanding lead by this stage and by the time we went through our second graveyard it was clear that the railway wasn’t amongst the deceased.

After another hold Runs Well and Mr Tinkle disappeared into the distance, leaving Ambassador’s Orifice to lead the pack.  This change is leadership structure clearly was an intelligent move for no sooner had she streaked ahead than a railway line was happened upon.  What a joyous occasion it was and much weeping with joy was witnessed.

Eventually the pack found its way back with many a hasher making the FRB claim including Loan Shark (ahead after a clever check) and Billy Clem (ahead after not checking) however it was Scoutmaster who brought the pack in with a run reminiscent of Usain Bolt.  Another two graveyards were negotiated though no other railway line nor single worn time-table was spotted.

A circle was convened with Leking Duck the honorary RA where many a spurious charge was laid.  Herring Choker was disturbingly pleased with the ice whilst Festering Chronic Masturbator had managed to strike up a conversation with a young Peace Corp visitor from Khazakstan whose name escapes me.

Soon the circle was over and the pack headed down the train line in true hash fashion where a party was being held for the new house on the tracks of Talahassie Lassie.   With the truck and several cars blocking the line sufficiently much food was to be had which was a good thing with Sarsy gobbling the shasliks like a man possessed and Stool Boy having more than his fair share of cake.  Dancing broke out at one stage where visitor Spread Eagle and Hit on Me jiggled their way around the tracks whilst Little Miss Muffet and Mr Tinkle put on such a display that it was clear that they had received classical dance training in the past.

And in the end the pack had discovered, and partied upon, the tracks however for all the time we were there not a single train was to be seen.   Perhaps next time.

On On

Run #974 – farewell to dust

Hares:  Little Boy, Blah Blah & Yap Yap (running), May Not (walking)

Date 30^th May

Oh the heat of Cambodia.  The dust that cloaks the pack in its suffocating grasp, the merciless sun which sends its wrath upon the exposed backs of runners with an unrelenting assault of waves and photons, the harsh stubble of reaped rice with its fibrous lances stabbing with ill-intent into the bare shins of the unwary.  Oh the heat of Cambodia, where for art thou?  Thou hast gone, and can bugger off for another year for all we are concerned.  For we had rain.

A trail had been set on the Northern shores of Koh Dach by the able trio of Little Boy, Yap Yap and Blah Blah.  And it was early into the run when the heavens had decided to finally bless the hash after many weary months of cloying dust and heat.  And what a blessing it was, it pissed down.

It rained so hard that returnee, Ikea, felt it may have been better to stay in Melbourne.  It was, he mused, a long way to travel to feel cold.

It rained so hard that Mr. Tinkle had sufficient energy to outrun a mob of cows for several hundred metres, pushing past both Scoutmaster and Herring Choker (who both had opted to step back into the trees and let the cows past) in his haste.  He must have run hard and far for he found himself at the front of the pack (who by this stage were behind the cows in raucous laughter) and wasn’t seen again until he staggered in near the back of the pack at the half-way (or the three-quarter way, as Ambassador’s Orifice insists it be called).

It rained so hard that Little Willy and Runs Well both disappeared far into the gorse bushes, taking on a host of prickles and cuts, and were unable to hear the calls for on-back over the downpour.  When they finally returned, legs bloodied and torn, they managed to maintain their sense of humour, something that surely would not have been forthcoming in the heat.

It rained so hard that STD and Leking Duck were not just running but damn near front running bastards for much of the run.  Leking Duck in particular may be accused of running during the week; the lad is getting fit in a way that can in no way be accounted for by his life-style.

It rained so hard that Flip Flop was driven to check regularly and with enthusiasm….. and if believe that I have a bridge in Sydney to sell you.  It can never rain that hard.  He was seen doing one check and was far out in the distance, though since it consisted of a hold and Flip Flop sneaking off early in the direction he figured the run would go I believe it needs to be classed as ‘checking with ill-intent’.

