November 2014 | By: Scrooble The Scrotable Scribbling, Dribbling Scribe
"Bogan Villa"
Pray bear with me, dear reader as I wander off the reservation on a (hopefully) brief tangential excursion. Look at it as a kind of “live hare” Hash Trash. We’ll be on paper eventually. Next door to my house over a bougainvillea draped wall some Aussie FIFO bloke (fly in fly out iron ore mining joker) has rented an older Balinese style house, put a pool in and seemingly sub-lets it out to a constant procession of grizzled individuals named Muzza or Gazza or Dazza with faded tattoo adorned arms the size of tree trunks and stomachs roughly the size, shape and tensile strength of a stainless steel barbecue lid, the house contractor’s mining mates, I’m guessing. Some of them sport the rat tails style “do” that dangles over the back of a Bintang singlet, with complementary Buffalo Bill centre-chin facial hair segment (or “blob”). Some rock the completely-bald-and-full-Charles-Darwin-beard look (speaking of Darwin, the town that is, it too apparently looks like a Z.Z. Top convention these days). The ever-popular Billy Ray Cyrus mullet (pronounced “moolay’’ in French) makes a fairly regular appearance as well. These people have voices like Popeye the Sailor or Brutus, his arch enemy, if you can imagine Popeye saying “G’doi Mort, wanna watch the Gren’ Fornal?”, and this is just the women and children!
Where did these guys come from? In any shopping mall in Australia nowadays there are hundreds of them. Did some terrorists sneak Bogan juice into the suburban Australian water supply, or more likely into Carlton Draught stubbies? They are all over Bali now, especially Sanur, I saw a whole family of them on Segues, the ultimate fatty movers, yesterday on the Beach Walk. Is it only a matter of time before they discover the Hash? (“Psycho” shower scene music). I’m not telling them, for one… I think it would probably be a bit too light hearted for them anyway, it is serious business being a Bogan, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one smile or laugh. The preferred demeanor is one of a steely eyed glare while almost crushing an unfortunate Bintang bottle, and this is just the women and children!
So where were we? Ah yes, the Hash run last Saturday at Banjar Gahgah hared by Worm, Mudflaps and guest paper bitch, Jangle Balls. I hate to be the bearer of bad meteorological tidings or Master of the Bleeding Obvious, but the weather hasn’t broken yet and it’s still as hot as a wharfy’s armpit anywhere on the Chicken Shaped Island at the moment, dry, dusty, and worst of all, unsteady beneath the old kaki. It’s probably easier to traverse the ups and downs we did on Saturday when it is muddy slop during the rainy season than the crusty, pebbly unstable shite it is now.
Thus, Haring this week was lively in the area of staying balanced, and more than once a naughty word was uttered as one of us lost our footing and went crashing down one hot, sandy, bushy slope or another. At one point Mudflaps almost had a nasty and penetrating anal encounter with a sharp stick after losing her balance while just standing there doing not much at all. Don’t get excited, it missed by millimeters, (although later that day she did receive an SMS from the stick asking her out on a date.) Thanks to the intrepid duo of herself and Worm, who industriously reccied the area twice during the week last week, we were able to put together a damned decent run even if I do say so myself, or at least, they did.
Shade was the order of the day, the imperative and the buzzword, thus we did our best to model a “Made in the Shade” run. We would have had to suffer the wrath of broiled hashers if we hadn’t, so it wasn’t like there was a shitload of choice in the matter. Fortunately, there was also some nice, cooling and trickling mini falls, pools and streams with which h’s and h’ettes would have had to be insane not to splash their overheated extremities. My favourite was a comely miniature lotus pond smack dab in the middle of the paddys into which water relaxingly poured and, under the trickle that filled, it I shoved my sweltering bonce causing an audible and visible hiss of steam.
We did indeed undergo a few trials on the trail: I managed to obtain a singlet full of large red ants some of which migrated to my shorts, and smacking the crap out of myself must have looked like a deluded member of Mylie Cyrus’ (why do I keep mentioning members of this appalling family?) dance troupe doing an updated Watusi while simulating sex and being pursued by bees. Mudflaps also managed to get at least one large red ant in her undergarment (later she received an SMS from this same ant asking her out on a date but she unfortunately had a previous engagement with a sharp stick).
Staggering back to the car park at around 3 pm, we beheld the loveliest sight it is possible to behold (beside the dead cat on the last steps ‘round the corner, but I’ll get to that). It was like a mirage of an oasis in the desert. Yes! The beer truck had already arrived against all reasonable logic, AND the big bottles were freezing, frigidly cold. It is impossible to imagine our uncontained, unadulterated joy, just impossible. In order not to get tooo fucked up before 4 o’ clock in the afternoon I was dispatched to find edible sustenance of any description, and in order not to waste this food, the dynamic duo overcame Mud Flaps’ lifelong revulsion for dead cats covered in ants and bravely removed this abomination with (yes, you have it! a sharp stick, but not the same one), without actual regurgitation.
At this point things become kind of blurry as they do when you’re a hare and start drinking beer mid-afternoon continuing courageously into the evening. I remember the circle being constantly hilarious, but not a lot of details. I do hazily recall being down downed with Worm and M.F. when a Japanese girl inexplicably joined us in mid circle with a pleasantly inscrutable expression that suggested she might offer to perform a tea ceremony… the Brothers Spookgrinder or Organspook rendering a tender version of “The Ball of Kerry Mall”… snatches of things like this, but that’s about, erm, it, I’m afraid. Wait! Whykickanenema was finally brought to book for certain defecating behavior on a Hash in the middle past. Sorry old champion, no statute of limitations on the Hash.
Anyway, hopefully the result of all our exertions were enjoyed, and, so far so good, no Bogan sightings on the Hash yet and no new ones next door this week. Wait a minute, is that a Popeye cartoon I hear or…
On on to T.B.A. next week,
J.B.
