(Author's Note: The notes here are a tad long, given the Free China-esque circle and the author's tendency to ramble.)
"I've always found that for the best write-ups, the material is made up."
"Who the f*ck is Piss Perfect?"
We finally got rid of the bastard. He's gone. Out. Finito. Piss Perfect will remain as nothing more than a foul memory and occasionally unwelcome guest, self-exiled to the unnecessarily atavistic country/prison down south where the criminal element is entirely isolated to GenPop. He's moving back for "the children", and God bless them, since apparently their parents feel that the UK's replacement for the states' Georgia (Georgia, for goodness's sake!) is a better environment than the thriving metropolis of Hong Kong. At least he wasn't so daft as to depart for the flat and God-forsaken hellhole known as Singapore, like another recent FOYC Mike. But enough about PP's departure to Australia, a nation so foul it spawned the Indyvidual apparently known to Acorn as "Marlboro Ann," and enough about PP himself, as he'll get plenty of attention later on.
We must first turn our attention to the flimsy excuse we all use (minus the Russian) to drink on Hump Day: the run. Our intrepid hares Boilers, Dr. Evil (a substitute hare) and Rearender (the second Rearender known to me, and indubitably the most attractive) had us gather "opposite the Peak Station in Central" for a Christmas Day run. Despite the fact that we were nary a click away from fantastic trail, the hares felt that instead it would be better advised for us to run directly through Central proper. We were tasked to note the amount of "Parks and Recreation Facilities" passed along/through the run, with the promise of a fantastic prize. "Fantastic" is apparently a relative term, and I dare to imagine the monotony that routinely inhabits Boilers's fantasies.
Oh dear, this write-up is getting more negative by the second.
Late to this party was the aforementioned Marlboro Ann, who departed on her lonesome a scant five minutes after the pack. Also late was e-mail filter-friendly C*ntShy, or Cnutshy, or Kuntshy, or Knutshy if you happen to like baby German polar bears, who showed up (as typical as of late) about 15 minutes late, despite hailing a cab from his university, as he must (*must*) write the notes for the week's run.
This ten-minute distance between Kuntshy and Indy was closed in no less than five minutes, and the next five minutes saw the reunion of these two with Piss Perfect, Nugget and the Filthy Festering Felch Monster, who were desperately trying to find a way into the tunnel which F3M had "specifically asked Boilers if it was open past 7:00PM". This was repeated no less than thirteen times over the course of the five minutes that Kshy spent with them before heading off with Nugget to salvage what was left of the trail, which is mildly depressing, considering that this was barely a click into the run.
(Author's note: the preceding paragraph gave me the opportunity to Google "felch", which according to Encarta was a US Governor and Senator from Michigan, or according to Urban Dictionary apparently "can be done with a drinking straw". Oh, I have so many depravities to learn from these stand-up pseudo-lawyers. I'm pretty sure this is one of the worst Hash names out there)
The next half hour of the run consisted of Nugget and Kshy ambling around the remains of the trail with the confidence and confusion of a blind virgin unaware that the hooker he hired was a ladyboy. Despite following the sparse markings fairly accurately, they somehow rejoined with F3M in the lead, and later PP and Indy, who had managed to rejoin the trail from some direction unknown to man. Eventually, this rag-tag A-team was re-united with Buttfan, Ivana Nucock, Sticky Sex Toy, No-Name Wendy (this *must* be rectified soon), HP Salsa, and Bondi Barbie. As the run continued, the markings steadily improved to "marginal", and the trail become abundantly clear a half click from the end when the hares suddenly realized that they had been carrying no less than twenty-three bags of flour and started dumping half bags every 20 meters to mark the On Home.
As everyone strolled on in to the Squash Club, we were all serenaded with excellent news: in Christmas spirit, hash cash was free tonight, and Hopeless was about 8500 miles away from Hong Kong. The On-On was relocated to Sabah in Wan Chai, and the majority hailed cabs on to Wan Chai.
