Run: 1944

Date:2/2/2015

Location: Robina

Hares: Now Loved & Pile Driver

Runners:24

Its Monday again ….

The Run. A smaller crowd than usual gathered at a familiar spot, with promises of unfamiliar and new territory by Hare Now Loved. He explained the meaning of his three different arrows, with the extra one being LB, for Lazy Bastards. Then it was off North with several quick checks. The trail followed water meandering through Robina Town Centre, with clever markings keeping all away from the sight of the commercial centre. Eventually the waterside trail ended with a wire fence, under a bridge, where a FT forced the FRBs to back track. It was then westward through a Kentucky Chicken shop and a gradual left curve where a check led into some light scrub, then up over a grassed hill and a nice downhill cruise to Home. The group of Two Dogs, Blackie & Brewtis led the group in, only to observe Flasher already there. It was all over in 35-40 mins – a well-marked trail, with ample checks and some new countryside, for those who don’t run often. Well done Now Loved.

The Nosh was described as Kai See Ming, and looked like something you would feed refugees or those Polish ghetto residents during WW2. However it tasted rather nice and most went back for seconds. The following healthy fruit salad with top quality ice cream was also well received. Good effort Pile Driver.

The Circle. GM welcomed all, with his first question: was it really new countryside? The only “Yes “ he got was from a visiting hasher, last seen 4 years ago. And his response for the food was – although it looked like Chop Suey, it tasted very good. He then handed out DDs to:

The Visitors & Returner:      Iceman, Vomit, Blackie & Lord Geoff

New Naming: To a founding nameless member (& joint GM) now to be known Lord Geoff of Broadbeach.

Acting RA Ballpoint then took control and punished:

Splinter events –Truckie spilt aged and expensive wine which was provided by                          Botcho & Sir Rabbit. All 3 awarded.

– Botcho and Vomit for graffiti all over our beloved trailer.

– Blue Card for serious indecent proposals to Hash friend and                                        mascot Montana, followed with a second DD for wearing his  torch on his head in the circle.

Oz Day event – Pile Driver being held responsible for Cricket match being cancelled.

Election event – Rock Hard and Sir Rabbit for voting Labour and helping in the destruction of the LNP in Queensland

Useless Shirt. After a long diatribe by holder Ballpoint it was passed on to Sir Prince for reported very poor engineering of a collapsed House built on a Water tank, way back in his youth. Not true, claimed SPV.

Prick of the Week. Fuller Shit decided he needed more time to view all the DVDs so kept it for another week. To his surprise he copped the half yard!

Next Weeks Run. This is shaping up to something special with Ballpoint promising excellent food and a great run and other surprises, maybe, to celebrate his 50^th. He asked all to make a special effort to be there. Nerang Pony Club … check the web for more details.

Josephine closed the Circle at 8:50 PM.

BB, stand in for Flasher, who pointedly refused the GM’s plea for a stand-in scribe.

Run: 1943

Date:26/01/2015

Location: Robina

Hares: Truck Tyres, KB, Slug and Rockhard

Runners:27

A wonderfully bedecked crew of about 30 turned up the Australia Day cricket day extravaganza.

The wicket was looking splendid on our arrival with the covers off and having been freshly mown for the eagerly awaited match.

There were Kiwi Aussies, Kiwis, Pommie Aussies and even a few Aussies in attendance.

One Hasher made it big time on the  news instead of attending OUR celebrations !!

At noon the advertised starting time only a few hardy participants had arrived notably led by our beloved Hash IT master Botulism and his tribe and bride and our most run Sir Rabbit who waxed on about the wonders of the Surfside buses having arrived right at the grounds from the wilds of Chirn Park on a 747. We didn’t know that there was an airport at Robina but Sir Rabbit assured us he definitely arrived on a 747!

In true Australian style the rest of the cricketers and their supporters arrived like public servants at work in dribs and drabs and of course all a little late but at least they made the effort unlike a lot of the hash regulars who were absentees.

Eventually the pack were off on a short well marked run set by stand in hare Truck Tires in the absence of the RA who apparently was at home recovering both from a night on the grog and a recent operation that apparently included some graft (how unusual?).

