Bangkok Monday Hash House Harriers
Trash by an anonymous alcoholic

Last updated: 16 Dec 2009

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Run no:- 1394           

Date:- 8 Dec 2009
Location:- Steak Baan Daeng Restaurant
Hare:- Ajarn Kee Mao
Scribe:- The Mystery Scribe

 

I probably pulled into the parking area about five minutes before the run started to see a bunch of semi-retired and semi-retarded people standing around gumming about the third Goddamn run in a row from pretty much the same location. Had I been there, I would have said, "Yeah this is fucking ridiculous, but what do you expect from a bunch of hashers?" I'd have said hello to The Three Peters and Ajarn Kee Mao and Tickler and the others and watched in horror as Sugar Daddy stumbled on top of my GPS as it sat on the ground desperately searching for a signal from its friends in the skies. I'd have politely cursed him for his pre-drunken behavior and then politely cursed the damn GPS, which probably still wouldn't have acquired its position. Tickler, having finally returned to oversee his hash, most likely then circled everyone up to start the run with Ajarn Kee Mao no doubt calling people retards and swearing at the group as he sent them "On On That Way..." As the group took off, Tom and Marc no doubt would have showed up, Marc checking the corners of his mouth for evidence as Tom subtly returned his zipper to the closed position.

 

The run almost definitely went on out down the little gravel road and through the same Goddamn walkways and paths that we run every time at this location. No doubt the local kids would have long since tired of yelling hello at the strange people running through their game of hopscotch and taken to simply yelling AWK BAI and asking why these smelly old people can't go screw up someone else's game of hopscotch instead. Certainly we would have soon come upon the weeks of paper from the previous fifteen thousand consecutive runs in the area and accidentally gotten off trail here or there before circling around to the golf course and probably pointing out that it can't be that fucking way because that goes nowhere so, just like last week and the week before, it must go this way. Joy, we would have muttered under our collective breaths.

 

To vary things up, the trail assuredly would have cut across the giant motorway earlier than before and made its way through the little refugee camp and farmer's land and then up the concrete pathway that everyone knows by now there's no point in checking from when you see a check. Ian, being a jammy bastard, certainly would have taken the trail into the dirt behind the subdivision and out and around a bit this time instead of sticking to the concrete, blowing everyone's minds momentarily with the unexpected variety. Of course the pack would have quickly recovered their senses and returned to cursing the run upon reach the concrete path that took them back under the bridge and over to the other side of the motorway again. Upon reach the on in, I would have thanked Ian for a great run and gently maneuvered past Sugar Daddy, already guarding the piss, to begin drinking. The pack would have come in piecemeal with some people having gotten lost during checks, which would have been remarkable given that it's the same goddamn trail they ran every other week basically! People stood around, one imagines, jawing about the cost of the upcoming AGM and how the new administration was off to a bang up start with three runs in the same location ("just like last year with the Goddamn Nakhon In runs," I would have replied). Finally, the circle was called, I'm guessing, and the hash petty thieves probably absconded with their ill-gotten beers as Tickler wandered around with his spectacles on reading out famous historical dates and quizzing people on their knowledge. Ian was then brought in, one assumes, to prance around in his presenile dementia induced counter-clockwise pattern while wearing a dress and carrying on with his misogynistic rants. Various women were brought in for prick of the week, if history is a guide, and one of them was selected, after which the circle was closed, the next run was announced for the third restaurant at the same location on the next week and socialist drinking ensued.

 

I wouldn't have remembered much about the On On On as I would have been incredibly drunk, but images that most likely would have stuck in my mind include:

- Todd looking smugly satisfied as he popped the lid on his hermetically sealed mug and took a sip.

- Ian arguing staunchly on some arcane point of hash lore and using it as a springboard to declare that this is why the hash shouldn't allow one thing or another.

- Tickler staring blankly and suddenly agreeing loudly with something with crumbs stuck in his table-comb of a moustache.

- Joost carrying on excitedly about some imagined plot to do one outrageous thing or another.

- Bog inserting himself, belly first, into various conversations to talk about something or another for the fourth time.

- Lynn looking sadly apologetic as she quickly excused herself from the table and fled home from this disheveled group of decaying waterheads.

 

I would have passed out on the way home in Ticker's car after making some absurd point about something that we shouldn't put up with on the hash, staunchly defending my idiotic position. Then I would have awoken the next day, unable to remember much of anything about the event and put off writing the writeup until the last possible minute. I bet this is what would have happened, but how the fuck would I know? I didn't go to the hash, it was at the same Goddamn place for three weeks in a row! If you want to see how the run went just re-read the last two weeks' newsletters you retards. Jesus Christ.

 

 

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