P2H3 Hash Trash Blog

The Muscle Wine Drinking Club With a Slimy Dyke Problem

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.

Posted in Outstanding Haring, Run Report | 1 Comment »

Run #962 – A Youthful Embrace

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on March 24, 2010

Date : 20/3/10

Hares:  Big Girls Blouse & Camel Smurf (running) May Not (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

And the hares did remarketh unto the Trail Master, “Ye, we are weary for it tooketh 6 hours to set.” And the Trail Master did look unto them and declare, “6 bloody hours, what the helleth did you get up to?  It’s only 8km and you had a moto!?!” And the hares did clasp hands and blush. [Malt 3:01]

It was a virginal run, a run of sweet innocence, of butterflies dancing, like the gentle kiss of cool mountain air and that icon of innocence, young love.  And like young love it was a confusing twisted affair that involved difficulty with the bra clasp and an awkward moment when the condom packet fell out of the wallet and had to be searched for under the bed.  Ah, young love.

Big Girls Blouse and Camel Smurf had set a trail in Akreiy Ksaat, where the trail was set amongst the fields and the plantations.  For both it was their first run, a giddying mix of enthusiasm and apprehension, where hormones were king and white paint merely the chaperone.

There was something in the air, something that made Botticelli unleash her hair and join the runners, something that made Laverne bypass raging bulls and sneak into the corn, something that encouraged Germinator to lift up her shirt with the ostensible excuse of rubbing sun-burn cream from her eyes.  The pheromones were wafting about with the ungoverned zeal of youth, infecting all.

Little Boy felt the weight lift from his knees and veritably skipped through the course, whilst Scoutmaster expressed his delight at the multiple crossing of a dusty road bridge.  “How wonderful,” he remarked, “it is so much more beautiful the fourth time over”.  Mr Tinkle was so caught in the moment he forgot to urinate, whilst Yogi Bra so driven by lust that she volunteered to permanently sit on the ice in order to cool her steamy ardor.   And given the impression she left upon the rapidly melting ice it was generally agreed that this was the sensible thing to do.

Ah yes, the circle.  The circle was called, however in the midst of passion someone forgot to tell GM Scoutmaster, so for a period the pack all stood around in possibly the most precise geometric shape ever attained, and admired each other from afar.  Sly winks were passed from Mumble Boy from Frankfurt and Hatlady from Tanzania.  They joined each other in the circle and gave each other such steamy looks that Scoutmaster was forced to intervene before their mere presence melted the ice.

And like young love it was suddenly all over, in some ways before it began,  with the pack sat staring at each other in an uncomfortable sort of way and wondered what the hell it was going to do next, never having planned any further than getting into bed.  So with that slightly awkward moment where the young lovers hoped like hell their friends wouldn’t find out what they’d been up to, and with who, the pack departed for the Golden Thatch, where tales of who did what with whom, and how often, were spread with gay abandon to friends and strangers alike.  Especially strangers.

And as one left one could hear the echo of the soft, gentle call of the young lovers; “whoohoo, did I get lucky last night or what!”

On On

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Run #961 – Bring Me My Lance

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on March 17, 2010

Date : 14/3/10

Hares:  Toxic Flop & Germinator (running) May Not (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

And the hares did stareth at the boats and declared unto the assembled pack, “Yea, though may pass here at the canoe, which looketh leaky and costeth much.  Or ye may run just a wee little further to run around yonder water.  It’s not far, honest.  Would I lie to you?”  [Malt 3:10]

Grind.  A word which conjures images of large stone mills, of lines of humanity splayed along the endless wheel of manufacturing progress, as the soul is ground into a dull, malleable lump of jelly.  It is an art which the Dutch have mastered, with their tall windmills, their complicated payment systems at restaurants and their clash of the obscene with the virtuous, as scantily clad hookers sit in windows and knit sweaters for their elderly grandmothers.  It is also an art which Toxic Flop attempted to employ on the hash as he and Germinator set a 14km straight run with the now familiar 10km first half.

