March 2013 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
Papyrus Interruptus
Our little bloody muddy buddy, orang lumpur, had every right to hold his bespattered kepala tinggi this week with his run from Puri Damayu in Tunon. Full marks for a very agreeable distance from Ubud and points south in an attractive and challenging enough location with all the good stuff: padi, waterfalls, river valley, jungle – the whole gado gado – and not much of the bad stuff e.g. sampah and asphal. As thoroughly well chosen as it was, however, this really had no bearing on the burning issue of the day which is: where the fuck is Wooden Eye?
I looked down the back of the lounge suite, he wasn't there but I did find a family of Syrian refugees and Rp 500. I checked the vegetable crisper and examined the contents of the bin: not there. I did have to throw some carrots and a cucumber out that had seen better days, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't in amongst them.
Anyhow, things were proceeding rather spiffingly along Mudman's meandering map when two (TWO!) evils befell me:
1. The front sole of my right hash shoe divorced itself from the remainder of the apparatus and proceeded to laugh its treacherous little head off at me (two weeks old and Rp 179,000 from Robinson's, a………s!).
2. A clutch of frogs (the Gallic variety) bounced sweating toward us an hour and 15 into the short proclaiming "Zere eez a probLEM wiz ze papIER", never what you want to hear at this advanced stage of affairs. And indeed there was a probLEM. More F.R.B.s appeared progressing in the opposite direction, this was followed by a check around, then group confusion, on the heels of which was mass bewilderment and desperate hashers trotting hither and thither shouting unsettlingly non – approved four letter calls; arrows pointing in contradictory but amusing ways and finally the inevitable combo of "Ah fuck it" and "Permisi Bu, dimana Puri…" fill in the blanks.
Notice: missing, one Hash master, height: medium rare, hair: sometimes, eyes: wooden, build: yes, answers to the name of Eye, Wooden. Last seen in the crowd in St. Peter's Square during the Pope's Easter Address. Breaking news: that wasn't him, walks with a pronounced limp, maybe, from severe hash damage the last time he set a run.
So, (who is it that says that quite a bit? I can't think of it…) to address circulatory matters: there were further jests, japes and jocularity this week with a cast of characters who were mostly Night Jar. A newly coined Harriet was named by Jangle Balls because he allegedly gave her a ride home from the Victors and she allegedly had no idea where she lived. She was baptized "Fuckawi", but certain quarters claimed it was too long and hard to pronounce and wished to change it to "Fuck" (Night Jar).
Now hear this: An All Points Bulletin has been issued on fugitive Hash master "Scar leg" Wooden Eye Davies. He is armed, legged (we think) and dangerous. Innocent civilians are reported to have been down downed in back alleys in Ubud and Gianyar late at night but he is escalating to down down attacks in broad daylight. He has been known to throw people bodily out of a circle. If sighted, contact Densus 88.
So it all worked out, dare I say, in the long run if not the short. At least one of us limped back to the Pura car park with a piece of string borrowed from a black and white checked sarong wrapped around a bush and later tied around his right shoe, on a couple of clicks of asphalt. Once again divine intervention, or a happy cock up that worked out for the best was experienced on the hash – better than stumbling through the jungle with fucked up footwear.
I have now used the "F" word in various forms five times in one Hash Trash, and wish to apologise deeply to those offended by it. I offer my abject sorrow by way of beseeching your forgiveness: like fuck (six). We look forward to Pig Fucker's run next week (seven).
On on.
