Write up of
Run # 986 Monday 18 February
Location: Baan Khieng Naam Restaurant
Hare: Peter "Maverick"
Laverick
As recalled by the Groan Manager.
The sun begins its weary afternoon downward decline. My faithful companion and I head northwards as the light begins casting a warm, comfortable yellow glow over the town. There’s trouble ahead. The natives are getting restless. Rumour has it that the infamous Monday Hash Gang has moved onto Nonthaburi ground (This Not the Nonthaburi Hash and shouldn’t be confused as such). The locals plead with my companion and I to help as we ride through town, what can we do but investigate.
We draw to halt on the main road. Silver trembles in a cloud of dust after losing 100 kph of forward perambulation in as many metres. I don’t know why she’s called Silver, she’s sort of greeny blue after all. My companion says, “big piles of buffalo poo, Kawasaki ! the way is blocked. We’ll have to leave the road, turn left at the hanging tree, run straight through Tombstone, then make a right at the Big Cactus”. “For heavens sake”, I replied, “it’s just a tollgate. And it’s Keemosabi you idiot”. We move on.
We eventually arrive at what we understand to be the present headquarters of the Monday Hash Gang. Locals shrink away from the grim looking derelicts that shamble around the car park. “The ferry is coming”, is announced, and there’s a general move to the dilapidated broken down steps at the waterfront. I warn Tonto, “be careful out there, we have to find out who the boss is. I don’t know what they plan, but it could be dangerous”. Suddenly the ferry veers off to our right. “They’ve realised who we are” said the desperado next to me. I recognised him. He used to work on the Bonanza Cartwright ranch, a man called Hoss, I remember. “Head ‘em off at the next pier up river” came the cry from Maverick, a seasoned gambler on the Chao Phraya River Boats. We headed north and finally reached the pier. As the ferry approached Tonto whispered, “don’t pay the ferry man Chemotherapy”. “It’s Keemosabi you idiot ! We’ll pay him when we get to the other side”.
We were last to get off the boat. The rest of the gang rushed off a whooping and a hollering, scattering locals like chickens in a tornado. As they left us, I asked Tonto to use her considerable tracking skills to follow them. “It’s this way Kanchanaburi. They have left tracks”. As ever I was impressed with Tonto’s tracking skills. “It’s Keemosabi you fool. How did you manage to find the trail so quickly ? was it the footprints in the dust? Can you feel the vibration of their footsteps through the road ? Can you smell Bullet’s aftershave on the breeze?”. I was intrigued by her amazing Indian hunting skills. “No boss, there’s a trail of paper at the side of the road”, she replied. It wasn’t long before Tonto and I were separated.
After a lengthy trot down the road, we caught up with the Gang. At the back, strolling along peaceably, was Captain Eric. I knew of this man. The local Sheriff wanted Eric for sailing bootleg hooch up the Chao Phraya. After Eric I caught up with the Gang floosies, Nonthaburi girls who were said to be cheap and easy, though I wouldn’t dare tackle them. I went past. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I got the impression that the Gang were following the trail of paper as well. Doubts leapt to mind as I noticed a mean looking dude wearing a wig of massive black curly hair, later identified as T.Q. Courtney, rushing off in totally the wrong direction for no apparent reason. It was Bugsy Turner who marched off in exasperation saying, “it’s this way you clowns, past the Preachers place”. This was no ordinary place of preaching. The patrolling guard Pony and dogs ensured our quick egress from the premises, except for one ‘out of towner’, who had to be held back from attacking the attack dogs !
I caught up with Tonto. “Those tight blue shorts look good on you. Any ideas where we’re going ? “No Kolonoscopy, I am following the desperado Sebathstian. I am not sure he is what he seems. He runs like a fairy, light on his feet and dreamy look on his face. Maybe he’s high. I like blue. I had trouble getting a matching thong”. With that, Tonto rushed off. By this time convicted cattle rustler Sheep Shunter and the Nonthaburi poontang had caught up, and it was time leave. We rushed headlong through the trees, along roads, through houses and across bridges. We lost the trail, we found the trail. I find myself behind Bullet Boulter, skimming through the bushes and trampling trees, leaving a trail that a herd of elephants would have been proud of. He stops at a crossroads, staring down at an occult signal scrawled on the ground in the shape of a cross. I ran into the back of him and rebounded 13 metres backwards. A man mountain of relaxed muscle. The gang splits up, mainly into those who are looking for the trail and those who are loitering with intent or redoing their make-up. As it’s starting to get dark I join the former, speeding off into the bushes. I was alone in the gloom. The eerie feeling of being watched making my flesh crawl, becoming a reality as a group of children watch my progress through the trees (or lack of it) with amazement. I vaguely hear shouts in the distance and rush back to the place the gang were. As I do, Two people I recognise as Joylide and Pancake, burst from the undergrowth fiddling with their attire. Of the rest of the Gang there is no sign. Eventually, we spot the trail they’ve left and speed on. Fearing our safety in the darkness, I urge Tonto to the front of the gang, running headlong down the twisting trails. Neither of us wants to be alone at night with T.Q. Courtney, we both agree that Sebathstian ain’t what he seems. Under that placid exterior lies who knows what kind of neurosis eating away at his sanity.
