June 2014 | By: Scrooble The Scrotable Scribbling, Dribbling Scribe
“I’m Offensive and I Find That Gay"
Last Saturday’s run by Bouncing Czech and Hash spouse, No Deposit, saw the eventual return of missing hasher Mount Her. He had broken his leg on (or more specifically, off) his motorbike in dire circumstances in Sumba, which can always be relied on, crawled his way back across Komodo, Lombok, Nusa Penida etc. swimming through shark infested waters, bleeding profusely and dragging his Harley Country Gentleman behind him, or something along those lines. No wonder he had been away so long. As it turns out, he was not only a returner but also a leaver because he’s pissing off to Europe (let’s hope he doesn’t take his bike). Thus he attained two down downs and one extra for being a Justin Beiber fan impersonator (long story).
Mr. and Mrs. Czech-Deposit gave us as good a run as any on Saturday, as some circle wag put it: the best run all day. It was actually a really good run once we got off the long introductory asphalt and gravel sections and into dry river beds, stunning riverside valley pathways and splendid paddy and across-river views. The paper was a bit erratic, disappearing almost altogether at times with oddly spaced intervals and tiny forensically located strands, then reappearing looking as if one of the hares had either newly remembered his/her paper duties after a lapse of clarity, or had fallen victim to a violent epileptic fit scattering huge drifts of the white stuff all over undergrowth and path side rises. It certainly kept us on our toes and the calling magically improved (necessarily) tremendously from the often lackadaisical and languidly half-hearted efforts on HHH2.
Our four legged furry friends, both Hash and local, were much in evidence. At one point a black, slavering and gnashing fur ball hurtled toward me down a school side path barking maniacally like a yapping inter-continental ballistic mongrel, probably more scared than me and trying to put as much distance between us as doggily possible. Nevertheless, an unnerving experience that just about heralded mutual bowel movements on our parts.
It was also another quite enjoyable circle despite the lack of a Hash Master or R.A. These fun circles seem to be in direct proportion to the amount of hashers attending them and the last few weeks there haven’t been huge crowds at all, for reasons evading me. Maybe it’s the calm before the storm or the relative obscurity of the last few comparatively esoteric sites. Whatevs, I’m all over it, and the only happier orang than me is Larry. Dancing Queen, who like a mushroom is a fungi (har), stood in for Labia, and Spook wielded the virgin slaying damp undergrowth. Grand Master Night Jar again managed to unearth some significance to the day despite initial protestations of there being “FACK OORLL”. The Order of the Bookends gave us some pornographic musical engineering as a grand finale with the mechanical sexual exploits of “The Engineer’s Song”.
Some life form took exception to Jangle Balls blue shaded Dung Beatles renditions (“Jelly In Between”, “Strawberry Paste Forever” and “O Solo Mio, Someone Please Blow Mio”) somehow construing he and his vocal exertions, beyond all knowable logic, to be less than heterosexual. He (life form) then told a leaden anti-poofter joke that wasn’t even in the same country as funny. All a bit of a worry. I know the Jangled One from back in the day and, believe me, he would go home from a party with a garden implement as long as it was a female one. But we find ourselves wandering off the reservation again. The Bali Hai went down down very very well well again again until it was well past social drinking and time to bid happy trails to all and to all a good night, then off to the “Snickered Harrier Jet” for a warm mug of Bovril and some mushy peas.
On on.
