April 2014 | By: Scrooble The Scrotable Scribe
The Whiff of a Singlet
Or the faint odour of a few sticks of chicken satay and the hint of fragrance of “Dragon’s Cum” and “Dragon’s Blood” shots was enough to bring forth the masses last Saturday at Genta art gallery in Lodtonduh for Nightjar’s annual St. George’s Day run. As we pulled into the car park at the aforementioned expansive (and probably expensive) grounds studying the parade of familiar Hash faces, some unseen for some time, rolling up, it was pretty obvious this was going to be quite the reunion, and very likely quite the party. And they just kept on coming as we alighted the Mirth Mobile and made our way to Hash Cash with enough Rupes in our sweaty little paws to cover the second raise in run fees in less time than it took a sainted knight to castrate a large reptile in days of yore (yore what?)
My word – anybody who was anybody was there - and plenty of carbon based bipeds who weren’t. There were entities I wouldn’t have known if they had bobbed up in my sop bakso, beings who were so vaguely related to the hash that the connection was on the level of that perhaps they had occupied the same galaxy (The Milky Way) briefly at the same time at some point as HHH2. In fact I’m quite certain that I spotted a couple of Tralfamadorians disguised as humans in the crowd, but that was later, on about the fourth keg. The retractable antennae were a dead giveaway.
Anyway, there was a run. This was announced by a relatively sober Nightjar at the time, who did so clutching the hand of his teenage granddaughter, and this was a touching sight. Who knew the old hasher could be so solicitous and charming? I suppose being a contemporary of St. George he would be in possession of a certain amount of olde worlde charm (har); just kidding Nightjar if you’re gently reading, we are all fully aware of your considerable gifts as a human.
Speaking of considerable gifts as a human, a moment’s silence for the passing of legendary Harriet and dedicated conservationist, Mouthpiece, or Helen Newman in her civilian incarnation, was ably conducted by Organ Grinder; another touching moment indeed, and a reminder to us all of our precious fleeting mortality.
The Grand Master sent us off without a great deal of ado, or aduh about the run leaving us with the distinct impression that he wasn’t out to tire us unduly before the real fun began. And he wasn’t. It was quite a pretty amble through the fields of Mas and surrounding semi-rural suburbia, but it wasn’t exactly demanding or overly arduous. There were a few cleverly set checks as advertised but nothing to get your tit in a wringer about. It was quite a warm afternoon in this the run up to the impending hot season, and perhaps this had entered Nightjar’s calculations as well because we could have been in a lot more of a lather had he been inclined to put us in one. It was gentle hashing set by a gentleman, so what could we want for, I ask you? Bugger all, Your Honour. I for one enjoyed the bejesus out of it, thanks old chap.
So we basically followed the Lamborghinis and Ferraris back along the Jalan Raya to the Genta Bonanza Ranch. Speaking of which I spotted one each of said mobil at the lights of the Bypass and Jalan Tirta Nadhi 2 in Sanur the other day, so I’m not exaggerating that much. These two sleek quarter of a million dollar plus, low lying, burbling space/time machines seemed quite out of place surrounded by Mios and Scoopies with entire families perched on the gas tanks. I wondered if there is a super car dealer in Dps somewhere or do the owners just take them to Wayan’s Space/Time Machine Ketok Magic Bengkel for services and repairs. “Just leave it with me and pick it up last Wednesday, Pak”. I’ve also often wondered what feats of paranormal vehicle repairs are carried out at a Ketok Magic Bengkel and used to wonder even more if you could just walk right into a Bengkel with “Cat Oven” emblazoned on the sign outside and grab a freshly roasted cat to go. However, I digress as usual, ma’af.
As I was going to say before I so rudely interrupted myself, having sniffed out our singlets and makan, and I must say both of these offerings were things of rare beauty and taste, we repaired to the party enclosure. All the old feces, whoops faces (old being the operative word here) were gathered around the beer dispensary, and quite a few around the “Dragon’s Blood” and “Dragon’s Cum” outlet. Disco Wanker, Dead Meat, Chippie from the Jakarta Hash, Wooden Eye, Slip it In and Sex on the Desk, Barnacle Balls, The Book Ends, Labia, Agent Orange, Fanny Wank etc. etc…. regulars and irregulars such as The Penguin, Floral Shit and Skid Mark. Clearly we were in grave danger in this company, judging by the names alone, and the circle would be either uproarious or totally out of control. As it turned out it was kind of both.The whole caboodle swung wildly from total engagement on the part of the crowd to alcohol fuelled anarchy. One moment they would be singing along lustily to the down down song or a bawdy tune from Chippie, laughing their arses off at a trenchant Disco Wanker or Wooden Eye comment or Jangle Balls jape; the next minute they’d be conducting their own mini circle parties blissfully ignorant of the circle which could have been being conducted in Sangeh Monkey Forest for all they cared, by a bunch of monkeys.
The highlight of the evening was of course, by this time, a slightly inebriated Grand Master who staked his claim as still the most outrageous circle performer and the undisputed champion of manically rendered Hash Smut with his inimitable and animated presentation of “F…. me and S…. me and Sit on my Face”. Writhing on the lawn, glass in hand and blisteringly delivering lyrics at the very top of his lungs with accompanying sexually inspired bodily movements, he adequately demonstrated who was still boss in this arena. We all lapped it up of course, and attention was certainly drawn back to centre circle.
This seemed to be the peak of the evening’s entertainment after which we wove off in various directions contently sated with booze, food and singlets, and oh yes, a bit of exercise as well.
AGM next Saturday, ironically in the Sangeh area…
On on.