Yet hashers are not normal people.  For their patron Saint is none other than Jude, the Saint of Lost Causes, and their hero is none other than the scourge of windmills everywhere, Don Quixote.  It would be a battle to the finish.

The losses for the pack started early with May Not leading the entire walking pack up the garden path.   How he managed to go the wrong way when we started at the Bayon looking pagoda in Kien Svay is beyond me, especially given there was only around 200m between the highway and the Bassac.  The walkers managed to find the truck at least once and from my reckoning Hit on Me and Short Time managed to find it twice.

For the runners it was a war of attrition.  Three of the virgins (young attractive things that arrived with Frenchie if that’s any help) didn’t make it beyond the canoes.   After that Yap Yap decided she wanted to do an extra kilometer or so and disappeared though did find her way back later.  Next to drop off were Sarsy and Wanker Banker who opted to join the walk.  Little did they know there was no walk anywhere near them to join.  Scoutmaster and Runs Well forged ahead in the dust….. and missed the truck; the pack didn’t sight them until the end.  Not to be outdone Maxfly managed to get within 1km of the halfway before deciding he knew where the truck was and taking a short cut.  Needless to say that was the end of him.  The much reduced pack trundled into the halfway (well, 10km mark… or 11 for Yap Yap as the case may be) where Yap Yap, Elane and one visitor (again, apologies for not being at the circle) were lost to temptation as they boarded the truck.

Here Festering Chronic Masturbator joined the run.  For if anyone is experienced at tilting at the windmill of professional development it is he.  Why Fester chose to join the run, where he walked, for the final 4km as opposed to joining the walk, where he would have walked, for 6km or so remains one of those mysteries that will never be entirely solved.  The Yeti of Kien Svay.

Yet the remaining pack wouldn’t give up, despite losing members to the lure of the truck, the appeal of the walk and that most visceral of opponents, the ‘gut feel’ shortcut.  Kristina defied the laws of physics and hoisted her Smurf blue shorts just that little higher for the final surge.  Pol Job chose each check point with alacrity, which somewhat compensated for his constant poor choices. Shoots Blanks thought of his young daughter and ploughed on whilst Blah Blah more or less followed Kristina in a blue hazed stupor.

In the end the sun came down on the shaded, long stretch that is Kien Svay and the Saint Jude did look down upon the hash, with Dionysus by his side giggling and pointing out people he knew, and noted all the broken lances and chipped windmills and was satisfied.

On On

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Run #960 – Splash Splash

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on March 8, 2010

Date: 07/03/10

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

Run Report: Short Time

Unopened beer cans do float after they sink to the bottom of the swimming pool. After the terrified eyes of the hashers cleared as their Anchor rose to the surface of the pool after initially sinking, it was just a matter of wiping the chlorine from the top of the can to restore calm.

Run 960 had a overriding theme of water. The pack started by riding the Naga ferry across the river, running 7 km through rice fields and finally ending up in the warm, yet refreshing, waters of the Mango Resort. The pool overlooked the river and the setting sun. The run is not what the pack will remember however.

Farmers remembered to water their rice paddies resulting in a run through green fields in the middle of dry season.

Little Boy remembered a shortcut to the finish from the previous day. He advised Sarsy to follow. They arrived out of breath, and in time to see the rest of the pack already floating in the pool for 30 minutes.

Scoutmaster remembered a box of KFC from the day before and thought it might reappear on Sunday. But it turned out to be an illusion, a figment of the imagination. As it was on Saturday.

Runs Well remembered the days when he actually ran. No more.

May Not remembered to welcome everyone to run 959, even though this was run 960. Unless you refer to Hash Stats which listed last week as 960 and this week as 959???

Did we mention beer cans float?

Herring Choker remembered the days when ice was punishment, not the equivalent of a floating matress in a swimming pool.

