August 2014 | By: Scrooble The Scrotable Scribbling, Dribbling Scribe
“Merdeka! Ham! And Tomato!"
It was quite the healthy turnout for Muddy Man’s Hari Merdeka run, thank you very much. A civilised distance from anywhere inhabitable and a comfortably familiar run site starting from the Mambal Swimming Pool. You might even say cloyingly familiar if you were in a critical frame of mind but being the nice guy you are, it won’t come to that, will it now? At least it started in a different direction than that usually taken and seemed to explore territory not seen terribly often, before we got to that wide, inexorable and inevitable waterway we know and love so well. I guess you could say it’s kind of like seeing an old friend you haven’t seen for a while. It’s good to see him again but you have seen him so very often so many, many, many… you get the picture. I had an uncle that died when I was a kid. I’d like to see him again too, but I’m not going to get an exhumation order.
There was absolutely nothing wrong with this run, actually. It had all the requirements for a decent hash run and was without some of the elements that aren’t so desirable: there wasn’t that much garbage, asphalt or kampong involved and there were some quite wild parts that almost qualified as jungle. Some pretty scenery including a field of vivid red offering flowers, and luscious ferns and palms alongside the waterway. It was appropriately desa-esque with frolicking naked children (am I allowed to mention that these days without being suspected of Saville/Harris/Richard leanings?) After last week’s marathon epic endurance course it was pretty much what the doctor ordered, a bit of a balm in fact. So nice one, Orang Lumpur and Orang Perempuan Lumpur.
Have you ever heard the sayings “Does the Pope shit in the woods?” or “Are bears Catholic?” which is a kind of novel way of expressing the sentiment “Of course, you silly bugger/ dopey bastard” depending on how familiarly acquainted you are with the receiver of this intelligence? Well, in an ironic twist on this quaint idiom last Saturday one of our number actually, literally, did shit in the woods as the result of an unfortunate, unwanted and evidently unheralded bowel movement that took place in mid – run; even more startlingly, mid – sentence whilst he was chatting away quite sociably and jogging berm-side with yours truly, blissfully unaware of what was about to so swiftly and effectively afflict him.
The fellow in question whose name will be withheld to protect his, until now “spotless” and “unsullied” reputation, bolted off into bush cover at the speed of Clark Kent to a phone box shouting over his shoulder “Gotta pee, I’ll catch up” or words to that effect and it wasn’t until circling up that I learnt of the real nature of his harrowing plight. I find it difficult to render the following report, but there was apparently no choice other than to return to the parking site having already gone involuntarily “commando” for reasons of employing his under garment for purposes other than what the manufacturer intended.
As I stated, my unfortunate friend will remain “unexposed”, but here are a few clues pertaining to his nationality: Crowded House (he evidently prefers the great outdoors), Sam Neill (he’d rather squat than Neill), The All Blacks (All Browns in his case). Ho.
Having completed a very short short at 40 odd minutes, a bit of a brief medium at pretty much an hour, and the usual too- long long at 2 hours plus; we bolted down deliciously free Swedish Merdeka ham and cheese sangers and not entirely free Bali Hai before being mustered into formation by the ubiquitous Labia. The usual demented demonstrations and inspired idiocy followed. The Hash master positively thrashed virgins with his Holy Bush, following swiftly on his heels was the Gland Master with an English interpretation of a French joke, or was it vice versa, or Victoria’s Viceroy? I can never tell the difference.
The extremely novel and lively auction of a rare, tiny and beautiful 1988 Hashathon singlet was conducted by a clutch of circle entities. The bidding was inebriatedly competitive and a ludicrous Rp 900.000 won the day, bid by a buxom Harriet who could barely have fit one of her generous breasts into said item of clothing. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted and the prized garment was magnificently modelled by Mudflaps.
At some hazy point Jangle Balls brandished a convincingly fake Dildo in the execution of the Dung Beatles classic “Helluva Dildo’’ (Eleanor Rigby) and the Mayor of Bayswater’s daughter’s unusual pubic gifts were re-visited by The Organ Twins and guest vocalist Night Jar. We had no business having such a ridiculously large time adjacent a public swimming pool and eventually Social Disease, sorry, Drinking was called, dregs were gargled and off we hiccupped into the Merdeka, or pre-Merdeka night. Next week Gudang and Horny Herring take us to Sangeh where we might enjoy the company of some squealing, scratching hairy primates. There could be some monkeys there too.
On on.
