February 2013 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
Petrified Walrus Penis and the Tunnel of Poo
We haven't seen the old Penis for a while, as the actress said to the bishop, we were looking forward to casting eyes on his "visage'', but he didn't even show up! It remains shrouded in mystery, as is preferable in the case of both bishops' and walruses' penises (peni?), what role the Petrified One indeed played in the laying of the run, but it was a beauty! We did get St. Tits as a Walrus Penis stand (harr) - in, which I suppose if you blurred your eyes a bit, was a reasonable facsimile of one.
The countryside around this Payangan-ish area is undeniably fantastic stuff; the ups and downs were medium - to -challenging and river crossings mildly difficult, though you probably wouldn't want Granny taking a stab at them. It was an all round classically good run with a couple of weird bits that could have led you astray if you weren't on your toes and were distracted and inattentive, or generally an idiot like perhaps me, for example.
And quiet, sheesh, you could have heard Helen Keller (a keen hasher in her day), or even Anonymous, three rice padis away. There was one point in a fairly pig intensive area – about a hundred of the usually squealing, oinking, pink, fat bastards in the longest sty ever seen on Bali to host a pack of the porcine poop revelers – and there was barely an apologetic grunt out of them. Even the village anjing were half hearted compared to the usual frothing and ranting.
Then of course there was the (drum roll) Tunnel of Poo! This was at once adventurous, a tad eerie and a mite disgusting. Well, certainly at the end with all the garbage in the mud it was, a disturbing development absent from this site last year. Nevertheless, it was an unmitigated Nike in the sphincter – just enough flaming torch light to make it intriguingly gloomy. Half way through this cavernous diversion, a darkened and looming, shadowy figure approached me headed in the opposite direction. As a flip remark I enquired "Dead end?" "Oh no", a female voice in a North American accent ricocheted off the walls "not at all"; and continued an echoing and incomprehensible explanation of her aberrant trajectory for some time finally fading into a faint mumble.
I would find it difficult to identify the owner of this voice, being in a dark tunnel and all, but may I say, lovely North American ladies of Bali HHH2, and this is not meant as a slight: if an Aussie or a Brit of some description questions you in such a way in this situation, there is the possibility of the presence of levity. IT IS NOT MEANT TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY. Thank you, and there was equally no need to hold forth at such length in clarification, though I'm sure that only the best of intentions were behind such a spelunking soliloquy. Whew! I should talk; it's just taken me half a page to describe this brief encounter, windy bastard.
In an encouraging display of circle participation this week, which I wholeheartedly endorse, there was a cast of thousands. Ed "Wooden Eye" Sullivan hosted guest stars such as Sex on the Desk, Nightjar, Disco Wanker, Jangle Balls, somebody from Hamersley hash who takes it up the arse, the Penguin, St Tits, Slip and Suck, somebody else from Hamersley who takes it up the arse, Mouthpiece, did I mention somebody from Hamersley who takes it up the arse? It was more fun than a tunnel full of troglodytes and we cackled like dope smoking hyenas. An orange and pink sunset shone down on this horseplay (which is the new brand name for Tesco's beef burgers, by the way) and one couldn't help one's profound observation that standing around beer in hand, covered in crap guffawing at bawdy jokes and songs is clearly more stimulating than a tuxedo, opera glasses and a stick up the arse (you won't hear that in 'Les Miserables").
On on to The Fly where 10th anniversary celebrators Organ Grinder and Spank My Monkey were romantically down downed with full glasses of red wine and serenaded by a roomful of inebriates, being melodically reminded that they were bastards through and through. It was quite touching as I'm sure it was for them at home later, if they ever got there.
On on.
