From the pen of BothWays.

well there’s nothing like sweet justice eh Squirrel Nutkin, after weeks of being slated for my disappearance from the hash, as I tried to find my true spiritual self in a Buddhist monastery in the foothills of the Himalayas, I’m back! Bells on! T-Shirts off!

Madam Leaky Lucy and her squire, Neanershorty, the masterful Grand Master of the occasion were our eloquent hosts.

with thanks.

I have no idea how many runs that was, but it was rubbish anyway. Nobody could run for shit, it even made Mr Bombastic look good! and Who knows if the walkers went anywhere, they were hanging out when we left, and still there when we got back. Head Gasket’s sproggets claim the walkers ‘just left’, and had stopped by the beer stop, but that was pathetic, there was beer to spare when we came by, and not a tail of a hash t-shirt to be seen. The only salvage to this dismal hash, was our lucious blonde taking her clothes off and Begging for It. Good show!

The stand-in GM took advantage of the situation to give himself a 100 runs t-shirt, anyone got any idea as to the truth of that claim? My Little Pony got a 50 runs t-shirt, and Mr Bombastic got a kick up the arse for being a front running bastard. Well deserved.

Virgins are always good sporting targets. Don’t think they’ll be back, we treated them cruelly and proper like. There was a Calvin Klein couple, Peter and Amanda, who got a right good bollocking for being a couple, and for being without hash t-shirts but with t-shirts from Phuket - that’s too easy. I’m going to ignore that. But really, with the mismanagement mismanaging hasherdashery as they do, what are the poor bastards expected to do? There was a father and son team, not sure where Dad gets all his enthusiasm from, but am sending him over to the hares and tortoises, they’ll help sort him out...Glen and Clay...karibuni tena. And then there’s James. James is a CNN treadmill running enthusiast, and if he ever dares to return, we’ll give you a demo. It’s worth its weight in...

And whoever invited a Gay Haggis to the Dar Es Salaam hash is in for it. We eat them for breakfast in the Hebrides.

On On. See you at Chicken Shit’s next week. That is if you actually want to know what we’re talking about?

BW,

and ofcourse if you take your clothes off at the hash you can only expect to be Hash Shit, but then she’s Beggin for It