The run was led by Fuller Shit who true to form was full of shit riding a somewhat all terrain e-rider and checking the checks for those of us who bother to run being only Bent Banana and Miscarriage with the rest of the pack deciding due to the heat and preserve their energy for the game decided to walk the run which although short (circa 3 km) was very well marked with chalk, flour and paper that even Flasher would have stayed on trail if he come instead of staying home tiling!

On return and having a well earned drink or two the nosh was on starting with a wonderful entree of fresh prawns packed in the ice that Miscarriage forgot at Christmas for his family prawn feast.

After the prawns were devoured it was on to mains with boiled potatoes, marinated Sam Kekovich Lamb and salad followed by the Aussie favourite pavlova all well prepared by our GM KB and his motley crew of helpers.

As one can imagine after a run or walk in the heat, quite a few drinks, prawns, lamb and pavlova a hash union meeting was quickly held and the anticipated cricket game was postponed to another day to ensure the well prepared pitch remained in perfect condition for the next users of the oval.

How kind and considerate of the hash to think of others.

New Australian and ex-kiwi Botulism then acted as quiz master and asked a lot of interesting questions about Australia with   great answers from the likes of Ferrett (yes it’s true), Nasty and ex-ex GM Now Loved.

Like a good labour run raffle the winner of the quiz was none other than Botulism who firmly believes in the principle that whoever runs the quiz or raffle wins it! Well done mate.

Botcho’s brother Vomit, here for the Splinter Lunch Golf Tournament told a very clever joke about never giving up being a Hash House Harrier

An impromptu seated circle was called by the GM and apart from the hare Truck Tires other notable awardees were Rockhard who wouldn’t accept that Australia Day was in fact 26 January and poor old Miscarriage who had tried to give a down down to the Teflon coated Sir Rabbit for trying to catch the 3pm bus so as a pensioner he didn’t have to pay!

How Australian (or Greek) is that?

Talking about Teflon apparently Sir Prince Valiant and his trust helper Missing Link who were in fact both missing were busy up in Brisbane helping young Prince son Tom paint the walls of his new home.

According to reports the new paint fell off the walls after a few days making them both prime candidates for at least the Useless award if not the prick of the week as well for failing to to take an expert with them such as Sir Arsehole or Brewtus.

After the excitement of the quiz and circle it was a quick clean up and exit by us all with a thanks to all those involved in event, those that bothered to attend including a number of better halves and visitors and a traditional end of circle by our Moonbeams stand in Ferrett before he and Mrs Ferrett depart on yet another sojourn of the QEII.

How do all these ex-public servants do it?

On On

Your reserve reserve reserve On Sec

Miscarriage

Run: 1942

Date:19/01/2015

Location: Ashmore

Hare: Fuller Shit

Runners:29

Fullershit’s Titillating Run

The run:

“Now listen up you pricks, the fucking run is cancelled…now where’s the beer??”….such sweet and tempting words from our beloved GM on a night where the lightning was striking mere metres away from the start of the run, the rain was pelting down and the sky just kept getting darker and darker!

But no, like the idiots that we all are, we all jeered, booed and hissed our opposition to the words of our beloved GM, accusing him of being as weak as piss and a resounding chorus of “fuck you, we’re running tonight” echoed down Expo Drive at Ashmore and we were off into the rain, lightning and thunder, with yells of “on on”.

The hare, Fullershit, assured us that it was a good run, with a smattering of bush to traverse (in the middle of bloody Ashmore???) and that the run was marked entirely in pussy-pink tape tied to trees and other objects!

The walkers, well, who gives a toss anyway? Fullershit pointed down the road and said “you old codgers, just go down there and when you get sick of walking, just turn around and come back!” Your faithful substitute to the substitute scribe is guessing that a very few of them went on the “walk” as upon his return not one wet shirt was to be seen! They probably all found the beer eskys and said “bugger going out in this shit!”.

