Run No:-


Date:- 25 April 2005


Baan Suan Restaurant


Cenghis and Ian "AKM" Slater


Matt "AR" Ryder


Thirty one hashers arrived at Baan Suan Restaurant on the northwest side of town for the annual ANZAC Day Run. Historical foes Disgusting (da Turk) and Ajaarn Kee Meow (da Aussie) layed down their weapons and joined forces as co-hares. Too bad…a firearm may have been preferable to the 5 foot long dildo that Kee Meow was brandishing. But hey, “Make Love, Not War”, as that famous hasher, John “The Wad” Holmes used to say!

Just one glance at Disgusting’s perspiration-soaked brow made it obvious that we were in for a re-enactment of the slow murderous crawl over the ridges at Gallipoli. With a collective groan, the platoon humps away from the mess tent. Sure enough, we’re immediately up to our necks in dense, overgrown bush that would shame a Greek heiress. Actually, I exaggerate…no make that lie…a lot…and we’re running along lovely footpaths that criss-cross innumerable fruit farms.

Running along footpaths doesn’t mean jumping into irrigation ditches, but apparently John McBirnie marches to the tune of a different drummer, joining the mosquito larvae for a quick dip. Trenchfoot, diphtheria, malaria, insanity…we’ve got it all at the Bangkok Monday Hash. Note to Bob “Forget Me Not” Guzman; Quit handing out crazy pills before the run! Speaking of said taco eater, the Guz finally became respectable, taking a job teaching Thai car salesmen how to rip off customers in English. “Yes maam, if you buy today, I’ll throw in undercoating for only 59,000 baht!”

There must have been 12 or so checks that got progressively tougher, so the platoon was pretty bunched up even after seventy minutes on trail. Of course, Sebastion’s miner’s lamp couldn’t keep him from getting lost, so the last glimpse anybody had of him was as he guided his APV over a few unfortunate souls on his way out of the motor pool. The penultimate check was especially tricky, leaving Hungry Bum befuddled and scrambling for her night vision goggles.

But the entire ragtag unit somehow made it back to the mess tent, after an hour twenty. Eight clicks, no snipers, no booby traps…sometimes these things work out. On In to the circle then!

The hares were saluted for not killing each other and pulling off a respectable little war. “Disgusting” expressed regret for not finishing off the Armenians when they were on the ropes in 1915, earning a double down-down in the not so distant future. The various sinners took their punishment like broken-down POWs, bringing honor on themselves and their countries. What more could they do?

Evening chow was an all-male affair, except for the lovely Colonel “It”. She suffered alone through yet another smelly, juvenile, testosterone charged Bacchanalia, earning a field promotion to “General-It-ssimo Mungdee.

Just before the call came for lights out, a stray artillery shell took out an electrical transformer less than 40 meters from the mess hall. As we huddled in the dark, we planned our next assault. The target is…yes…the beer cooler!

After the Corps of Engineers finished their repair work and the lights came up, a grim scene of death and destruction spread across the theatre of bottle. Those Heinies didn’t have a chance! On On!       


On Monday 25 April we had 25 Harriers, 6 Harriettes, 0 new boot and 0 visitors, total = 31. Welcome returners Vinai "Oversexed" Seesar, Steve "Tastes Great" Furst and Tim "Joylide" Wienands.

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