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Hashshit Holders Next Week and Elephant Man

Statistics: Members 31, New Members 2, Visitor 1. Total 35

Only a couple of minutes late I sprinted off through a throng of cheering kampung children and was soon upon the pack, which was negotiating its way across a wide and fast flowing river. Herpes and Crusty Nuts had not yet built up a head of steam and were the first pair I should pass, then Jungle Fucker and soon MGM. An intricate trail followed through the sawah which had the effect slowing down the pack. Bunched together, but then out on to a well-trodden path and upwards with the daunting sight of the steep slopes of the gunung ahead. I sought to barge my way through the field but was still no where near the front. Witless was heard to raise the call of check-back and my thoughts were of his diabolical sabotage of last week’s brilliant run set by Next Week and myself. After checking for some time a group of us noticed that the main part of the pack were now bounding off to the left. Hardly an on-on was heard as the front runners disappeared in the distance.

Sprinting upwards and onwards I was eventually to come across a confused group of front runners, who had lost the trail, and were reaping their just deserts for their lack of calling. Without mentioning any names there was Bludknock, Botaksan and Superbrat among others. I took advantage of the situation and was now close to the front, even passing a pensive Superbrat who was standing, with dick in hand, taking in the view of over Gunung Salak, while pissing on some poor sods singkong.

Soon I came across Bolt1on and although I attempted to get away as fast as possible I was caught between a real rock and a Hardcase. His conversation revolved around whether I could lend him any Donkey Spank Magazines, supposedly for the Yirbuk. It shocked me a little when he said that my co-scribe, The Rope, had already been able to accommodate him some well thumbed volumes. I was a little later pleased to meet up with my old buddy Hardcase who was visiting from Perth to soak in the culture? We ambled along for a while recounting some past exploits before I felt it time to rush on.

The rest of the trail was not as tortuous as expected and I was pleased that most was now downhill, before we were to reach the shores of the river again. A flat path led us back to the grounds of empty house and a view over the circuit we had come. I was there by six or so, having been on paper all the way and surprisingly near the front of the pack. Within the next half our or so all arrived back safe and sound. A few wrong turns saw Mudguard, Next Week, Leeky Dick and Jonathan Gordon bring up the rear.

There had been whispers and machinations abounding, since the turn of the century, concerning a possible Japo-German coup d’etat aimed at ousting the incumbent hash master and installing Yoshi as interim leader. Thankfully though sanity was allowed to prevail, on this night, and there were a lot of relieved hasher when Sheepskin turned up and asserted his usual authority. The relief expressed itself in total chaos and ill-discipline, the hallmark of the hash year, so far. Yoshi himself had tried to impress us with his new shirt, but this only resulting in ridicule and derision, followed by a rousing chorus of I’m a Lumberjack and I’m OK.’ Yoshi sidled off a defeated man!

There were announcements went in ad nauseum. Vatican Rag seemed to be endlessly interrupting with details of his daughters forthcoming wedding, which in high class New Zealand style will have a beer truck in attendance. It appears that you, your families, servants and any visiting Masi warriors are invited, but he would appreciate it if you could give him a call to sort out numbers. [Late applications for the position of groom should be accompanied by stamped addressed envelope].

One again [except last week] lots and lots of nicey-nice things were said about the run: Tarzan as always said very good, Yoshi said thank you so much; Witless said boring while imitating Lady Bracknell; MGM or Jungle Fucker said something about the same as Medan; Bloodcock said good stuff; Angie complained at the absence of a horn, but that means good for him; Botaksan said simple run, while Simply Fred, Rabbi, Mudguard, Hardcase and Next week all concurred that it was good. Pretty Boy’s comment that the hash was turning into an IQ test had the rest of us realizing why there are fewer Irish runners nowadays. Stand-in hash master, Superbrat, declared it a very good run or lun [Japanese].

The Rabbi brought our attention to a mighty spacecraft perched on the top of Gunung Hambalang, which appeared to be attempting contact with the circle. Was there an alien already in our midst who was being summoned back, was it an attempt at contact with an intelligent life force or was it just interested in the beer truck. We were never really to know, but the craft continued to be an awesome specter throughout the circle. The Scots, being the genetically closest group to an alien live force were summoned to make first contact with the extraterrestrials, but their attempts at sacrificing Tarzan were apparently declined. The one Irish hasher present took no interest in meeting any more little green men.

While Nick Leeson did a great job in pouring the piss Crusty Nuts was in good voice with renditions of Dinah and a few others. His attempt at Irian Jaya never really got off the ground as there were calls for renaming the song in the light of recent political unrest in the area. Suggestions for a new name ranged from West Papua to West Hartlepools to West Papaya and finally Papaya Barat. Dr Ghurka took a strong interest in this discussion and should be considered for an subcommittees that may be formed to look into renaming songs which mention Indonesian provinces.

For the sake propriety and decency Jonesy will not be mentioned. Slobidan was in one of those German joke telling put them ice sort of moods and once more he attempted to get German accepted as the main language for the circle. There were discussions about global warming which I missed. Vatican Rag played with the RA’s nipples which was something you would never have got under the old committee. Rabbi told a joke about some pussy called Winger and one about camels and lip blisters. Co-hare Sheepskin sung a song which was worth waiting for, even if was not that complementary about his fellow committee member. Konkrete Kock sung a version of House of the Rising Bum which most thought they had heard before.

As the final song was sung and we departed our various ways there was a sense of relief from those weary hashers who had remained. The weather had been perfect, the run good, an attempted coup had been quelled, English was to remain the linga franca of the circle, Hardcase had been thwarted from telling any jokes, and with the final attempt at a funny, by Tarzan, the space craft made a hasty retreat, not having been able to make contact with an intelligent form of life.

The on-on at the Rasa Senang , some way down the toll, was a sedate affair attended by ten or a dozen stalwarts. The food, not bad, the beer cold and conversation stimulating, as each related stories of diarrhea, gonorrhea and other such things that seemed important at the time. Herpes asked me to pass the Nazi Goreng, but I guess that was just a slip of the tongue and not a hint at things to come!

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