June 2013 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
Petrified Walrus Penis Has a Good Eye
Firstly, apologies for last week's Hash Trash being sent out in the good (or not) name of this week's Has Trash, earlier this week. Mia not culpa. At first I thought I was being stalked by a ghost writer or that I had taken to sonambulatory perambulations and writing the Hash Trash in my sleep. Perhaps this would be an improvement. I know I sleep better in my sleep than I do at my desk at work. This same ghost writer may have haunted the web site with extra curricular comments on the behavior of a certain hasher in the circle two weeks ago at Oxzcy's run. Not that I minded - unless of course it was me writing in my sleep again, in which case I take offence.
Anyway, on to the Petrified One and 69er's run (Jesus, what a combination of hash names – the imagery, ugh! Oh, the humanity) at Lungsiakan last Saturday. This was a truly beautiful run from this location representing an improvement of many thousands of percent over any run normally launched from this site. It was one of those runs where at least at one point you have to stop and say to yourself "Dang", (or perhaps "Shoot") "there really is no place like Bali". There just isn't. It's not like Bali has the best cheesecake postcard palm fringed beaches in the world, or the cleanest warungs for that matter, but when you're surrounded by amazingly emerald padis and a huge banyan is outlined by the tangerine sunset light behind a massive cumulus on the green horizon, it's just… well, forget the crowds and the traffic hassles.
Speaking of which, our small number was pulled over by the local non – beer buying constabulary not one, not two, but the next number up (three) times on Saturday. The last time on the way home on the bypass, the poor bastard felt the full blast of three grumpy, half pissed old expats, especially after he accused us of imbibing something he referred to as "minum". How dare he? His confident accusations shrunk to embarrassed apologies in the face of our barrage of indignation. They didn't get a red rupiah out of us. We screeched off with our Rp 200.000 intact.
Off paper, sorry. We had some fabulous scenery and surprisingly challenging ups and downs, the last one of which among the river rocks, we were a little too cheek-to- jowl if not arsehole-to-elbow with the local mandi takers. This one was an especially challenging stumble but a huge bunch o' fun. How the hell has all this been hidden from us for so long in this area and how did P.W. Penis find it? I can only guess that being from Alaska as he is, the only other place yours truly has ever been that has as interesting and varied a landscape as Bali (besides Sri Lanka but the food sucks), the Stiffened One has some experience finding the most attractive bits.
Getting changed, we spotted Labia plucking the greenery that is required in his religion for hymen removal ceremonies and the "Circle up" order was given. A dizzying series of events eventuated: returner Jenny Two Melons (is it just me or are they getting bigger?) was shriven, (shrove, shraven, shrived, how the fuck do you conjugate that in the passive?) by Nightjar on ice (she not he). Disco Wanker exposed terrorists in our midst; one particularly sinister and bearded fundamentalist was from a sleeper cell in Denver Colorado of all places. You can't be too complacent! This unfortunate had already been deflowered by Labia, but was further punished by Wooden Eye for some obscure reason, found his way onto the ice and was seated eye to eye (brown) with his virgin buddy while Kayu Mata drew out the down song to an absurd length. Water boarding is apparently allowed in Lungsiakan.
Jangle Balls held a trivia contest in honour of Buddy Holly's posthumous 79th year and awarded CDs of Buddy's Greatest Hits of dubious provenance to smartarses who knew the answers, then down downed them for smart arsery. This was followed by renditions of "Shave On", the litigious" Sue Peggy Sue" and "Oh Boy, You're Bi", impeccable lyrical discriminatory abilities were displayed as usual. A truncated joke session petered out with Pedophile etc. but it must be said that O' Monkey Balls tells a mean Irish joke, he ought to be able to.
On on to The Fly where the (kind of) new band had us on our feet and the ribs on our arses (Huh?) which we later danced off.
On on, if you can follow that.
