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Run #976 – The Sound of Hashing

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on June 15, 2010

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

Date 13th 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

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Run #975 – Wrong Side of the Tracks

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on June 7, 2010

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

Date 6th 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

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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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Run #968 – Dizzying Heights

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on April 28, 2010

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

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Run #967 – Gorillas in the Midst

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on April 20, 2010

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]

Posted in Outstanding Haring, Run Report | 1 Comment »

Run #965 – Haute Cuisine

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on April 13, 2010

Date : 10/4/10

Hares:  Little Willy (running) Nancy (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

“Thou ist racing!” declared the short cutting bastards as two runners did bolt towards the truck.  “Nay,” they cried, “we are but running from vicious dogs yonder.” And the short cutting bastards did look down the road upon the two yapping maltese and did but wonder as to the courage of their brethren  [Malt 13:13]

How to prepare Swedish Hash:

Ingredients – Swede, one.  Hashers, numerous.  Beer, lots.  BBQ one.  Meat (unnamed and cheap), lots.  Salad, optional.

Step 1:  Find Swede. Since we only have one at the moment it wasn’t too difficult; insert Little Willy here.

Step 2:  Send walkers astray.  This is best done by putting Nancy and his cigarette in charge of the walkers.

Step 3:  Leave truck driver in charge of getting the BBQ prepared. Not one of our smartest moves.

Step 4:  Mix hashers thoroughly.  A few decent checks along the banks of the Tonlé Sap soon had Blah Blah, Mathew and Westel Wirgin moving continuously from front to back.  The hash was mixed so thoroughly that there were even reports of STD checking, though video evidence may need to be procured before anyone gives this report any credulity.

Step 5:  Separate hashers.  A nice long stretch from near highway 6 back towards the Tonlé Sap soon had Wannacracker out front, Ambassador’s Orifice near the middle and Leking Duck waaaaaaaaaay back.

Step 6:  Remove exhausted hashersHerring Choker, Mr Tinkle, Leking Duck, Wannacracker & Yap Yap took advantage of this clause and slunk back to the start via a short cuts many and varied.

Step 7:  Strain hashers. VC was certainly looking strained as he hit the bushes, though not quite as strained as Chicken Little who was feeling the heat.  Even Camel Smurf was seen with a bead of sweat.

Step 8:  Cool hashers. Beer was plentiful in the lovely shady spot by the river where the bbq lay in wait.  Yogi Bra though was in fear of slightly more thorough cooling and disappeared before Scoutmaster could bring forth the ice.  How she managed to get back is unclear however since we haven’t read anything nasty in the papers we assume she made it back in one piece.

Step 9:  Serve with humour. Humour then was aplenty, especially with STD in particularly fine form as he wielded his wooden phallus with aplomb.  Hash voodoo was conducted by ring in RA Blah Blah in order to solve the problems in Thailand and Elaine Moore was dragged in for thoughtlessly have a birthday.

Step 10:  Wash down with sausages and chicken & beer. At least that’s what I thought happened.  Yap Yap and Tinkle Spinner kept the food coming and from the way the down downs were going I’m rather confident that Laverne kept the beer up.

And there you have it, Swedish Hash.

On On

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Run #964 – Wabbit Season

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on April 9, 2010

Date : 4/4/10

Hares:  Blah Blah (running) Ranny (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

And the hare did standeth before the pack and declare unto them, “there is a shorteth way, across yonder dried paddy, where lieth in wait the truck with cold beer.  Or you may taketh the longeth way across the….. oi….where are thy going?  I haven’t finished describing the long way yet!” [Malt 13:12]

The festive season had taken a toll on the pack as a number of hashers had fled the country to celebrate Easter.  The pack showed its true sense of religious awareness by the simple fact that not one member, not one, managed to attribute the fact that the small turn-out could be related to this event.  Everyone forgot.

We blame the Easter Bunny.  If that lazy little sod had done his job and dropped off the requisite chocolate eggs at the right time instead of swanning about the Northern hemisphere mucking about like some furry version of Hugh Heffner…….  here I’d like to insert a quote from Elmer Fudd, from the scene where he is playing the part of a Valkyrie and singing to the tune of Wagner’s classic “kill the waaabbit, kill the waaabbit, kill the waaaaaaaabbit, kill the wabbit”

So incensed was the pack at this derelict of duty that a Dog on Heat run was declared, in memory of that fine hasher whose anniversary of his departure from the hash fell around the same date.  This way the pack could slaughter an assortment of hares and relieve themselves of chocolate deficit derived hypertension.