A pack of about six runners, yours truly included, trusting in the leadership of our RA and Two Dogs, set off across Expo Drive, straight into grass and mud, turned left and were lost from the start. Someone was heard to utter “whose bright idea was it to follow those pricks??” as we all doubled back and needless to say, were now at the back of the pack. In true defiance of our catchcry of “no man left behind”, needless to say, your faithful substitute to the substitute scribe was left behind, huffing and puffing and wheezing his way through the muddy swamp until he came to Nerang-Broadbeach Road, whereupon the instructions from the hare was to go under the road, not over it, as it is a fairly dangerous road-crossing in peak hour. Trusting these words, several of us went through the drains under the road and were in mud up to our knees and in danger of being swept away by the ever-rising rushing torrents of water…wouldn’t that look great in the newspaper..”elderly runners drowned in Ashmore drainage channel”.

Some hashers were seen to be cheating on the run instructions and diced with death in crossing the road, only to be met by further mud and crap everywhere. The so-called bush that we were supposed to run through in fact turned out to be a wasteland of discarded bottles, unearthed Aboriginal and white fella middens, cannabis party meeting points, discarded car and building parts and other such crap, all likely to cause mortal injuries if one were to be unfortunate enough to fall into it. This whole area reminded me of the pictures I saw in a museum in Hanoi of the destruction caused by incessant carpet-bombing by the Yanks and Aussies…it was a bloody war zone!! ….and all this in the middle of Ashmore!!! You gotta love the Hash…such variety!

Up hill, down dale, through mud and shit and for some reason the lyrics to a long forgotten song by Redgum came to mind…”A four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs.

It was a war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ’til they had you dusted off
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then someone yelled out “Contact”, and the bloke behind me swore
We hooked in there for hours, then a God almighty roar
And Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon
God help me – he was goin’ home in June”

Any minute I expected a sniper to come out from behind one of the wrecked cars and mow the bloody lot of us down, but no, I had to remember that I was only in the middle of bloody Ashmore!

It seemed like we’d been running for hours but we were across a main road from where we’d just started…probably a kilometre away from our starting point. Two Dogs was heard to say “fuck me, it seems like we’re miles away but my computer says we’ve gone 1.4 kilometres”. it was interesting to see the rear of the wrecking yard that I frequent often, the back of the Endeavour hostel, the cement works, and other such fascinating sights. It’s a good thing some of us have a perverse fascination with industrial landscapes!

Fullershit must have gotten bored with marking out the run in the rain earlier that day because it came to a bit of an abrupt end, just as we were “getting into it” and begging for more bush. However, the sight of the three strands of pussy-pink tape marking the way home after about 4 km was seen by some as a blessed relief.

Back we all came to the start of the run at Fullershit’s factory, all looking like drowned rats and cursing the insufferable humidity. Most of us had been sensible enough to bring changes of clothes and there were shoes, shorts, singlets and underdaks flying everywhere as we donned our dry nosh gear. Thank goodness Fullershit had left the airconditioning on in his showroom as the more sensible of us went in there to cool down, pretending we were vaguely interested in the merchandise on offer.

Speaking of merchandise on offer, you gotta give it to Fullershit, he certainly outdid himself in engaging the services of one of our trusted waitresses to “assist” in the service of grog and food, but more about that a little bit later.

The Nosh:

The first course of the Nosh was skewers of BBQ’d crocodile, kangaroo and koala, all served with great skill by the likes of Ferrett and several others, including of course our waitress Crissy. This young lady certainly has at least a couple of good points, and service with a smile is one of them…she serves, we smile!!

The mains was a lovely roast…bugger me if three days after the run I can remember what type of roast, but obviously one with which you use Cranberry sauce…delectable it was…..the meal that is, or was it the waitress??

Dessert was freshly diced mango and gourmet ice-cream. All absolutely superb.

One visitor, Bomber said “do youse blokes eat like this all the time?”…to which we all responded “of course we do, why do you think it’s called the fucking gourmet hash??”

Circle:

Twenty seven hardy souls gathered into a loosely formed circle, which didn’t start until well after nine o’clock as we were all otherwise distracted in erudite, deep and meaningful conversation with our only female attendee, oh and of course making our visitors feeling welcome as well by engaging in bullshit banter with them.

The usual frivolities happened at circle with “down downs” for this and that and of course the icing of ‘Flasher’, who by now just gets iced and “down downs” simply for being, well…Flasher! There was another icing of sorts but as this document is up for what is essentially public viewing, suffice to say “onya Crissy, you’re a good sport luv!!” She certainly made a couple of fine, outstanding points as a result of the icing!

