Hello, my name is Giuseppe, Giuseppe Verdi. My dear friend Roasted Nuts has aska me to do full expose on his private parts of his life. Well it alla started when he was little, you see he was borna. His mother, he was Madonna and his father, she was Silvio Berlusconi. They were very prouda of the little Roasted Nuts as they likea to call him. Madonna, he was heading offa for to do new singing album and, after covering little Roasted in the olive oil, threw him to Silvio. "Here, catcha the little bastard. I havea to go and do new album" he saya.
Silvio, stupid pricka, she droppa Roasted on his little noggin. Madonna, he say, "What da matter you?, he could getta the damaged braina!". Just then little Roasted saya his first words, "She'll be right mate!", which confirmed he had a serious brain damage and had turned into an Australian. Silvio was so startled he droppa the little bastrad on his noogin againa (also, remember he was still covered in the olives oil). Again, big worry, until worst fear were confirmed, Roasted she saya, "On On!". Yes - a hasher!
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Excuse me, this is anon, I have managed to grab the keyboard back off Guiseppe and can now faithfully record the events that unfolded earlier this evening. First of all, I take exception to the inference that Australians and Aussie Hashers in particular are dumb, after all my brother is at Harvard Medical School - I grant you they have his head in a bottle of fomaldehyde but it still counts.
When roasted said he was setting the run and that we would be pleasantly surprised we waited with bated breath, at least, I could smell bait on someone's breath. The first surprise of the night was Love Bra stuffing around whilst we were all freezing to death - no surprise really. He did turn up without his clothes - but again no surprise, he was probably in a religious trance.
The Run
The running pack quickly divided into groups: frbs, mrbs lrbs and just b's. I am not sure which was which but I saw Running Bare, Trust Me and Serial Killer disappear into the night. Frosty was pleading for guidance in this most alien of burbs and as TM ran off he promised "Trust Me" and ditched her like a sack of spuds.
It soon became apparent what RN's surprise was: he actually had marked the run. Shock! Horror! Shark eats quads! Thw way he marked it was even more of a surprise.
RN's contributions to Hash Run Marking:
1. set the same run for walkers and runners - ground breaking stuff!
2. constantly switch the trail from one side of the road to the other - inspired!
3. have us zig-zagging every busy freeway in Chatswood - extreme sport!
4. Placing the arrows underneath rocks and on top of walls - pure Roasted Nuts!
Anyway to cut a long story short, by the time the runners got back their nerves were frayed and in need of a drink. I am sure All Day had a car bumper bar embedded in his spine but it didn't seem to worry him as he Frosty made the hasher with two backs and one bumper bar. That is, they brought out the esky.
The Walk
It was the same as the run except in weird kind of slow motion so ditto fooorrr abooovve. It was noted that some of the walkers/runners were dressed in walking/running clothes but actually ran/walked (is that clear?). This sort of cross dressing is bloody filthy and we would respectfully request Hashers to do the normal type of cross dressing particularly if frilly underwear is involved and ... sorry I digress.
The Circle
Love Bra still hadn't found his clothes and was still in the trance - then we found out why. He had been communicating with the POTW Brengun who sadly died with the POTW T shirt still on. Brengun's message from the afterlife was: "Avoid sex, grog and.." sorry crossed line - his actual message was that we owed him $4.53 for the scabby flagon of sherry he had on his run last year. Thus confirming that Brengun is still POTW, even after death.
Handjob demostrated her interest in astronomy by bending over and taking pictures of what could only have been the mythical planet of Heranus. Plugher and Ozi fought it out to be beer wench. They compromised and swapped undies instead. Which was no good to either of them as they had been using them to strain the drinks for the down-downs and were soggy and hard to keep on their heads.
Plugher was getting excited and started shining her spot light on peoples crotches. She wanted to know if Running Bare was a vegetarian as he seemed to have a big cucumber and a couple of potatoes in his trousers. At this remark Running Bare went screaming off into the night clearly offended. When his twin brother, a decent chap in comparison, came to pick him up he was prevailed upon to stay for the on-on and regale us with his fascinating stories.
