December 2012 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
Legalize Hash (ing)
It seems that “officials” in the U.S. have finally decided to legalize cannabis on, is it Washington, California or New York, (the “tri – state area”)? They were going to do it in Washington D. C. but decided things were hilarious and lethargic enough there already. This comes just in time before the end of the world, which I’m afraid, has to be demolished to make way for an intergalactic freeway…wait a minute, that’s the plot line to “Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”. No, the end of the world is nigh because Nostradumbarse said so a couple of thousand years ago. He also babbled on an incessant and daily basis making nutty predictions about everything from grasshoppers to Simon Cowell (which spell check helpfully informs me should be “cowbell”) before his keepers came to put his nice white robe, with the sleeves done up at the back, on him and take him away.
Anyway, we’ve got to hand it to U.S. officials for their timely and brave action on this issue. Keep in mind these are the same people who brought us Vietnam, Watergate, Three Mile Island and more recently Iraq, the Fiscal Cliff and probably the Kardashians, so they know what they’re doing. Now, marijuana is not an evil drug anymore, has medical benefits, and warrants further investigation and ordering a pizza. Good, let’s do that, but let’s get to the run on Saturday at the Monkey Forest car park hared by Suckit, as we eventually should.
We were greeted by the usual screeching hairy bunch, who were scratching themselves, trying to steal food and taking craps from tree top branches. There were some monkeys there too, har. And, of course, some fine specimens of man’s best friend, who started brawling with each other and barking at our little primate buddies in the car park and forest fringes before you could say “Tut, tut, Mr. Pickles”. Ah, yes – my favourite canine - I won’t rest, and will use all my clout with Buckingham Palace until I see it knighted, my regard for this creature is so high.
Correct weight was announced by former and semi - present Hash Master, Labia, and we were off and running. Now, it’s not as if we haven’t run this course before but that first section past the Jurassic Park look - alike forest on the right, then skirting the deep drop - off to the left never fails to impress and set the heart aflutter at least a teensy bit. It is a pretty run and there’s no denying it, plus a respectable amount of time has lapsed since our last visit to this site. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen the lake and temple appear out of the wilds, this too is a balm to the eye and always makes me want to hurl myself bodily into the drink and splash around like a 5 – year old. Shame I didn’t, if Nostradipshit and the Hawaiians are right, it won’t be there the week after next, nothing will. I should look on the bright side – there won’t be any early starters or dogs either.
Is it just me or did there seem to be a preponderance of not often seen French types this week? I was running with a clutch of them at one point who were exhibiting very French behavior such as speaking French and wearing Lycra and scarves. They were saying things to each other and laughing their heads off, which I swear sounded like “Mais je ne pas les fromages’’ (“but I am not wearing the cheeses”) or “Au quais, Monsieur Funny Bones, je Suis la petit chapeau” (“Okay Mr. Funny bones, I am a little hat”), but they probably weren’t.
Back at the Monkey Ranch, the dogs were still barking strenuously at unconcerned macaques. Dogs are ever vigilant like this – in the sense of “stupid”. The dogs in my neighborhood bark at anything: warungs, bushes, lamp posts, gravel. This is because, follow me closely here, they have the I.Q.s of tire irons, which they would also bark at if confronted with one. So, hashers with dogs, can you PLEASE do me, the monkeys, the tire irons and any 3-year old unlucky enough to get between our furry pals gnashing and foaming in the car park a HUGE favor and KEEP THEM ON A LEASH? (Sorry, I don’t know signing for the deaf). Thank you; and early starters… DON’T START! (That is, at all, if you can’t do it with everybody else).
Labia called the Order to vespers (as opposed to Lambrettas) and a host of returners, leavers, and virgins were ushered through the pearly gates of Bintang Heaven or rowed across the Styx to Bintang hell, depending on whether or not they had to drink draught or bottled. Jangle Balls blessed us with the Dung Beatles “Strawberry Paste” (it helps with the taste) and the title track from the soundtrack album to the porn cartoon “Jelly in Between” (we all use a little). Jokes were told or in Dancing Queen’s case, intoned, and it pissed down raining right on cue after the customary flying termite jug and glass invasion. It could have been worse; there was only one D.Q. joke. We fled from the rain and thunder like startled monkeys. See you, by the zoo, at Singapadu. Hoo roo.
On on.