Blah Blah was leading the run and the first hare pulled out of the hat was none other than Flaccido Domingo.  He was off, like the cunning bugger he is, twisting and turning amongst the lanes and fields of Phnom Pen Thmei.   Seeing he was about the get nabbed by Toxic Flop he turned the trail into wide expansive paddy so that Toxic Flop would be stranded.  It worked.  Toxic Flop snared the hare, metamorphosed into the hare and took off with the flour, laying a cunning trail at great pace.  The problem being that despite the great pace everyone could see him and short cutted to eventually catch him in a village.  It there that Little Willy made the snare, grabbed the bag and promptly collapsed as he knees gave way.  About 500m later Little Willy was also snared.

By this stage the pack had gotten close to home and it was hot, damn hot.  And whilst a certain amount of satisfaction can be derived from sacking and bagging hares, and then kicking them when they’re down with true hash sportsmanship, it wasn’t enough to keep the sun at bay.  hence the weary pack trundled straight back with Camel Smurf leading the way and Loan Shark wielding the flour.

Fortunately the walkers came back at the same time as Tips and Ranny had the sense to realize that the directions from Blah Blah “keep going down the road and I’m pretty sure there will be another road to cut down at some stage, maaaate,”  failed to inspire confidence.  They brought with them visiting hasher Schindler’s Fist from Boston who, for reasons only known to Scoutmaster, featured heavily in the circle.

The circle didn’t take long, the ice stayed on the truck for fear it would just dissolve in the heat and the majority of the pack retired to a Khmer-Thai place called Callme up from Tell.  The food was good, the beer flowed, and we all ordered rabbit.

Kill the waaabbit, kill the waaaabbit, kill the waaaaaaaabbit, kill the wabbit.

On On

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Run #963 – Once in a Blue Moon

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on March 29, 2010

Date: 28/03/10

Hares: Blah Blah (running) Yap Yap (running/walking)
Run Report: Short Time

It was that rare event. A blue moon. The white unicorn. A four-leafed clover. A sober hasher.

It was a run without much complaint. The trail was marked. The truck arrived at the half way, without much incident. The circle started on time (early by Scoutmaster’s beer count). The walkers finished at almost the same time as the runners. Fester went to China. The hash truck was less populated than the cars providing seats for everyone. And as the sun set over the horizon, we did not run out of beer. Cheers!

Over a variety of terrain, including small resevoirs, evenly planted crops, mysteriously white spray-painted dogs, the pack went forth. Red ants not withstanding, we only witnessed blood on Herring Choker and Short Time’s legs. Through barbed wire and mango orchards, the pack eventually came to the half way, conveniently located next to a market for Laverne’s shopping habit.

As the pack came hobbling/limping/crawling back home, a rare site was seen in the sky, a sun with an almost full moon rising simultaneous. As a reward for a job well done, Scoutmaster did not make the circle get on their knees to recite a prayer. He said many of them probably spent more time on their knees this week than they were accustomed to. Especially May Not as he peeled the tape from his sore knee joints with a shit-eating grin.

The circle started with a call for virgins, returnees and foreign spies. Upon finding none, the hash realized that it is either a dying breed, or it’s just getting too damn hot outside in Cambodia. With Khmer New Year upon us, and the police lining their pockets for the big celebration, the pack had a certain modesty, a glazy-eyed look as they circled up. Maybe it was a fear of a driving while intoxicated charge, nah, maybe it was a week of hang overs, nah, maybe it was just a case of this being a good run that people were despondent, and tired. In the end, the run was rated a 3.9 out of 10 by Little Willy. But using Generally Accepted Cambodian Accounting Principles, it was reclassified as a 1.3, subtracting the 2.5 from 3.9?

For the walk, Hare Yap Yap was rewarded (penalized) with a down down on Blah Blah’s knee. And while Blah Blah basked in the glory of the ice and Yap Yap’s extra weight, Little Boy joined the down down on Blah Blah’s other knee. Feeling the discomfort/excitement from Little Boy, Blah Blah realized that Little Boy lived up to Mr. Tinkle’s illustrious reputation this week, but from the number two end, and quickly dismissed him. By the way, is Mr.Tinkle on house arrest?

The chief sinner had to be Sarsy. His sin was wearing the colors of a Thailand hash, knowing Anchor Beer to be the sponsor in Phnom Penh. Little Willy was accused of running while he should have been walking and walking when he should have been running. And Scoutmaster was accused of not paying the hash fee, even though this was his 320th run. But the point was, as the circle saw it, he didn’t offer to pay. And Runs Well took long cuts, not short cuts, imagine?

The ice, in the end, was used to chill beer. Not to compare Yogi Bra’s actual figure versus the imprint she left on ice last week. The pack broke into smaller circles, enjoying Anchor (not Singha, Sarsy) as night fell upon the mango fields, cow pastures and Little Boy’s cow paddy.

On on.

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