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