Prick of the Week went to Fullershit, reluctantly passed on by Josephine…oh my goodness, the POW regalia will never be the same again! Don’t anybody dare wash it!!!!!

All in all, a wonderful evening had by all and once again, thanks Fullershit for making it such fun for us all…just proving that growing old disgracefully is the only way to go!!!

Fanny Charmer

Substitute to the Substitute Scribe

Run: 1941

Date:12/01/2015

Location: Pacific Pines

Hare: Botcho

Runners:34

JE SUIS BOTCHO!!!

In a week when Paris -the city not Hilton- the planet’s epicentre of all that is ‘lurv’ and ‘haute couture’ – became the latest metaphor for Islam, i.e. religion of peace and the Hijab, we can take comfort in Churchill’s chilling wisdom that: “no two terrorist are alike”. And, as more and more hardcore terrorist organisation spring forth, so too did the news this week that there exists an active terrorist cell here on the Gold Coast…. in fact, right within the GCH3. While this may not come as surprising to those with a yearning for the next conspiracy theory, the revelation of its figurehead was indeed a bombshell. Indeed, those within the inner sanctum of the Gourmet Hash had naturally assumed that Flasher – the GCH3’s most passionate and most vocal anti Islam crusader – was its leader (or ‘Grand Muff’ as he is normally referred to).

But they were all wrong.

Indeed, when Botcho emerged – sandwich board over the shoulders – with the words:

Je suis

BOTCHO

Le

GRAND MUFF

the GCH3 membership was stunned; Botcho, a fucking terrorist, how could that be? The bloke’s everyone favourite uncle, a most lovable, decent, honourable man. The world’s gone bloody bananas!!!

As chance would have it, Botcho was also the Hare for Run 1941 at Pac Pines last Monday. He laid down the law from the get go:

-“Now listen up you bunch of bastards and listen good ‘cause I’m only saying this once. This trail’s cherry-ripe for you to absolutely lay waste to it…so get in there, hard, and demolish the fucking thing… and take no fucking prisoners…

Now fuck off!”

At first glance it looked like this would be just another bog standard GCH3 run but, on this occasion, first appearance was deceiving; for as soon as we’d climbed a little bitumen hill, Botcho sent us in Jihadist training terrain. The trail followed what would usually be referred to as a peaceful, meandering brook but since the Gold Coast has been deluged by 3 metres of stormwater recently, the brook had turned into a wild, treacherous torrent. As a result the trail was overgrown to buggery and running was made all the harder for the long wet grass and fallen trees. The washed away trail became so slippery it was like a slippery slide; many of the more inexperienced hashers became concerned:

-“Don’t get me wrong, I love hashing” panted Fanny Charmer, “but I’d rather hash when it’s dry that way I don’t get a wet arse from sliding on it”…

The pack eventually made it to the 3rd check with 3 alternatives on offer: 1. down the hill, 2. up and along the wild river or 3. through the river and up a bloody big mountain.

-“I reckon it’s down here” said a circumspect Circumference opting (as is his nature) for the easy out.

Hard-as-nails-hasher Sir Prince Valiant scoffed:

-“No fucking way… it’s across the river and up that fucking mountain, no risk”. He stepped into the water and was immediately fighting the unrelenting current. Soon the pack followed him for they knew… here was a true leader. Lurch stepped in with Sir Rabbit on his shoulders for fear that he may drown. “What about me?” screeched the midget Miscarriage “I don’t wanna die” but no one gave a toss…

As the pack crossed to the other bank they looked liked bewildered Wildebeests emerging out of the crocodile infested Serengeti River. “Fuck me” said Sir Slab “that was bloody close”. But if he thought this ordeal was over he was badly mistaken. The mountain ahead was a muddy slippery dip and it took great courage and guts for the pack to finally conquer it. At the top Brewtus said: “I’m fucked fellas, I can’t go on…”

Someone said: “What’s happened to that Pommy bastard from Singapore?” to which came the reply: “Who fucking cares…hopefully he’s been washed away and that’s the last we’ll see of ‘im. That’ll teach him being a Pom”.

