June 2014 | By: Scrooble The Scrotable Scribbling, Dribbling Scribe
“A Breeding Pair of Armenians"
I happened to overhear the following conversation between three hashers as they discussed the Bali “sampah” question in mid-run last Saturday: Large bald American whose name cannot be revealed because of our strict policy on privacy, and because I have no idea what his name is, Hash or otherwise: “They should put garbage collection in the hands of the local mafia.” Reply from much shorter grey haired hasher who will remain incognito as per the above policy (Jangle Balls) “But they don’t have any Armenians here” (just about all garbage collection in the U.S. is controlled, for some randomly obscure reason by Armenian immigrants). Another hasher suffering from a similar follically related condition as L.B.A., the original speaker, who must also I’m afraid go unnamed (Spook) “Perhaps Bali could import a breeding pair of Armenians”.
I think (and I won’t even say “personally” here because there is no other way to think than personally unless you’re having a séance) that this is a terrific idea. It’s certainly as good an idea as anybody has come up with despite thirty years of local Banjars and government resolutely ignoring the problem in no uncertain terms, and at great financial expense to nobody. In fact there wasn’t that much rubbish on the run but in the spots that it did occur, it was plentifully and festively abundant, gaily garnishing paddy berms and festooning undergrowth decoratively with Silvikrin Hitam shampoo sachets and Gudang Garam cigarette packs (ah yes, that comfortingly familiar red toned logo, it’s good to see it hasn’t yet completely lost its market share to Marlboro Putih).
Anyway let’s not get sidetracked (whoops, too late). Last Saturday’s run set by Ocxzy and chums was bloody brilliant and certainly a candidate for run of the month, no doubt about it. Just about everything was excellent (other than a spot or two with a lack of waste management). Plenty of parking, not too far from anywhere hashers were likely to come from, a good sized circle area, and a rather comely Pura that was well lit at night and quite pretty in itself. The running part itself was scenic sekali, picture-skew indeed. Just high enough in elevation to have all the ingredients, and who organized the cool overcast weather and beautiful breezes with just enough velocity to cool us down post-run? It wouldn’t surprise me if Oxczy did, he had everything else under control. You know these Chinese guys and their contacts in high places.
One particularly enjoyable feature of this run was the tunnel with no roof at the very beginning of it. It was actually more of a cleavage in a rather tall stone outcrop, but I just wanted an excuse to use the word “cleavage”. I love that word, it rolls off the tongue so pleasurably. “Cleavage’’ there it is again, even the letters are quite voluptuous what with the “C” and the “V” in there, especially in capitals. However, ahem, where were we? There were jungle and paddy aplenty and a long section of pathway following river bends and curves (stop that right there!) Oh, alright.
Let’s move onto the circle then if we can’t keep our minds on the job at hand (coff); a jolly enjoyable experience this week, as was last week’s. Labia baptized a clutch of virgins enthusiastically with his soggy growth and Nightjar informed us of the proximity of Philippines’ National Day a couple of days previously. He then ushered out our token Pinoy, Susu Giday, to whom to quote obscure romantic English poetry (for reasons which have escaped me during the transition from Saturday evening to Tuesday afternoon). Tagalog poetry may have been more appropriate, but it went down a treat anyway. She certainly seemed to enjoy it.
An indigenous American person by the Hash name of Tonto was good value with his constant indigenous American dancing and bird calls. He came very much in handy whistling along to Jangle Balls’ rendition of Monty Python’s “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” and became so animated at one point it seemed like someone had left their Injun running (har), the Lone Ranger perhaps. Organ Donour, sorry Grinder, let fly with a ditty or two from his Hash quiver, which found their mirthful mark and the Bali Hai barreled generously on.
A controversy briefly erupted when Blow Joe held forth on his feelings about the inappropriateness of a 4 pm start (I agree with him wholeheartedly, all we’ve got to do is not set 2 1/2 hour long runs to avoid losing people in the forest at night – it ain’t rocket science) but blew over quickly enough when he moved on to more serious topics such as the current prostitute shortage in Mobile, Alabama. It was all more fun than a barrel of Bali Hai but alas, we had other venues (one of which sounds remarkably like “The Tickled Harriet”) to patronize, which we duly did and drank several Kilkenny Irish ales while we were there; on tap now at your local “Fickle Carrot”!
On on.
