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Bangkok Monday Hash House Harriers
Running and drinking beer since 1982. Website last updated: 28/07/07
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Run:- 1266 Date:- 25 June 2007.
Location:- Spiceroads, Sukhumvit Soi 39
Hare:- Struan "Peeved Cat" Robertson
Scribe:- Kevin McGaffeyAs this is the author's first write up, it is presumed that the readership (all four of you) will forgive the fact that the author cannot tell the various octogenarians, sex tourists and (r)aging alcoholics of the Monday HHH from one another. Having been ordered by Canal Rappรฉ and Beefeater to "Quit asking how to do a write up you idiot and just write anything you want – yes, even abouut Matt's secret life as a katoey comfort woman on the Korean soi - and we'll post it," the author has decided to put this directive to the test by lying profusely and using colourful metaphor. On on with the write up.
Monday's hash was hotter than two rats f*cking in a wool sock. Noriega's car, The Orange Shoe, ferried myself, Noriega and Lurch to the hash in the style to which we have become accustomed: holding our noses and pretending not to notice the disdainful stares of the various passers-by. The car itself has had more sweaty old men inside it than all of the bargirls in Patpong taken together (a feat some hasher will now attempt) and, accordingly, smells like Jimmy Hoffa is buried under the back seat. It does, however, get to the hash and back every time and for this we are thankful.
This week's hash site and haring duty were generously provided by Struan "Peeved Cat" Robertson, the proprietor of Spice Roads. Spice Roads offers bicycle tours of various Amazing Thailand; wonders such as Soi Cowboy and Patpong. The hash site itself, the parking lot of the company's international headquarters, can be found back off of Sukhumvit Soi 39 somewhere between Phrom Phong station and Angkor Wat, but I'll be damned if I could find it again.
Having gathered everyone around, Struan "What The Hell Kind of Name is Struan?" Robertson gave instructions about the markings and run style and then set the rambling pack of geezers and visa runners off with a rousing "on on!" It's worth noting that the trail was exceptionally well-marked in the early going, complete with cartoony arrows and heavily chalked wording, but this was before the locals had a chance to park their cars, kwayteow stands and soi dogs on top of the checks. These were the salad days and they would not last.
After winding down and around various sois near Spice Roads we popped out into a busier neighborhood with street markets and a large mosque. On the run we had an American Sailor visiting on R&R from the Fallujah hash (yes, Fallujah has a hash – clearly alcoholism is accompanyinng freedom on its march). Upon spotting the mosque, our visitor nervously lit up a cigarette, began mumbling something about "ali babas" and proceeded to win hearts and minds for the hash by kicking over various piles of toys and rocks while yelling "Clear! Clear!" Fortunately for us, none of the locals saw this brief display of Pre-PTSD and he quickly remembered that he was in the Land of Smiles, not the Land of 'Sploding Piles and the run continued unabated.
Soon after, we hit the khlong area and the trail marker ice cream turned to sh*t. We ran into a check near either a cutback trail or an in trail and ended up running up our own *sses for a good fifteen minutes going the wrong way. It must be said that this was probably largely the author's fault as the Bangkok hashing community's least gifted checker who routinely leads the hapless pack (who eventually declare that I looked like I knew where I was going) into sh*t, squalor and various dead ends or paperless trails. This time was no different and, after repeatedly running into the considerable backsides of the walkers and SCBs, we began to think something might be amiss. It was only when we saw The Tickler and his infernal wrist-based misdirection contraption that we knew we were up sh*t creek without a paddle as he is routinely found to be checking 5K off trail while consulting his oracle-like directional aid. I join my fellow Americans in thanking The Baby Jesus that Lewis & Clark didn't have GPS technology. With the situation so dire, Beefeater and Ajarn Kee Mao were forced to break from their profound and prolific musings on all things Derby County and set upon re-discovering the real trail.
Subsequent to another ten minute interlude during which we all ran around and across the thanon like morons because someone parked their car in front of a check, the paper resumed, the pack ran in and a good time was had by all as we cracked open the various kinds of beer.
The circle was a long and interesting affair hosted primarily by Lem, Noriega and Ajarn Kee Mao, marking the first time in memory that either the descriptor "long" or "interesting" has been applied to anything about any of the three. Lem, as always, was a diplomatic and mirthful emcee, dishing out "disses" and "props" in the ghetto poet style that he adopted growing up on the mean streets of 8 Mile in Detroit, including the outing – against all kknown Don't Ask Don't Tell policies - of the Naval visitor from Fallujah and his "friend" the massage therapist from Hawaii. Ajarn Kee Mao gave yet another lecture on the progress of Derby County's efforts to put an end to the unilateralism and triumphalism routinely associated with the global hegemony enjoyed by the West Indies and then shat upon Pattaya's good name. Noriega, clothed in his family's traditional Scottish tartan, called out various peoples for their transgressions against The Hash and babbled in his polyglot cargo cult tongues, bringing laughter to the masses. Additionally, The Tickler provided the author with some low hanging joke fruit by coming dressed as a butch reject from the Thai Village People. In grand hash tradition, the prick of the week – the newly outed Sailor from Fallujah โ€€“ was not forced to endure any kind of humiliating treatment because a predictably drunk hasher forgot to bring the actual prick. Finally Lem, in his inimitable style, closed the circle by announcing the location of the On-On-On and encouraging "social drinking" of the beer that had, at that point, run out.
The On-On-On itself lasted for too many beers and consisted of by far the best food of any On-On-On that the author has attended (including the grilled ga pow wild boar at the Sunday birthday run a few weeks back that kept the author crapping for nearly three days). Struan "Struan? Really?" Robertson deserves yet another pat on the back for this choice. Over the course of the next four to seventeen hours many a beer was had by all and many an incredibly fruity-looking Outlaw Josie Wales cigarillo was smoked by both Canal Rappรฉ and Lurch, the former of whom requests that someone please slip a bottle of Grecian Formula 44 into the Hash Piss cooler before the next Monday run as the benefits from his brief shampoo modeling contract have run out and he is going gay- err, grey. A great schism in The Hash nearly formed when the people at the other end of the long and under-populated table from Bog Diver didn't feel like moving to his end of the table at his request, but the warring parties resolved to settle their differences in the usual manner, by relenting to Bog's wishes, and the On-On-On rollicked on with gusto.
All in all it was a fine hash. The author and all others present seemed to have a good time in spite of the company of the other hashers. Any missing details, for which I apologize, have been lost in the fog of the heavy drinking of the last however many days it has been since the Monday hash. If you've read this far, well, what the Hell is wrong with you?
Mark it 8, dude.
***
On Monday 25 June we had 18 Harriers, 9 Harriettes, 1 new boot and 4 visitors, total = 32. Welcome back to returners Matt Bruggen, David "King Mangostein" Kovalik, Struan "Peeved Cat" Robertson, Martyn "Lurch" Sanderson, Graeme "Mini" Bristol and Annie "Dominatrix" Sproston. Welcome to New Boot Kevin McGaffey.