As the light got dimmer and rain began to fall once more, the spent pack ambled their way back home and some well earned hooch.

Sir Black Stump was first ‘crit’ in the Circle and he blathered on and on about the good ole days when hashing on the coast was; -“Back then it was bush, bush and more bush…Hashing was a bloke’s domain, when hard runnin’ and hard drinkin’ was all we cared about. You copped a hiding for lack of shiggy on the run but these days you cop one for not providing dessert with your gourmet nosh…the world’s gone fuckin’ mad.”

Fanny Charmer (or Molasses to those who know him well) thought the run was: “Excellent really…… My arse is still wet from sliding down muddy hills but I’m sure that it’ll dry in good time so, an excellent run really!”

Cumsmoke was asked to crit the Walk and he thought it was “excellent”. No, really.

Shat spoke about the Nosh and he thought it was “bloody great”. The chicken shnitzel was cooked to perfection and the Bruchetta was “fucking amazing”. However, on a slightly sour note, he was a ‘smidge’ critical of the Hare for “lack of providing enough dessert”. Little did he know that by the time he was ready for it, Show Pony and Fanny Charmer had both scoffed half a Pav’ each and left fuck all for others.

SPV handed the ‘Useless’ shirt to Miscarriage for the questionable crime of “too many down downs the previous week”.

Ferret, looking oh so dignified in full Prick-of-the-Week attire, thought Weekly should be the PoW, or maybe Flasher, or then again perhaps it could be…. before he finally settled on Not Tonight (Josephine) for an assortment of heinous crime.

As the night unfolded and drinks flowed freely, Botcho, finally relieved of the clandestine cloak he’d been wearing all these years, was in full cry:

-“The problem with modern, new-age terrorism is that it’s lost its sense of fun. I’ve been terrorising people all my life but my version of it is terrorism with both passion and good humour. When I was a kiddy I used to terrorise old Mrs Knight next door because she wouldn’t give me my cricket ball back when I thumped it over the fence. To teach her a lesson, I’d collect a bucket full of cane toads and when she’d be putting the washing out I’d drown them in kero, light ‘em up and throw them over the fence. So fucking hysterical seeing these fireball toads hopping around her backyard while she shuffled around trying to avoid them…

We formed the (Gold Coast) ‘Cell’ soon after the Ayatollah Hoemeini had issued a fatwah to kill Rushdie; we supported the Ayatollah one hundred percent. The ‘Cell’ decided to issue its own ‘Fatty Wah Wah’ simply because his book The Satanic Verses was so fucking boring. I struggled through the first chapter and couldn’t find one word with a hint of humour in it. On that basis alone Rushdie deserved his ‘Fatty’. We even passed the hat around raising money to have his humour by-pass reversed but he’d disappeared by then and it remains on the ‘to do’ list.

We, in the Cell, are devotees of His Arseholeness Saint Hooch or HASH for short. We believe and strongly advocate drinking heavily and comedy. That’s what we want to impose on the world. Our motto is “Suck more Piss and don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”. If you can’t live by these fundamental principles then be prepared for bombs or murder. It’s that fucking simple!!! And I don’t mind telling you, I’ve dropped my fair share of bombs over the years, particularly after a fiery Vindaloo or a rich Beef Rendang. Mexican triple fried beans can also do the job but those bombs aren’t quite as pungent…

As for murder, I’m bloody proud to have committed more in my life time than I’ve had hot dinners. I murder a couple of Boags and a red every Monday for starters…..”

Bent Banana continued: -“The great thing about Botcho is that he doesn’t discriminate; he’ll just as easily murder a Jacob’s Creek rough red as he would a top of the range Grange. My cellar’s been on the receiving end of many of his murderous rampages…”

Botcho had the final word: “Terrorism is the way of the future; our God HASH is the only way and look out those who defy us: we will drink to your health and kill you with laughter.”

On2,

Acting On-Sec

BallPoint

Question: What is Bill Kearns talking about on the bar talk video
Clue…watch the video

Next weeks hare Fuller Shit

Fuller Shit will be taking orders for his new Hasher Assist Invention