Ex-GM Matt "Anal Rape" Ryder's run began with the kind of
disarray one has come to expect. The hare had moved the run site from the
restaurant that was listed in the directions to a new restaurant that wasn't
listed in any directions. It turns out that the hare, clearly having done a
number of recons of the run, didn't bother to check whether the restaurant
was actually open Mondays (it wasn't). So, when we saw Lil' Ian Slater
standing in the road a kilometer or so short of our destination - trying to
look like a grown up while flagging down hashmobiles – we knew the tone for
the evening's run had been set.
Various hashers trickled in and began their pre-run rituals, keeping an eye
out for the changes expected under a Bog administration. Bog busied himself
making clear the changes that would occur under a Bog administration,
starting with the replacement of bottled beer with a keg. Already this was
too much for Spinning Dwarf, who began making his trademark
dismissive/irritated hand motion and declaring that the inability to divide
"bottles consumed" by "attendees" marked the end of hashing as we know it.
As we listened, amused, to Todd's Beer Table Putsch, a number of us began
asking one another if anyone had, in fact, seen the hare (Anal Rape). Would
there be a hash at all?
Anal Rape showed up a few moments before run time, soaked and with mud up
his back (from a motorbike – not a good sign), bearing one final piece of
paper in hand to demonstrate what we should be sni ng for and announced
"This is what the paper looks like, on-on that way!" Off the pack went to
the right and thundered down the pavement.
Unfortunately, the pack continued down the pavement. And continued. And
continued. Finally, after about a kilomteter of choking in diesel fumes, we
crossed a small khlong and paper was spotted off to the right. The FRBs
began running around madly trying to find the trail. "ONNN OONNNNNNNN!" came
the cry as we headed into the dirt and shiggy for the trail's mid-section.
Those of us who had run on Matt's BH3 Old Farts run a month or so prior
quickly recognized the territory. Fish ponds ahoy! Those of us who checked
on every check in Matt's previous BH3 trail also immediately recognized
Matt's check-laying strategy – backcheck, backcheck, backcheck. The trail
continued on through farmers' yards and along muddy dikes until we came to
the end of a tarmac road stretching as far as the eye could see to our
right. The paper lead on on down the road, and so we went running and
running and running and running down the road. Oh we ran and ran and ran.
Still we ran more and more, running and running and running. Oh the joy of
running on pavement!
The long road mercifully came to an end and paper lead off to our right –
down ANOTHER LONG ROAD. So we ran and ran down the long road on the hard
pavement with the diesel fumes and the honking cars and the loud mufflers.
Dejectedly we ran, having been forsaken by the hare and left with an On In
that took us kilometers down straight pavement. Finally we came to the end
just as dusk was setting in and everyone somberly shook the hare's hand.
As we filed in, we noticed Plugs Manboobs sitting on his tailgate waiting
for his boyfriend Tom Olaf Ellefsen to appear (his intentions having been
made apparent by the proctology lamp affixed to his forehead). Other hashers
wandered in from all directions and Barbie made it a point to ask each and
every one of them what took them so long. Some, it turns out, had run an
entirely different run – the one the hare set from the other restaurant
before realizing that it wasn't open on Mondays (a key fact participating
hares might want to know ahead of time, what with the Monday hash typically
being held on Mondays). Finally, the last of the hashers sauntered in and
began the ritual French showers, with more than a few of the men retiring to
a concrete bathhouse at the far corner of the lot to slap each other with
branches and frolic under the gentle rain of the shit-spraying nozzle.
Bog, our new GM, called the circle to order and basked in the glow of his
new authority, ordering in returners for down downs and giving a few down
downs out himself for various transgressions against the hash. He closed up
his portion of the evening's entertainment by calling Ian and Neil into the
circle, insulting both of them and Neil's wife, telling all of them that
they can insult each other or not insult each other, but that they have to
get along and, finally, declaring that this is what the hash is all about
(this is, in fact, what the hash is all about). The Mahatma then turned the
circle over to Ajarn Kee Mao, who proceeded to prance around in his dress,
insulting persons without regard to whether they were present on the hash or
had even lived in the last century or so. AKM closed out his act by naming
your On Sec as "Prick of the Week" for doing a good job at his job after
which he was forced to walk around wearing a strap-on penis and drinking
beer, a common punishment for hard work in GM Bog's home country of The
Netherlands.
In closing, Lad Krabang is a land of contrasts.
***
On Monday 17 November we had 19 Harriers, 8 Harriettes, 0
new boots and 0 visitors, total = 27. Returners included Som Burgess, Marc
Lavoie, David Lynton, Bob Boulter, Christi Holleman, and Kevin Mcgaffey.
