December 2013 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
Holy Host, Batman!'
There were more Hashers than you could shake an inflatable reindeer love doll at on Saturday at the Mumbul Christmas run. For reasons I couldn’t explain if testicles and electrodes were involved we got there with no traffic interludes or delays at all, none! We even had to remove the driver’s side door panel of the Taruna in the driveway on the way out of the garage because the window wouldn’t cooperate by completing its journey to the top of the door. Having affected these repairs, re-entered the vehicle, and built a scale model of the Taj Mahal with toothpicks, engine idling, we filed a ten thousand word report to the mother ship and still got to the site at four of the clock. You wouldn’t believe it! (Didn’t think so, but the part about the Taj Mahal is true). So, we had half an hour to stand around like stale bottles of piss and bullshit to other hashers. Which we did, admirably well I thought.
And they just kept on comin’. Carload after carload of them, motorbikes bearing them, rickshaw drivers and hashers piggy backing other hashers trotted into the car park. Again, almost unbelievable, a Christmas miracle of fishes and loaves proportions!
Rumours started to swirl around the car park that Disco Wanker (the Christmas hare) had pulled a no show, pissed off to Bangkok and left an elf to lay the run. Nah, we all said, the Wanker would never do a thing like that and on such a signal occasion. Alas, it proved to be the case as Yetti appeared, hash paper bag in tow and almost immediately chalked the way out with a bright blue arrow smack in the middle of the bitumen for early leavers to see. This immediately caused an exodus effectively setting back the hard work done by many a conscientious hare for months on BHHH2 to avoid this very scenario. Why would a hare do this? Ask a policeman.
Despite this mar on affairs, it was a great run, probably run of the month. Faultlessly marked, there was paper and white spray paint generously apportioned that clearly marked the very scenic route. You would have had to be Stevie Wonder not to follow it (speaking of which, why can’t Stevie Wonder see his mates? Because he’s married, ha!). A couple of shrewd checks kept things interesting and at least some of the pack together. Yes, it was slippery as advertised, but this kept us on our toes surfin’ the wild mud, which was great fun, as always. Beautiful paddy stuff and more ups and downs than Elton John’s buttocks in a bath house. These, though, were not too extreme and not too shallow, right in the Goldilocks zone and astutely chosen, as were the river walks and crossings which seemed to come along just as hash shoes were clogged with mud. Mossy concrete paths through padis and into villages were a total kick. I haven’t seen as good scenery on any run from this location and there was very little bitumen, or for that matter much garbage. Well done hare Yetti, who doubled as Santa doling out the kiddie pressies and makanan, a busy elf indeed.
Back at the Circle M there were visitors and virgins aplenty for Labia to mutilate with a giant sprig of poison ivy or nettles. Fortunately there were also 5 kegs and a stack of beer crates reaching heavenwards on the truck, though all this seemed to magically disappear down the gullets of the thronging thousands and were all but gone by the time social drinking was called. Labia was advised by the crowd to shrivel some unfortunates on ice at one juncture and made up words to replace those that he had completely forgotten in the shriving song and those that actually appear in the English language. It was a lot funnier than if he had remembered the real ones. Col. Bloodnok made a guest appearance accusing virgins of not exactly being the genuine article and ferreting out the only actual Virgo Intacti by means of his Poirot–like investigative skills.
Jangle Balls held a Christmas Beatles quiz with handsomely packaged, faithfully knocked-off copies of a C.D. all the way from The Peoples’ Republic of China containing 27 of their Greatest Hits (The Beatles’, not the Peoples’ Republic of China) as prizes. Dung Beatles versions of “Day Stripper” and “We Can Work It In” were performed as booby prizes. Unlucky winners were given down downs plus their valuable (Rp19.437) prizes.
There was only one question hanging over the heads of the dwindling inebriated. Besides fomenting street riots, what is it that Disco Wanker does regularly in Bangkok?
Oh, I almost forgot, being covered in lumpur at the end of the run, I made my way down to an area adjacent the car park where locals had been collecting fresh water from a couple of bamboo spouts in a rock face that were continuously pouring, and started blithely showering and washing my shoes and filthy sleeveless hash top. I was suddenly surrounded by hashers copying the idea and splashing happily away so I pissed off and found out in the circle by way of labial announcement that we had been actually stealing holy water from a sacred site, whoopsie daisy. So, I’m all set for Christmas, then. Or not, maybe I won’t feel the effects until Hari Nyepi. Can’t wait.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
On on.
P.S. Beer truck: it would be nice if you didn’t pack up and piss off while we’re still enjoying ourselves, thank you.
