HASH TRASH
Run No. 1391
Venue: The G Spot
Hares: Pleasure Centre, Castratus Interruptus, Jennifer
Grandmaster: Cockroach
Religious Advisor: The Perkle

The G Spot turned out to be off Ali Bin Said Avenue - no wonder I could never find it. Spitssssssss pitched up with what looked very like carpet burns on her knees, but claimed it was sunburn, and Shaggy swaggered in looking like an inner city used car salesman. The run was well crafted, though the beer stop was a long while in coming. Dommie spoke mendaciously of the life-enhancing conversations she had indulged in on the walk, but said the window-shopping was crap.

Our Trailmaster boasted of a wonderful NWH with TWO beer stops, but was as usual rather flaky on the details. Arse Liquor invited hashers to welcome his new boss at the Marine House on Friday afternoon. Miss Morogoro 1942 told everyone that it was time to fork out for the eponymous hash. There is also a Scottish bash on Saturday night at the Terrace at Slipway. Knight Rider floated the idea of a pub crawl in Mwenge, late September.

The RA had his work cut out trying to get Hashers to remember one of the cardinal rules of the Hash - to whit ‘No Sex on the Hash’ - and alleged that Close Encounters and Extra Testicular had been canoodling, and TakkaTrakka had been seen trying to get her leg over. FRBs included Banzai, Arse Liquor, TakkaTrakka and Flatulence. Returnees included Slip Inside who claimed to have been practicing unnatural acts with camels in Niger, as did Extra Testicular (sheep - Wales). Departees included Puff Dada, and Wounded Knee who is too embarassed to bring his VVIP visitor to the Hash. Who said the Hash isn’t educational? The Virgins were struggling to think of an impressive FSP when Arse Liquor (who else?!) suggested ‘The Alabama Crabdangler’ and promptly demonstrated it, with Shaggy playing the male part (sic). Hashers and Virgins (Douglas, Kate, Choo, Jessica, and Chris) were certainly impressed.

The RA pressured Extra T to propose to Close Encounters, and amazingly she stopped talking to listen to him - and then just laughed. As always happens at this point in the evening, Arse Liquor’s Ritalin dose had started wearing off, and the RA had to send him to the Ice Box - and when he emerged from his watery grave Hashers sang ‘Tiny Sausage’ to him. Of course Arse Liquor is a counter-interrogation professional, so it didn’t shut him up, but we did finally get a bit of peace when the Ice Box was upturned over him and was sat on. Spitsssss, who is notoriously intolerant of loud men behaving badly, was delighted.

Arse Liquor was honoured with no less than three nominations for Hashit, so it was no-contest. The Circle ended with a rather serious and sombre rendition of SLSC.

On On
BoB