HASH TRASH
Run No.1271 18 August 2008
Venue: Shooter’s Grill, Namanga
Hares: Stiff Cock Tail, Klingon, Hot Safari, Boxer

Another trail on the Peninsula but a world away from the leafy lanes we normally jog down. We ran through a maze of narrow lanes and passages, dodging pools of evil black sludge, and always in danger of tripping over watoto wadogo who snapped at our heels, or being decapitated by rusty iron roofs. Fortunately we weren’t hunting with dogs this time, so the local residents looked on with bemused tolerance. Klingon admitted that he got lost when setting the trail and had to pay someone to guide him out. We were told later that at one point we had passed Slippery When Wet’s apartment - close to The Mucky Shop no doubt. The walky talkies discovered a neat green park, but, although there was plenty of talk, they didn’t get much walk.

Announcements came thick and fast: no Mishmanagement meeting this week (cheers); next week’s hash “somewhere near here”, Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee inviting all and sundry to a party at the Little Theatre, Friday 22nd 19.30; and the Hash is looking for a new Hash Cash (no-one was killed in the rush to volunteer).

Pia thought the run was “way too long”, someone said that there was “not enough sewage”, and a virignal harriette said she couldn’t find the trail because she didn’t know what the paper looked like. Stephanie had the extraordinary temerity to run whilst playing hardball with an internet service provider, and was duly named “Service Me” - clearly, she must be a near relation of “Begging for it”. There were Virgins from all over the civilised world, as well as the USA. Virginal marines seem to have a healthy predilection for turning cowgirls upside down and then reversing them - or perhaps it’s the other way round? I am very confused - I don’t think these positions had been invented when I were a lad. ParkNRide shyly returned “Torsten’s Friend” - it looked a little more polished than it did last week, but perhaps it was just a trick of the light - it went to Head Gasket for chattering on and on and on while the RA was pontificating. It should have been stuffed in his mouth. The Hashit gear had been found by Klingon under Wet Dream’s bed - apparently that’s where he sleeps when Boogie Boobs is away - and Hashers voted it onto Triar *uck (as Wet Dream spoonerismically called him) for cold shouldering Candyblower at some society “do” up west.

The food was sponsored by Siemens but it wasn’t slimy at all - or too salty. Quite a nice change from the curried dog that the Embassy serves up.

OnOn
BoB