It rained so hard that Diapers was driven the check in the correct direction on occasions.  This caused much confusion for Diapers, who had never seen three dots in a row after a check before.

It rained so hard that at the end of the run Ikea took refuge under the truck whilst Herring Choker, in the midst of a storm, chose the metal light pole to cling to whilst stretching.

And suddenly, whilst drinking beers in the rain awaiting the ferry, it was over.  A good solid two hours of rain had gone, leaving the pack with a beautiful sunset.  Yogi Bra was much taken with the onslaught of colour whilst Leking Duck waxed lyrically about the silhouettes of coconuts against nature’s golden canvas.

The circle was called and Flip Flop was made RA.  However it seemed the rain had one final effect, it stirred the ever present drive to drink, and the beer ran dry.  Despite another carton being procured the pack called it a night, which was a good thing as Herring Choker was poised to launch into a Viking rage after being offered a water down down.  Hadn’t we had enough water already?

On On

Runs #972 & 973 – Outward Bound

Hares:  Cuntsultant (organizer), Blah Blah & Yap Yap (running)

Date 22^nd & 23^rd of May

Kep, the soft sound of a calm ocean lapping against a lazy, black beach.  Kep, the smell of cooked crabs wafting across the quiet streets.  Kep, the cry of birds in their jungle mountain abode.  Kep, the quiet cracking open of a cold Anchor.  Kep, the muffled belch of a happy hasher.  Kep, the loud guffaw of a beer sodden runner.  Kep, the blaring of loud music and dancing.  Kep, the vulgar language of the night club…… ah, Kep.

Indeed the hash went to Kep with full intention of destroying what tranquility remained in this little slice of idle.  The run included going down, coming back up, going down, going even higher up, going downish, going up up up up up up, going down down down down, going flat, ending in the ocean.

Comments from the run were diligently collected by the scribe:

Toxic Flop: “The hills are too small”

Mr. Tinkle: “Don’t mind me while I throw up on this here mountain Wat”

Leking Duck: “What do you mean this isn’t the halfway?”

Bikini Wax:  “Ooooh, look at the crabs.  Oooooh, look at the resorts, Oooooh look at the…. hang on, where did all the runners go?”

STD:  “I demand more short cuts”

Scoutmaster: “Cancel all future short cuts”

Sarsy:  “No more shortcuts!?!  I’m going to go Goldman Sachs on STD’s ass.”

Pick Me Up: “they want the walkers to go up there?  Bugger that for a game of soldiers.”

Chicken Little: “I’m not buggered, honest.  I’m, er, admiring the view from Sunset Rock.  Can we admire it for a bit longer?  Please?”

Diapers:  “I’m not deliberately taking the wrong path at each check, honest”

And no sooner had it begun, than the run was ended.  Into the ocean went the pack led by the intrepid Chicken Little closely followed by Catwalk Boy who, for some reason, had a towel wrapped around his waist.  Beers were sunk in the muddied waters at the end of the old pier and eventually a circle was convened on dry land.

That evening saw the pack finishing its evening on the opening night of Kep’s first, and possibly last, night clubish thingy.   Tips played her first ever game of pool in pajamas, Little Willie provided a bottle of whiskey which didn’t last the night thanks primarily to Runs Well, Laverne declared pizzas smell funny and Blah Blah was proved wrong when he figured no-one would pick up the club’s only transvestite when a barang, not a hasher, did the deed.

The next day the pack piled into small boats and in a flotilla reminiscent of Dunkirk, headed off for Rabbit Island.  Herring Choker started to lead the way for the run around the island however quickly found himself keeping Sarsy for company as the alcohol from the night prior raised its ugly head.   Little Willie managed to mangle his toe however apart from that it proved to be a pleasant run around the island.  At one point Runs Well did lead the pack up a false trail.  How that is possible on a run around an island which has a track remains something of a mystery.

