LAKESIDE HASH HOUSE HARRIERS HASH TRASH
Run 979, 16 April 2003
Venue: Horny Street, Elsternwick
Hares: The Boomerang
Most of this is rumour and hearsay as I arrived late at Boomers Easter Run after being waylaid by his neighbours down the street. When I did rattle the latch on number 4/39 who else but Quasimodo answered. She had begged off the run on account of her gammy leg and had spent the evening deep in conversation with those chatterboxes Everett and Emily instead. I joined them amongst the meat flavoured haze and joined in the debate – tonights topic “Bunch or Fold?”
Point Post was the first runner to make it on-in, though he admitted he had lost trail and short-cut home rather than wander the wastes of Elsternwick. It seemed that not even a Full Moon and the good auspices of the Easter Bunny himself could offset Boomers loopy trail. However, the sparse and confusing hash marks once again had the effect of keeping the pack together as they all arrived en masse from the egg hunt at the drink stop.
The hare sprang straight for the kitchen from whence he would not emerge for the remainder of the evening. The pack was soon tucking in to a so-called lamb roast, though the rich meat had a taste of Suvvern England that led more than one hasher to wonder what really happened to Queen Bee.
Having rid Boomer of the evidence the pack gathered around the GM who, with a strange gleam in his eyes and a newfound appreciation of “The Prisoner”, kicked off the Mother of All Circles. The talk was all of members. First, Point Post showed off what he could do with his (and would after a few sambucas and 5 dollars), then the GM called forward some new and not yet quite so twisted ones: Jason and Qing (give them time, though).
In the meantime the hare had clogged up the drain with bones, teeth, and jewellery so the GM continued to stall. Cooch was charged for beating the GM in a man vs. machine race to Elsternwick. E&B was charged for going shoeless, and A.D. had a drink for being misunderstood. Another fashion charge went to Nick and his “faggy yellow shorts”. GG and Klingon were charged for lousy tipping and rigged tipping respectively, though they both have the same overall score. Just shows you cheaters never win.
Since the hare was still elbow-deep in a backed up sink the GM drew the raffle first it was the usual range of depressing trash followed by a bottle of primo grog then handed over to the Sgt at Arms. Comments were made about GGs ensemble implying that he had inherited them from a fat-headed short-arse, at which point former Sgt Gerbils was called forward to try them on (a perfect fit). Rolf Harris copped a charge for offering chorale sex on the trail and insignificant run charges went to GG (505), Mummies Boy (191), E&B (110) and Whippet (125).
Charges were opened to the floor. Toto, Kate, Astro, and Gerbils were charged for dressing like traffic bollards. Some Full Moon Hash charges crept into the line-up: E&B had a drink for wimping out and the Engineers (Plugger, Nick, and SBD) for their inability to construct a structurally sound humpy.
At this point the circle discovered that, with the plumbing emergency over, Boomerang was now doing the dishes. He was duly brought out for a lashing Astro gave it 7 ½ as he couldnt find the chocolate (or the trail), but his run report was cut short by the GM who was ogling something dangling out of Nicks shorts.
The chaos continued with Kate being dragged out of the kitchen, where she was dutifully helping Boomer out with the washing, and named on the spot SCULLERY MAID. Not bad for two runs!
Sobriety and sanity gave way to general hysteria as the pack began speaking in tongues. There were a range of Daily Planet related charges and Lotsafun took GG away in Cantonese, Toto took TDTD (Mas Estupido), Klingon (Carparkee) and Boomerang (Pizza) away in Italiano, and Qing informed us that “Cooch means penis” in Chinese.
Having already drawn the raffle, and without any way of achieving closure for the circle, the pack continued to gabble away incoherently until Boomer started pelting us with greasy knucklebones from the “roast” and kicking us down the stairs and out into the street.
On-On
TDTD