May Not remembered ice from the Vancouver Olympics and was reaquainted with it in the circle.

Wanker Banker remembered a conversation from the day before about the resort rooms being available on an hourly basis and a new name was given, Short Time, to Andrew Jeschke. Daphne, a virgin, did not understand.

Booker and Grapes remembered how they received their hash names in Canberra, but the pack wasn’t listening still in amazement that the Anchor cans actually float. Metal is heavier than water, but is beer lighter than water? If you fill a metal can with liquid that is denser than water, taking into account the surface tension … shit, the pool water warms up the beer if you let it float for too long.

The business owners on Street 104 however did NOT remember to pay their electric bills and the On On On, scheduled for the Velkommen Inn, was moved to another watering hole, Sharkeys.

Posted in Outstanding Haring, Run Report | 3 Comments »

Run #959 – A Rare Commodity

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on March 2, 2010

Date : 27/2/10

Hares:  Pol Job & Germinator (running) Botticelli (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

And the pack did stareth at the wat for they knew there layeth the end of the run.  And the hare spoke unto them “yea we shall tread a difficult path, looketh at my legs for confirmation.” And the pack did so and marveled at her scratches, yet it was the carpet burn that staked a spear of fear unto the hardiest of them.  [Malt 3:13]

A rare commodity was on display as Pol Job set his first trail with the aid of the irrepressible Germinator in Ta Khmao.  Was it diamonds?  No, something much rarer.  Was it truth?  No, even in Cambodia a commodity rarer still.  Perhaps it was a clean Fester shirt?  No, though few things in the known universe are rarer than this garment of such mythical proportions that Jason’s Fleece is practically gospel truth by comparison.  It was white paint, in abundance.

Oh the joy, oh the humanity, of being able to follow a trail by actually following the marks as opposed to having to second guess the mindset and general incompetence of the hare.  The pack was delighted at the sight of Son of Bitch finding on-backs, whilst Scoutmaster was horrified to learn that holds were in abundance.  The trail was so well laid and planned that Little Boy stayed with the pack and Runs Well didn’t short cut.  It was so well laid that if the trail had shoulder blades they would be calloused.

In order to determine how the pack found this sudden turn of fortune a quick survey was undertaken, the results of which have been transcribed below in the interests of transparency and accountability:

[Mr Tinkle] “The pack was constantly on the move, I had no time to urinate.  It was a disgrace.”

[Toxic Flop] “Yaaa, it was well marked.  I always went the wrong way though so there must be something wrong with it.”

[Botticelli]  “I couldn’t lose the walkers.  I tried, it’s traditional after all, however they stuck with me.  I have lost face and now have to shave off all my hair.  Did I just say that?”

[STD] “The pack stayed together like a Chinese tour group.  It was so tight it was practically illegal.”

[Little Willy] “For me the trail was like making love. It started slow then finished with an exciting rush through the bushes.”

[Wanker Banker] “There are serious concerns that the amount of paint used will cause a consumer driven inflation spike.  I’m reporting the hares to the appropriate authorities.”

[Herring Choker] “I don’t give a shit.  Who’s hare for next week?”

As can be seen the pack was truly grateful for the experience and will no doubt repeat such a wonderful example of trail setting with religious fervor.   In fact there was so much religious fervor on display that the hares opted to finish the run in the midst of a nun-led Buddhist ceremony at the local wat.  Fortunately GM Scoutmaster saw that this lack of cultural sensitivity and ensured that the circle was moved to a far less sensitive area, being next to the crematorium and monk’s graves.

Eventually the circle came to a close and the pack wandered off to Irrawaddy where the food was prompt and the delicious as per usual.  Some didn’t come on account of the food being delayed and plain.  There’s no accounting for taste.