The highlight of the run was quite clearly Spike’s distress at urgently needing to relieve himself of the previous day’s crabs and pizza with about 2km to go on the run.  This reduced him to a butt cheek clenching walk and hence earned him the hash name, Diapers.

Eventually the pack made it back in good time, despite Scoutmaster’s boat having to be towed due to a lack of fuel.  And by the end of another nice lunch at Vanna everyone was happy.  The pack was happy with the runs, Cuntsultant was happy to finish without significant debts, the bus driver was happy with his fare, and the good residents of Kep were happy to see us go.

On On

Run #971 – Thirsty Lobsters

Date: 16/05/10

Hares:  Herring Choker (running), May Not (walking)

Run Report: Blah Blah

Beer, we had plenty of it, water, not enough.  I couldn’t see the problem.  Some people tried to point it out to me, making clever little diagrams in the dust.  Hmmmm, nope, sorry.  I went to the Hash Beer who is a qualified brew master himself.  He assured me that beer is 80% water, therefore there was plenty of water.  “Besides”, Runs Well said, “I’m Hash Beer, not Hash Water”.  It was a good point.  He should have been a lawyer.

Yes a hot run had been prepared by the hares across the river at Preak Leav,” but don’t worry,” May Not intoned, “there is a pool at the end of the run”.  Hence relaxed the pack set off and managed to get almost 100 metres before the entire trail was blocked by a road construction crew.  Herring Choker took charge, brought the pack onto the walker’s trail and we were off… again.

Blah Blah took a commanding lead and was often joined by Jeff Brown.  Less often did Flip Flop feature, though he was spotted checking once.  I actually saw it, I rubbed my eyes however the vision remain, Flip Flop was definitely checking.  I mentioned this to STD and he muttered something about Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster and asked where are the photos.

For some reason all the Canadians had their shirts off.  Sadly ‘all Canadians’ consisted of virgin Jason and Spike.  There was some vigorous debate with Camel Smurf in order to convince her she was Canadian, not Swedish however alas it was to no avail.

The heat was starting to tell with Leking Duck falling off the pace and Ambassador’s Orifice’s face starting to match that of her hair.  But Scoutmaster and Yap Yap soldiered on, for they knew that the promised delights of a cool swim awaited the hot, dusty pack.  And thus they charged into the Mango Resort and leapt unceremoniously into the inviting blue waters…. and promptly clambered out to cool off.  Yes, May Not and Herring Choker had prepared a lobster pot for the pack.  However the pack must have been hot for a number of people stayed in, particularly Cuntsultant, Sarsy and Paddington Bra. Sarsy remains conspicuously silent as to why he opted to spend a languid hour or so in the tepid waters whilst scantily clad nymphs frolicked about.

The circle was called and Jeff and Jason had to be broken up due to their undying love for one another.  Frenchie was called in for some reason and Pisey Luk was called in for being very short, I assume.  Nov Ana insisted that that Phoenn Phireak was a virgin in every sense of the word.  This resulted in an immediate line in front of Nov Ana as various hashers requested for their virgin status to be thoroughly determined.

A BBQ was had and Welcome In showed everyone how to handle sausages.  Little Miss Muffet was seen gobbling extra bits of chicken and even Laverne was packing them away.  However night had fallen and the well fed, lightly boiled pack made its way onto truck with that slightly nagging question hovering unsaid, “what time exactly does the ferry stop?”

On On

Run #968 – Dizzying Heights

Date: 25/04/10

Hares:  Yap Yap & Blah Blah (running), May Not (walking)

Steep slopes, dizzying heights, oxygen bottles and promises the eventually return for the bodies of the fallen.  These were the key features of the hash set out on Highway #3 at Kampong Tout that featured that rarest of Phnom Penh features, almost hills.  Yes, almost hills.  Hills were out of the question, too far, but pseudo hills aaah, a different story.  Hence with ice picks, oxygen bottles and sherpas in hand, Yap Yap, May Not & Blah Blah laid the trail.

