January 2013 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
A Divinity Shapes Our Ends (So To Speak)
I have recently written a number (3) of Hash Trashes dealing with The End of the year / world and related Mexican etc. culprits of this event. There has been one glaring omission, however, and I feel compelled to now acknowledge this significant historical figure, a man who needs no introduction, Mister Jesus Christ (applause, yay!). I mention him because I was standing in the car park last Saturday before the run recommending a "You Tube" photo to a fellow hasher of a U.S. church announcement board that read as follows: "Today's sermons: 9.15 a.m. Jesus walks upon the water, 1.30 p.m. Searching for Jesus". Suddenly a huge finger in the sky did not appear, and a thunderous voice did not say "O ye of little faith, die, hash scum!" Nor did I get bitten by anything poisonous in an intimate area, in this case the shooting range in Sembung, Mengwi. Wow, talk about a close shave, huh?
Hare Labia did however announce the fact of two runs, a long and a short, and we took off like stampeding cats. Previous to this there had been a steady flow of early starters who seem to feel, once again, that they are immune to the slings and arrows of outraged Hash Trashers and Masters. We'll see about that. (Some of these malcontents had actual… dogs, eek!)
This was a fitting run to end a year of good hashing. Sylvan scenery, jungle, padis, wide open spaces – the whole enchilada, a really pleasant and pretty run in an area not often exploited. Recently returned regular HHH2 hasher from the 90s, Cane Rat, performed a fairly impressive double twist and lateral tailspin dive from a concrete subec into the sungai, and was accused of trying to shortcut by swimming; as you can imagine, not exactly a hardy har moment for him. There were a few checks, nothing outrageous, that kept the pack together, and I have to say, the calling seems to be improving a tad even by those who seem to be stricken with year – round laryngitis and who normally wouldn't show you a shortcut to the shithouse (as Jesus said, thou knoweth who thy be).
The paper was literally thin on the ground from time to time but we all found our way fairly easily to the far more than adequate car park. Yancing Queen did the fishes and loaves act with some delicious baked potatoes, bacon bits, creamy, cheesy sauce – type additions (blessed are the cheese makers) which we snorked down like plane crash survivors wandering out of the desert. Wooden Eye called us to prayer and as solemn and angelic as a holy host we sang for those poor wretches who are bastards through and through and will never get to heaven in a long, long way.
A visiting hasher from Hamersley Hash told us the same joke he did last time and attempted (how dare he?) to interrupt His Jangledness in mid one liner with a series of intestinally generated pyrotechnics. The Jangled One's wrath and punishment were sure and swift, after which he told a "joke" so off color his face and hand movements should have been blurred out. Naturally, it went over pretty well with the dirty minded bastards of the Saturday family hash. Later another unfortunate soul crooned an inappropriate ditty to The Hash Master and was severely iced for his trouble. This kind of inebriated but inspired idiocy went on, and on, and you guessed it, on. At some point The Dung Beatles "Get Pissed and Shout" was delivered and the bookends walked through the woods and performed ablutions.
It was way more fun than the Ladies Auxiliary Church Group, about as subtle as an exploding cigar at a state funeral, and much better than an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting (if it's supposed to be anonymous, how come the first thing they do is announce their names? I don't get it.) See you at Bentuyung next week.
On on.