On up in and Down
Roasted gave a marvelous speech (along the lines of, "Hey!, stop pissing on the footpath!") and concluded by inviting us all in for a fair dinkum aussie BBQ. Some went up the side but Malaysia, Good Vibrator, Sin Quick and Call Girl went up the rear (by the way, where is UTR, haven't seen him for months).
When we got there we found Fookarwee and No Way had already eaten all the BBQ so roasted made us all some of the best lasagna that All Day has ever eaten and eaten and eaten. As we all watched in amazement we missed our chance because All Day moved over to the ante pasto and polished that off as well. And a fine meal he declared it. Luckily RN had one more trick up his sleeve and was able to mix up a gruel of nuts, passionfruit and dead insects from his honey traps in the garden.
During All Day's meal there was a free and frank discussion of almost every possible topic. The only question left unanswered was "Why would an attractive and intelligent woman such as Flesh Gordon want to join the Hash?" That is probably a question only Giuseppe Verdi can answer.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
More than I can running bare
You don't know what it means to turn up to a well organized hash run with the warm friendly faces of your fellows welcoming you to a night of fun and frivolity. I will tell you what it means: you have turned up at the wrong f$%king event.
Running Bare turned up late. He would be late for his own funeral - something we are going to put to the test real soon. As it turned out he had an indecent excuse: he had been combing his pubic hairs because he thought he was the "hair" for the night.
Love Bra quickly brought order from chaos and was about to bring something else out but was prevailed upon in the name of all that is holy, to restrain himself. After a few more minutes of this kind of drivel there was a spontaneous eruption of hasherdom. Spurting toward the start like a man who has just had his prostate re-bored, the hashers moved as one.
The collection of onlookers gave encouragement from the sidelines like "f%5k off you wankers!!" and other supportive statements.
First Checkpoint
Cinderalla and Trust Me arrived at the first check which was up near the Synagogue. Trust Me was heard to enquire of the two armed guards in what he thought was good Hebrew, "votre grenouille a mangé mon déjeuner" which is actually French for "your frog ate my lunch". Anyway, about the time the guards started shooting, Cinderalla yelled out "On On" and Trust Me escaped with his life (oh well...).
Following a poorly marked trail the runners found themsleves caught in the middle of the pristine forests (or rather "pisstine" due to leaking sewer pipes) of West Gordon. The excitement proved too much for All Day and Frosty. Hand Job quickly leaped into action and made Frosty do up her Running Bra (no, not a cross between Running Bare and Love Bra, yuk). So All Day was saved from a bad case of lactose intolerance.
etc, etc until we got to:
The Port Stop
This is where the visitors came into their own. They seem to have picked up some bad manners from the Harriets as they proceeded to drink themsleves insensible (mostly on water) and have polite conversation with several of the Wanderers. Thank goodness the Wanderers (eg Osmosis, Hand Job et al) remembered their hash manners and got so pissed they were unable to carry out their normal duties of carrying back the equipment.
The runners (Running Bare, Trust Me and Cinderella) saved the day by sending the walkers packing whilst they finished off all the grog and still managed to beat the walkers home even though they are a pack of short-cutting bastards.
The Circle
It was here that those who had not previously disgraced themselves stepped up to the plate. Because of censorship laws I cannot describe what hapenned and also I can't remember having taken a bad musk stick at the port stop. Suffice to recite the names and tremble: Flesh Gordon, No Way, Sin Quick, Fookarwee, PlugHer, R Sole and some others who shall remain anonymous because they paid me a few bucks to keep them out of it.
Prick Of The Week
We had some terrible news at the circle. Brengun has died of blood poisoning from the POTW shirt. They said when they first tried to bury him he objected claiming he wasn't dead. They thought for a moment and remembered what a filthy liar Brengun was and buried him promptly. Naturally we were all very sad to hear they buried the f$%king shirt with him. That shirt will be missed.