On On

Posted in Outstanding Haring, Run Report | 1 Comment »

Run #958 – an introspective analysis

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on February 23, 2010

Date : 20/2/10

Hare:  Blah Blah (running)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

Though one may runneth through the valley of the mango, one must ensure that whilst they are green they are not applied directly to the forehead.  For it hurteth so, and derives little sympathy from the following pack. [Malt 3:11]

There was a trail.  It was cunning.  More cunning than a French bank thief with a Glock and an inability to see closed glass doors.  More cunning than the Phnom Penh Post sellers on the river front who redraw the printed sales price.  More cunning than Scoutmaster arriving home at 2am, paddling up the river to sneak in via the back door.  It was so cunning that the International Confederation of Foxes and Weasels have requested the trail map to use a case study.

Yes, as you may have guessed, the run was at Kouh Krobi on the Tonlé Bassac, site of many a Blah Blah run.  The trail itself was a gyrating, bewildering affair laden with green mangos and banana leaves.  Yes, there was shade.  It wasn’t enough though for Ali who ended up snoozing under one of the shady trees whilst the pack trundled past.  It was still too hot for VV and Pig Pusher Swine Stabber from Pattaya who took their shirts off to the general concern of the assembled harriettes.   It was definitely too hot for newly arrived Wendy who took to the trail with a hat that spoke of stables, horse sweat and large, long, glistening….. tongues.

But no such problem bedeviled Herring Choker or Germinator who ploughed on through the foliage.  Indeed Toxic Flop was rejoicing in the fact that the trail was a mere 8km or so, as opposed to the 8 miles or so from the week prior.  Even Mr Tinkle, face flush after a grueling week of stitching beer coolers and teaching English (or is that teaching beer and stitching English?) managed to stick with the tight pack.

In true Blah Blah fashion great consideration was given to the walkers, care of such magnitude that if it were possible to be bottled it could be snuck into the water supply of warring nations, causing sudden outbreaks of peace and contentment.  They had no trail.  Indeed the walkers were told that today they would be runners, with a short cut or two thrown in for good measure.  In order to ease their concerns they were duly informed that they could get on the truck at the half way.  Ah, good readers, are you seeing the flaw in this cunning of plans?  Indeed the truck driver was given proper instructions, and indeed he understood them.  What the hare failed to do was explain that he should have left straight away and not wait an hour chatting with his mate.

The walkers were most amused.  Botticelli declared she knew the quickest way home and confidently strode off in the opposite direction to the finish before she was collared by the hare.  Welcome In was sure she knew the way home however came in from the opposite direction from the rest of the pack at the end of the run.  Nancy and Little Boy (who defected from the run) managed to stay on trail, in a manner of speaking, and came in with Hit on Me and Legally Split. They claim they “came astray in the wide area”.  Paddington Bra blushed.  What to make of it I wonder?

The circle convened and the ice dominated with various derrieres adorning the smooth, cool surface.  Mr Tinkle was first, for requesting the ice, VV and Pig Pusher Swine Stabber to show how the skin should best connect with the frozen block followed.  Festering Chronic Masturbator joined, on a chair, for being on the aforementioned and finally Blah Blah for such a sensational and amusing halfway.

There were some names, the result of vigorous petitioning of GM Scoutmaster.  Thavy was named Bikini Wax, for she had a name but no hares.  John Malloy was named Pol Job, for the correlation between the severity of the Khmer Rouge tribunal and the amount of outcomes achieved.

The hash ended in true Khmer style with a drunk motorcyclist connecting head first with the road whilst gawking at the circle.  Fortunately one Swiss virgin was a doctor and managed to put his brains back in before he staggered back onto his bike to wind his bloodied way home.

Oh so cunning.

