With 3 hashes on offer today, the suggestion was to cut one of them and for a while it seemed the CH4 was on the chopping block. Despite fears of small numbers, we went ahead with a minimal effort, live hare, BBQ extravaganza. An almost unrivaled marketing machine went to work and when the run time arrived we had 20 – around double what was catered for in terms of food.
I’d arrived an hour early to discuss the plans with Chuckie (as apparently I was the co-hare by this point), alerting him to additional runners from NYCH3. He started prancing and panicking about sufficient food, calculating the quantum physical ‘per hasher rib ratio’ property. I suggested it would probably be ok, but the concern continued like a slug on acid. Hang on just a sec, I need a beer…
…Ok, I’m back – now I’m typing slowly especially for the slow readers. Anyway, when the bus arrived Chuckie nearly exploded, (just like acidic slugs do in my imagination). As well as the NYCH3 visitors we had visitors from Switzerland, who promptly informed us that the Bendover family were on their way! My reaction was – great! Chuckie’s reaction was “Damn Swiss, they eat too much, can’t control their kids, we’ll never have enough sausages, if I’d have known I’d have set a proper run, damn, blast and buggery”. I tried to slip a couple of valium into his pre run water, but he spiffled like a spritely fellow.
Headstart adjustment, from 3 to 5 minutes. Did anyone notice they were hiding behind a hut so they wouldn’t see Chuckie run down the road? The damn Swiss are so precise with their time and itching to walk slowly away from the runsite chasing Chuckie like a steamroller in a tacky Austin Powers movie. He was safely out of range, and I came across, or rather I ran into, Chuckie laying trail not long before our predetermined relay point. From what I heard, the trail started good, but only got better after the beer check!
I took over the reins and jogged off, listening for a ‘OnOn’ behind me. I spickled and spuckled and as an after thought set a check that apparently confusicated even the edilable Poo. I bribed Able Semen to kick a check in the wrong direction to buy me some more time, and was clean away to set and On-In that was only seen by a few diligent bastards – the marginally more intelligent simply strolling back to the beers.
We had a pact before the circle that nobody would give Poo any help whatsoever, and he should do a one man stand up comedy act for 45 ish minutes. It was the only way the food would spread around as when a Poo talks a Poo doesn’t eat. With our appetite for Poos comedy satiated, and satiated, and saturated, we dissipated into casual drinking until somebody suggested that we should possibly move somewhere else. Somehow we ended up drinking at the hash pub where our efficible hash encharmed the monkey of horniness to our ranks. Bugger me, I’m out of beer… Hang on a sec dear readers, I’ll be right back…
…mmm thats better! As I sign off, I scarily recall I have that ‘job’ word coming up in a few hours. Ephisculasismo! (Poo knows what I mean!)27th May - CH4 - Chuck Wao,