Amazing! We find ourselves back where we started running – the ferry pier. There, Maverick is waiting for us. Obviously his poker hand hadn’t been good this night, as his ill gotten gains consisted of just 15 bottles of water and a bottle of beer of which there was only half left. We all returned to Gang headquarters on the other side of the river.
We were gathered together to form a circle. Though Tonto and I had gone to great lengths to blend into the crowd, I was worried. The Gang Chief, the Great Pudenda surveyed the assembled for signs of weakness, none would meet the steely glint of his eye. He had two eyes, though only one was glinting steely at that moment. One unfortunate was dragged in for being a ‘foreigner’, whereas others were picked on for being stupid enough to return after escaping the Hash Gang. The thug next to me was dancing up and down in perverse glee, his black curls flopping about him as he muttered and shouted incoherent encouragement to those meting out the punishments. As the one known as the RA stepped in the circle, the assembled hushed, cowed in supplication and awe. More punishment. To Jumpstart for liking to lick bald men (more power to her tongue is what I say !), to the visitor for attempting to fight the attack dogs of the Wat, for several Hashers for doing things totally unrelated to Mondays run and for the POW. This was the time for Tonto and I to find Silver and depart before anyone spotted us.
“Keepontrucking, why the locals so frightened of the Monday Hash Gang ?”
“I don’t know Tonto. Maybe it’s because they can appear running through your house at any moment. Maybe it’s because they get drunk and make a lot of noise, or maybe it’s because they’re all weird. Whatever Tonto, I enjoyed the run. Could you wear the sequinned panties and get the lettuce out of the fridge later? Oh, and it’s Keemosabi ok?”.
As recalled by
George of the Jungle
The pack arrived at
Baan Khieng Naam to find that the restaurant’s landing stage had been
washed away and looked at each other disconsolately for about 15 minutes
wondering what to do next until Maverick finally took the initiative and
gave the order to walk round to the public ferry pier a couple of blocks
away. The delay fortunately
allowed several latecomers, including Jumpstart, to catch up.
The ferry’s attractive boat girl seemed happy to have a bunch of
paunchy middle aged farangs on board wearing revealing sports attire and was
smiling and giggling away until some one, I think it was the Bug, made a
lewd beery proposal to her which put a slight damper on our otherwise happy
jaunt on the river. Luckily the
2 Baht ferry was soon over and we disembarked at Wat Kang Khao.
The run started predictably enough and soon gripes were heard from TQ and Sebastiane about the lack of variation. However, unbeknownst to these hash moaners Maverick had laid an interesting surprise in store. Shortly we entered the compound of Wat Sangha Than which at first glance seemed relatively undistinguished apart from its somewhat unusual neo-floral-commercialist temple architecture which is recognizable by the extensive use of plate glass in the external structure and a frieze of large Cartland pink plaster of Paris lotus petals running around the base. Surely a feast for the eyes of any nouveau riche religious devotee with a living room full of fake Louis XV furniture and a St Paul’s dome on the top of his house. But wait! This was not merely a tour to demonstrate architectural excesses and impress Mini’s busty teenaged students. Maverick had laid on something more special than that for the hash.
As the pack rounded a corner in the temple compound we were at once set upon by a pack of fierce dogs. These were not the mangy soi dogs expelled by their disgruntled owners from speeding pick-up trucks that usually end up dependent on the monks’ hospitality. On the contrary this was a pack of European thoroughbreds, Alsatians and Rottweilers apparently donated by a wealthy hasher named Vichai, who is presumably also responsible for the nightmarish temple architecture. Alsatians and Rottweilers are trained to attack suspicious looking people and it was not long before we were able to witness an excellent demonstration of why Rottweilers, along with Dobermen and Pit Bulls, have been banned as pets in the UK (after savaging a number of small children to death).
The dogs circled the hash carefully sniffing out the most appropriate victim and make an example. Suddenly their leader, a Rottweiler at least 16 hands tall that could have been a star of the South African Police’s Kaffir control squads in the good old days, growled the canine equivalent of eureka and greedily sank its fangs into the flabby white thigh of visitor John from Korea who earlier been heard boasting that the secret of his prowess in Soi Nana short time hotels was a regular diet of grilled Korean dog’s penis. One would have expected him to accept his fate calmly as an act of divine retribution or karma but John appeared unwilling to take his predicament philosophically. He immediately unleashed a stream of particularly foul mouthed invective at the group of man’s best friends and just as his f***ing and blinding had got into top gear, a farang monk with a large Caucasian nose popped out of the temple to see what was going on and surveyed the source of the profanities with a wonderfully serene, beatific smile. Bullet unkindly commented to John that it was no use yelling at the dogs in English as they were probably monoglot Thais. John continued to rant and rave for nearly half an hour until it appeared that rabies had set in instantly. However, Phansak helpfully pointed out that it takes several days and that he had plenty of time to go and get the series of five shots at 500 baht a piece after partaking of copious refreshments at the beer truck and on on.
Finally back in the circle down downs were awarded as follows:
Jumpstart – for admitting that she fantasized about liking bald men’s pates
TQ - for getting disqualified in the Koh Larn classic for going through the finish line backwards.
Frisky Kristy – for slopping beer into the potato chips on Sunday just as the RA was about to grab a handful.
Subhuman - for piling up bodies of impoverished black people in Georgia after conning their relatives out of cremation fees.
John from Korea was voted “Prick of the Week” for being disrespectful to Thai dogs.
