P2H3 Hash Trash Blog

The Muscle Wine Drinking Club With a Slimy Dyke Problem

P2H3 Run #874 – Erection Week, Up Sh*t Creek with no Paddle!

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on September 3, 2008

Run Date: 31/8/2008

Hares: Leaking Duck, Phlegm, Chickpea (walking)

Run Report: Kate

The Poseidon adventure continues for the hash as they endure another soaking.  On the bright side, hashers’ free-style and backstrokes have improved considerably.

Summer break is over and the virgins have drifted back to their native shores, only to be replaced by a boatload of foreign spies, including an entire family of hashers.  “I was born on the hash!” exclaimed the son.  Good lord.

After a brief stop at the Leaking Duck mansion, the runners and walkers were segregated and the runners dumped at a pagoda 8km south.  Hashers predicted an easy run due to the erections and gala slated for later that evening, but the hares had other plans.  True to character, Phlegm (on his 150th Hare) set a lengthy A to B run in the verdant, drenched countryside, through rice paddies and into the forest.  True to his hash name, Leaking Duck sent us through crotch-skimming water (see hash snaps for frightening evidence of Flying Plod and Phlegm trying to keep their, um, shorts dry).  Perhaps hash haberdashery could whip us up some rubber hip-waders.  Rubbed Raw, in possession of the golden horn, played a mournful sea shanty as the pack slogged, single file, grumbling about leaches and water snakes.  “This is just like the Vietnam war!” exclaimed a young hasher.  Yes, that’s exactly what it was like, as STD mounted a submarine attack from the grimy depths.

Just when the pack emerged onto dry land, thanking heaven for deliverance from all things wet, black clouds began to roll in across the sky.  True to character, the rainy season did its thing and we were soon running under pounding rain.  Over the din of the storm you could hear hashers exclaiming things like, ‘hey, it’s wet!‘ and, ‘I didn’t know it would rain?!‘  Were it not called the rainy season, one might sympathize with these soggy whingers.

Many of the roads turned instantly into muddy rivers, causing much slipping, sliding and whining, though hashers are now sporting curiously fresh, glowing skin from all the mud (people in L.A. pay big money for the stuff).  One foreign spy got trapped in the mud, requiring a deep-sea rescue, Blah Blah twisted his ankle, and it turns out Blitzkrieg’s teleporter can transform into a hydroplane and he was seen cruising by in a Panama hat, puffing a Cuban cigar.

The pack eventually found the pagoda where the truck was moored, and it was a smooth sailing back, marred only by a condom-clad, hitch-hiking Tokyo Joe and his unfortunate companion (in a fetching French condom).  Once the truck anchored at the port, hashers stampeded off, over Leaking Duck’s cries to hose off before diving into his pool.

Water-logged hashers gathered around the grill for warmth, while a few brave souls went swimming (hopefully the same ones complaining about getting wet earlier).  Blah Blah rounded up the circle and the erections were underway.  Voting machines from Palm Beach county, Florida were brought in for the occasion, and a free and unfair erection followed (see Erection Results 2008 for details).

Afterwards, the hares were showered with many complaints about rain (this again?), mud, insects, heat, basically all the things you’d expect to find in the rural areas of a tropical, developing country.  Newly erected and raring to go RA Flaccido Domingo strode to the pulpit ready to take over the flock, but was wrestled to the ground by acting RA Rubbed Raw, who still had legal control over the wayward hashers and wanted one last chance to flog the sinners.  Those being forced to walk the plank:  Paulette for not being able to hold her water, Wannacracker for tripping over cow tethers, STD for charging through the water, Fester for shameless public nudity, Tokyo Joe for general shamelessness (he actually lifted his condom and flashed some leg to get the driver to stop).

With Blah Blah back at the helm, the old committee was banished and the new committee (who bore a striking resemblance to the predecessors), were ushered in.  The smell of roasting meat and darkening skies were drawing hashers’ attention away, but it was Chickpea’s damning charge to Blah Blah, pointing to his shorts, that she saw no sign of this heavily-touted erection that caused an abrupt end to the circle and got us all to the dinner table.  Merci, mon cherie.

A divine feast followed, with hashers warmed by the fire, breaking into song, and drowning in beer.  Many thanks to all who helped prepare, and much gratitude to Leaking Duck and Pissalot for their hospitality and for a lovely evening.

On On!


2 Responses to “P2H3 Run #874 – Erection Week, Up Sh*t Creek with no Paddle!”

  1. Phlegm said

    Nice report Kate! Yes the Snaps from Blietzkrieg and Yap Yap are wonderfull. For the Stats, the cooks are on Run 874. I think they made a good job and probably they walked a lot from the swiming pool to the BBQ…

  2. Ikea said

    I like it. Sorry to have missed this run.

    However I feel the ‘random shit’ category is a little forlorn, just the one entry. It needs more shit. Relevance is overrated.

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