A special note ought to be made about the author's cab, consisting of Ivana Nucock, Sticky Sex Toy, Gobi Lo (Ho), Wendy, and Kshy: on the way over, Gobi Lo Ho remarked that she was taken specific charge of her name and eliminating the alcohol-inspired "Ho" from the end of her hash name, as it "cheapened the whole name". If Ho is too cheap for dear Denvy, perhaps "Gobi Lo Escort" or "Gobi Lo High-end Call Girl" is more to her liking. Anyway, once this cab unloaded at Sabah, we were all introduced to an individual I will refer to only as Captain Sh*tfaced. With his significant paunch, untucked dress shirt and two younger and soberer friends supporting him, Captain Sh*tfaced looked and spoke roughly like Golden Balls after two heart attacks, a stroke, and then another heart attack. While far too drunk to walk, he did insist on climbing the two stairs into Sabah on his own, which he firmly articulated with the eloquent "Stairs. Stairs! STAIRS!" Truly, he is the pride of someone's generation, but thank Christ not the author's.
Before the Down Down summary, the author would again like to make a special note. Each hash has its own unique quirks: the Free China allows anyone to call the hares for a drink, the Southside gives awards and allows one unlucky sap to get blitzed as the Amah, and the Friday Hash is a f*cking disorganized mess. The Little Sai Wan would have greatly benefited from the ability to screw over the hares this time around, but instead the hash is based on the charm of standing on chairs singing a mincy little song so shameless only Motor Mouth actually enjoys it. What a ripoff.
(Abbreviations used: BB=Bondi Barbie, BF=Buttfan, DD=Down Down, DE=Dr. Evil, F3M: Filthy Festering Felch Monster, GB(H)=Gobi Lo (Ho), HPS=HP Salsa, INC= Ivana Nucock, KS = Kuntshy, MD=Macao Drunk, MM=Motor Mouth, PP=Piss Perfect, RE=Rearender, SST=Sticky Sex Toy)
MD: For stating the run number as 67, which is only 1700 off.
It was at this point that Boilers insisted on interrupting Indy to give an award. SST and Hickey Slut managed to correctly guess (as the author is pretty sure no one actually counted) that we passed by 15 parks/sporting grounds during the clusterf*ck of a run. SST was then awarded with plastic golden glittery bells, a Christmas decoration so tacky it could have only been worse if Boilers had plastered 7-11's holiday-themed Sanrio stickers on her face.
Also, BB apparently cheated on this and got a down down for it. A crime against humanity, surely.
Indy then regained control of the circle:
The Hares: For F3M's repeated Dummy Spit regarding the locked tunnel.
The Hares: For a "wonderful run". Yeah. Right.
INC: "Inflatadate once told me to finish before the first woman." INC passed KShy halfway through and never looked back.
HPS: Volunteered to set a run.
MM then seized brief control of the circle to give one crucial DD:
GL(H): For setting a run at 5 AM with the dog.
Indy, despite the shocking revelations of the last DD, managed to compose herself enough to continue the circle:
PP: For referring, in a way that was by no means sarcastic, ironic, or derogatory, to Indy's DDs as "comedy gold".
The floor was then opened for DDs to Piss Perfect:
Bondi to PP: His last write-up, with details of Indy's "necrotic foot tissue".
(Author's Note: we have been promised that said newsletter will be attached to this rambling mess)
BB to PP: Piss Perfect gave such a great DD to Hannah Montana on his last run that the alcoholic never showed up again.
At this point, Piss Perfect gave a speech referred to in the author's notes as "actual heartfelt bullsh*t". While the author can recall the contents of this speech with remarkable clarity, it is worth saying that it was not bullsh*t, it was heartfelt, and it was quite touching to hear PP recall the progress he has seen over his time hashing in Hong Kong. We will all miss him, at least to the extent of his opening quote in this newsletter. On home, PP, and FOYC!
Of course, Indy had to ruin this by giving one last DD to PP, for using "motoring along" extensively in his speech, clearly a psychological tool to sell his automobile.
The hares then proposed a circle-wide toast to a happy Christmas run, and then sung (along with PP the song).