On On

Posted in Outstanding Haring, Run Report | 1 Comment »

Run #957 – Valentiger

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on February 15, 2010

Date : 14/2/10

Hare:  Scoutmaster (running), Little Boy (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

And the harriete did gaze upon the naked torsos of the pack as they frolicked amongst the waters and was but amazed that such grotesque forms could but finish the 16km run.  For she knew not the commanding pull of the promise of beer that afflicted them thus, and knew not that this transcended the laws of physics declared by men mere mortal. [Malt 3:15]

It’s Valentine’s Day and Year of the Tiger all thrown together.  And the result of this bizarre concoction;  tough love.  And it started tough indeed with Little Willy and Yogi Bra being usurped from the hare line by the sheer momentum of Little Boy and a gem of an idea (at least this is Scoutmaster’s claim).  This doesn’t quite compare with the hare raiser of years past which had Blah Blah and Phlegm laying different trails on the same day however it comes close.

So what is tough love?  Is it Herring Choker deciding to join the walkers at the 7km stage?  Is it STD’s sense of humour going straight at a check whilst he went left?  Is it Eager Beaver and Toxic Flop pushing into the unknown, leaving the struggling pack to slog it out alone?  Is it Botticelli and Hit on Me being denied a half time drink along with the rest of the walkers?  Is it Ouk Bunyeang heading off towards the Tonlé Bassac never to be seen again?  Is it even a straight, dusty 12km first half?

No, tough love is having the halfway at the Tiger brewery…….. and not letting us go in.  Oh the cruelty, oh the humanity.  Never has a Somali warlord, Afghan Taliban commander nor Khmer dentist shown such wanton disdain for the fragile human souls under his care.  Flaccido Domingo broke down, clawing at the gates that would not yield .  Wannacracker sat it a dull stupor, eyes blank as he gazed unto horrors only known to himself.  Chicken Little sobbed quietly as she sat with her arms wrapped around an empty Anchor can, bemoaning what might have been.  Fair skinned John lay on the ground staring at the sun, seeking oblivion in the ultimate tan.

The lesson that this tough love was meant to convey remains strangely obscure and one cannot help but surmise that it was a vindictive act of sadomasochism.  The trail shouted to the world, “I’m going down and you bastards are coming with me.”  The lesson is thus the GM is always right, especially when he’s wrong.

Just to add insult to injury, it was at this point that Fester, who’d taken the truck to the halfway, decided to join for the remaining 4km or so home.  Not only did he find himself in the middle of a weary pack, he still hailed a motodop in order to pass the FRB’s.  There was ice.

Eventually the dusty and decidedly weary runners made it back to the La Luxe Fleur where a swimming pool awaited which was already full of relaxed walkers who were full of sympathy for the runners’ plight.  Nancy was looking very relaxed with a fag in hand whilst Pick Me Up was enjoying herself with lascivious glee on the pool’s jet stream.  Tips was seen practicing her breast stroking and Legally Split was, well let’s just say she was enjoying herself shall we.  It was, after all, Valentiger.

The circle was a crescent moon and a number of hashers were punished for trying to turn it back into a circle.  I can’t remember many of the sins however they primarily consisted of being too close to ring in RA Frenchie when he was stuck for ideas.

After some departed however most enjoyed a meal upstairs, which proved too much for Welcome In who promptly fell asleep on Herring Choker.  And as the remaining hashers boarded the truck, Little Boy made one final surge into the pool, cutting through the thin film of scum left behind by dusty hashers like a walrus in search of a clam.  It truly was a sight to stir the most frigid of lonely hearts.

Happy new Valentiger all.

On On

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Run #956 – and they go long, long, all the way

Posted by p2h3hashtrash on February 8, 2010

Date : 7/2/10

Hare:  Runs Well (running), Botticelli (walking)

Run Report:  Blah Blah

“I shall fear not the run of distance, for though the first half beith of great length, my legs shall falter not, nor shall my heart quail at the thought of continuing.  Is that the truck…?  Er, can I have a lifteth?  Oi slow up, waiteth for me you jammy bastards!” [Malt 3:09]

[Little Boy] And welcome to the Akreiy Ksat Hash Super Bowl

[Yogi Bra] That’s right LB, it’s an exciting mix today with Runs Well bringing his team onto the field and my they are looking depleted.