The pack was promised a 7km trail; the hares erred.  Despite the halfway being exactly 3.5km the entire trail turned out to be 7.08km.  Clearly the hares were getting sloppy in their calculations.  This may be because of ANZAC day where one of them had been drinking since 6:30am that morning.

It was off into the tree lined paddy fields for the pack with Toxic Flop taking an early lead.  A wrong turn had him confounded as Flaccido Domingo of all people found himself in the lead with Spike.  Soon it was downhill, down, down to the valley floor of the mighty river known as “that funny little backwater”.  Germinator was first down closely followed by Little Boy who used his momentum to slide down and take most the embankment with him.  Laverne was close behind, clambering down the death defying slop with all the ease of a practiced mountain climber.  A depth of at least 10 metres was reached, how was the pack to rescale such heights?

After traversing a smaller hill in the midst of the valley, Vince Craig managed to find a way back up to the road, scaling the sheer cliff face with ropes and crampons, before heading off for another plunge towards the distant river where a hold waited.  It was at this point that a mob of goats appeared, being followed by a slightly embarrassed Toxic Flop.  The goats refused to comment as to why they were in such a hurry though one or two of them did have a funny gait.

The halfway saw the runners and walkers join before it was off again into the wild.  Dyke.com and Wet Pussy from Tel Aviv felt quite at home amongst the dust though some of the others were starting to tire.  But did the hares care, no.  It was a dizzying plunge once again to the river with Camel Smurf and Scoutmaster taking the initiative.  Chicken Little declared confidently that the pack needed to cross the river to get home, despite the fact the river had yet to be traversed.   This confidence resulted in Vince and Flaccido clambering up the opposite slope, passing eagle nests and the remains of dead climbers in their quest.  Little Willie meanwhile sauntered up the rather gentler slope to the left and found himself in the lead and close to home.

The circle convened and Scoutmaster ruled with an iron fist, though he may have been oxygen deprived from his climbing for he determined that Germinator would be RA for the day.  Needless to say the punishments were swift and all encompassing.

As it was ANZAC Day the hares went to Aussie XL for the on on where meat, more meat and meat for desert was to be had.  Little Boy and Blah Blah traded pork chops and lamb whilst Little Willie spent most of the evening convincing the staff that ‘all-you-can-eat’ means all you can eat.  Eventually he received another plate, with a VIP sausage to boot.

On On

Run #967 – Gorillas in the Midst

Date : 17/4/10

Hares:  Leking Duck, Mr Tinkle, STD (running) Chicken Shit (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

To be read to the tune “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”…. hit it boys…

[The beer is cold]

on the island, a Bassac island
Leking Duck set the hash today
on the island, the damn hot island
Mr Tinkle leads the way

(Chorus)
On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Nancy’s walking today

On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Blah Blah’s gone the wrong way

[Porn Star’s here]

[Chicken Shit’s near]

[heat]

Near the village, the peaceful village
Scoutmaster’s following white paint
Near the village, the peaceful village
Virgin Euorkim is about to faint

(Chorus)
On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Two Hands declined to run

On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Frenchie’s melting in the sun

[beer is near]

Hush, Herring Choker, don’t fear, Little Boy
There is shade by the truck’s side
You lazy bastards, you sneaky bastards
You snuck on for a ride

[Hey, Barbie Doll crashed]
[Tea money!]

(Chorus)
On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Little Willie’s doing a check

On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Yogi Bra’s looking a wreck

[the end is near]
[swim]
[swim well]

At Duck Mansion, in the pool
Yap Yap is donning her best
At Duck Mansion, in the pool

STD’s showing his hairy chest

(Chorus)
On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Laverne’s cooling down

On on on, on on on, on on on, on on on

Flaccido’s scared he’ll drown

Oh the bare arse
Don’t fear, Schindler’s Fist
Oh the bare arse
Don’t fear, Schindler’s Fist

[The beer’s still cold]