P2H3 Hash Trash Blog

The Muscle Wine Drinking Club With a Slimy Dyke Problem

Archive for May, 2010

Run #974 – farewell to dust

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on May 31, 2010

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

Date 30th 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

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Runs #972 & 973 – Outward Bound

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on May 28, 2010

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

Date 22nd & 23rd 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

Posted in Outstanding Haring, Run Report | 1 Comment »

Run #971 – Thirsty Lobsters

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on May 19, 2010

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

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