[Little Boy] Too right, Yogi.  Clearly victims of excessive drinking and a desire for some Waitangi Day ovine copulation….. and here comes Botticelli leading out the walkers

[Yogi Bra] and again a depleted pack… and it’s on.  Runs Well has sent the runners off and Blah Blah has taken an early lead.

[Little Boy] Wannacracker seems to have his measure though and wait, what’s this ….. I’m with the walkers.  But I’m also commentating.  How can this be?  X-Files, X-Files, X-Files!

[Yogi Bra] Calm down there LB, it’s just a temporal flux, the result of so much passion being concentrated in one spot.  Speaking of passion, I’m riding a horse right now.

[Little Boy] Riiiiiiiight……er……. now back to the action.  Ali seems to be fading.  It’s confirmed, he’s failing and …wait for it….he’s hopped onto a moto!  Scoutmaster has spotted him and it’s on for young and old.

[Yogi Bra] Ugly scenes here at the Hash Super Bowl, and now for a word from our sponsor

[Schubert] Drink Anchor

[Little Boy] The trail is getting long now, up around the 8km mark and we seem to have lost Kristina Weiland and Elane Moane… no there they are…………incredible scenes here.  Team Runs Well seems to have had two runners change sides and they are now walking.  Botticelli will be pleased.

[Yogi Bra] Halfway coming up and Team Runs Well is looking shagged after a 10km first half.

[Little Boy] Indeed, Yogi.  Bruce Bougourd is looking particularly shagged with his right side covered in mud after a rather spectacular fall.

[Yogi Bra] You’ve gotta love the virgins

[Little Boy] Well someone has to.  Wait, what’s this?  Flip Flop appears to be getting onto the truck with Scoutmaster, Bruce, Wannacracker, Kristina and Elane!  Is this the end of Team Runs Well?

[Yogi Bra] Hold your belly there big man, it’s not over for incredible scenes are unfolding here at the Hash Super Bowl.  Virgin Michael, Pencil Dick and Festering Chronic Masturbator have defected from Team Botticelli and joined Team Runs Well.  Blah Blah is soldiering on and, I can’t believe it, Wannacracker is getting off the truck and rejoining Team Runs Well.

[Little Boy] I’ve never seen anything like it, Yogi.  It’s like crapping your bed in the middle of the night.  Sometimes it’s just easier to change sides.  And now for another word from our sponsor

[Schubert] Drink Anchor, don’t sleep with Little Boy

[Yogi Bra] So Team Runs Well is down to 6 players and 100 metres into the second half, we’ve lost Fester!  1km in and there goes Pencil Dick as well.  It’s down to four players for the last few kms and only three are eligible to check.

[Little Boy] We’re looking at an exciting finish to this year’s Hash Super Bowl, Yogi.

[Yogi Bra] Indeed and, what’s this. Team Botticelli is across the line and it’s a win for the walkers.  Paulette is already downing beers with virgin Kathrina, gotta love these French-Khmer girls, and Laverne is relaxing in the shade with Tips; basking in their glory and don’t they deserve it.  I’m not really sure what Wanker Banker is doing however I’m pretty confident it’s illegal.

[Little Boy] Oh my God, I can see me again… but I’m commentating.  What am I doing with my hand?  Why am I staring at that woman’s…. X-Files, X-Files, X-Files!

[Yogi Bra] Damn, here comes Fester down the road.  I guess it turns out you can’t crap in your bed and sleep in it as well

[Little Boy] Isn’t that have your cake and eat it as well?

[Yogi Bra] Whatever, I’m dismounting this damn horse.  It’s all over folks, the hares are on the ice and another exciting Hash Super Bowl comes to a close

[Little Boy] Why am I fondling that beer can?  What am I doing with my tongue?  But I’m commentating here at the same time as I’m there….. X-Files, X-Files, X-Files!

On On

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