DHAKA MIXED HASH – RUN NO 1382			19^th January 2008
Little Italy
Poem for the week They say that happiness, for some, is looking up a Frenchman’s bum
Hares: Webfart, Fart Echo, Camel Jockey, Deportee, Motalib				Hashers: 67
Virgins: Jacob, Steen, Kirstie				New Runner: Wil
Leavers: Rail Jerker		Returnees: Five-Year-Old-Shit, Shit Up To Here, Gorf, Mad Cow, Doug, Back Door Man
Milestones: Penis – 175 Runs; Bozo The Clown – 275 Runs
We have athletes ….	The Run We headed on-convoy back towards the causeway and then off to the right for a little way, turning off into a wide open area and, once everyone was there, were told to go and find the paper out there somewhere. A bit like last week, but at least there were some trails here which limited possibilities. Walkers, in the meantime, had been abandoned at Little Italy to the tender mercies of the two Farts, Web and Echo. There is no evidence that they did anything other than remain there, eat pizza and drink hash beer as they were all still there when we got back. Pussy Pick Up found the first paper – not that he has a nose for the stuff. He just runs further and faster than the rest of us, in no particular pattern, a bit like my Springer Spaniels searching for pheasant (except they find pheasant more often than that useless bastard finds paper). The other difference is that when they run away, they don’t fucking come back. Still, you can’t have everything in this life. But I digress! So, we all followed him for a while with Gorf and Challenger also leading the way. The trail bimbled along southwards and the pack stayed remarkably close together. A bit of a bugger, really, as it meant that there was little respite at checks. This was all great countryside and we headed round in a big anti-clockwise loop. For some bizarre reason, I can’t remember a great deal about the rest of the run. In really good open country it promised to be great, and there was lots more running that was – I just haven’t a clue. Senior moments, no doubt. When I came round, we were running along an asphalt road. This is where the paper disappeared and everyone at the front stopped calling (and some of us questioned the Hares as to whether they know where we were). Then we came to a check, so there must have been some paper. Then we ran along the asphalt a bit more before the FRBs took a unilateral decision to head back to Little Italy, regardless. There was, by pure coincidence, well laid paper on the route that they took. The rest of us just followed.
… and others!
The pack, hiding some nice scenery
Hares	The Circle Penis called the circle together before we had time to draw breath and introduced the trainee GM, Blow Job who will, of course, be elected to the post in April this year through a properly managed democratic process. The Hash Erection Committee will no doubt be issuing readily reproducible hash IDs and a full voters list in time for the event. Virgins were Jacob and Steen, who are a couple of Danish Scandihoolies and here doing business together, and Bum Deal’s little sister Kirstie on holiday from Sydney. New Runner was Wil from the Netherlands who had run a few hashes in Nigeria. A special returnee – a blast from the past – was Back Door Man who last ran here in 1998 and turned up in a tatty Mens Hash T-shirt. Others were Mad Cow, who’s been in Norway for a while, Five-Year-Old-Shit who had been on a definite sex tour of Vietnam, Thailand and Cambodia, Shit-Up-To-Here who’s been in Germany, Gorf from France and Doug who is back from Armenia and Texas. More self congratulation was in store for GM and RA as they gave each other certificates for not being able to escape from Dhaka and having to stay for years and years. Then it was over to the RA for some light entertainment. So what does he do? Immediately calls back in his little pal, Penis when we’d just got shot of her, for not understanding an earlier reference to a Dutch Cap when New Runner Wil was in the circle. Wil was invited in to explain but even she didn’t know. Back Door Man was castigated for wearing an unspeakable hash T-shirt and his punishment involved Challenger trying to perform some bizarre beer balancing act on his chest. Whilst still on the subject of T-shirts, Tattooed Tart Melinda was asked to explain why she was wearing a Gulshan Youth Club T-shirt and, fearing similar treatment to Back Door Man (i.e. “get yer kit off”) she professed to doing it just to get a down-down. Silly girl because Bozo immediately called in Minty as a spot drinker and she didn’t get the free beer. Next up was Can’t Text for falling over (right in front of the RA on a perfectly smooth bit of road) and then we were treated to some bovine frolicking. For the last few weeks, we’ve had no problems with the local domestic animals, but as soon as Mad Cow comes back it is chaos with the four legged variety dashing everywhere when we’re trying to run. Sucker and Cloth Balls were the victims and Bozo invited Webfart to bring in his spongy form and play the deranged beast. (I’d better explain that for the Australians – mad cow disease is properly named Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy – spongy form – Webfart!! Get it?) There were then a few more sinners duly castigated: - Blow Job for not knowing which limb she’d damaged and so sporting a sling and a walking stick - The running Hares for a lack of paper - Minty and Towed for asking a Hare for directions (knowing that Camel Jockey didn’t actually know where the limited amounts of paper were - Fart Echo for crap technology - Geli and Sucker for new shoes Bozo then decided to get seriously abusive of his mate Gorf. It transpired that during the episode depicted in the main photo, Gorf had actually let one rip right in Bozo’s face. No sooner had Gorf managed the first down-down than he was asked back to join the company of a number of hashers who had been on the receiving end of his hospitality on the previous evening. The conclusion is probably best summed up in the ethic “never let a Frenchman loose with a bottle of spirits and a book of matches”. It would appear that Cloth Balls, Foreskin Penis and Can’t Pull all suffered at the hands of the pyromaniac cocktail Frog and Tuneless Cow had to watch it all. Other than a couple of derisory remarks about Australians and cricket, that was it. On On Towed
Certified “get-a-lifers”
Back Door Man gets special treatment from the Beer Maid
Diaphragm Dames
Mad Cows
Trainee porky GM
Alouette	Virgins keeping their distance