On On and In and Out
The chef was flown in fom Thigh Land for the occasion. She had the nicest pair of thighs I had seen in some time but when I clapped eyes on her breasts I knew straight away I would order the chicken curry. Within about 5 minutes of first arrival the complement reached critical mass. You can tell when this happens because all the other patrons become critical, push back their chairs in digust and start saying things like "that really is beyond the pale" or "F#$%k off you wankers" depending on whether they come from Roseville or Lindfield.
The wine flowed freely, at least down Ozi's greasy gullet. Those of us within the splash zone managed to get keep up a maintenance dose though. Finally came time to pay the bill. Thank heavens I was able to piss off through the dunny window.
All in all a completely shithouse night was had by all. We will be back next week for something worse.
Anon
Running Bare turned up late. He would be late for his own funeral - something we are going to put to the test real soon. As it turned out he had an indecent excuse: he had been combing his pubic hairs because he thought he was the "hair" for the night.
Love Bra quickly brought order from chaos and was about to bring something else out but was prevailed upon in the name of all that is holy, to restrain himself. After a few more minutes of this kind of drivel there was a spontaneous eruption of hasherdom. Spurting toward the start like a man who has just had his prostate re-bored, the hashers moved as one.
The collection of onlookers gave encouragement from the sidelines like "f%5k off you wankers!!" and other supportive statements.
First Checkpoint
Cinderalla and Trust Me arrived at the first check which was up near the Synagogue. Trust Me was heard to enquire of the two armed guards in what he thought was good Hebrew, "votre grenouille a mangé mon déjeuner" which is actually French for "your frog ate my lunch". Anyway, about the time the guards started shooting, Cinderalla yelled out "On On" and Trust Me escaped with his life (oh well...).
Following a poorly marked trail the runners found themsleves caught in the middle of the pristine forests (or rather "pisstine" due to leaking sewer pipes) of West Gordon. The excitement proved too much for All Day and Frosty. Hand Job quickly leaped into action and made Frosty do up her Running Bra (no, not a cross between Running Bare and Love Bra, yuk). So All Day was saved from a bad case of lactose intolerance.
etc, etc until we got to:
The Port Stop
This is where the visitors came into their own. They seem to have picked up some bad manners from the Harriets as they proceeded to drink themsleves insensible (mostly on water) and have polite conversation with several of the Wanderers. Thank goodness the Wanderers (eg Osmosis, Hand Job et al) remembered their hash manners and got so pissed they were unable to carry out their normal duties of carrying back the equipment.
The runners (Running Bare, Trust Me and Cinderella) saved the day by sending the walkers packing whilst they finished off all the grog and still managed to beat the walkers home even though they are a pack of short-cutting bastards.
The Circle
It was here that those who had not previously disgraced themselves stepped up to the plate. Because of censorship laws I cannot describe what hapenned and also I can't remember having taken a bad musk stick at the port stop. Suffice to recite the names and tremble: Flesh Gordon, No Way, Sin Quick, Fookarwee, PlugHer, R Sole and some others who shall remain anonymous because they paid me a few bucks to keep them out of it.
Prick Of The Week
We had some terrible news at the circle. Brengun has died of blood poisoning from the POTW shirt. They said when they first tried to bury him he objected claiming he wasn't dead. They thought for a moment and remembered what a filthy liar Brengun was and buried him promptly. Naturally we were all very sad to hear they buried the f$%king shirt with him. That shirt will be missed.
On On and In and Out
The chef was flown in fom Thigh Land for the occasion. She had the nicest pair of thighs I had seen in some time but when I clapped eyes on her breasts I knew straight away I would order the chicken curry. Within about 5 minutes of first arrival the complement reached critical mass. You can tell when this happens because all the other patrons become critical, push back their chairs in digust and start saying things like "that really is beyond the pale" or "F#$%k off you wankers" depending on whether they come from Roseville or Lindfield.
The wine flowed freely, at least down Ozi's greasy gullet. Those of us within the splash zone managed to get keep up a maintenance dose though. Finally came time to pay the bill. Thank heavens I was able to piss off through the dunny window.
All in all a completely shithouse night was had by all. We will be back next week for something worse.
Anon
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