Well that was fucking funny wasn’t it? Tell everyone to come to Faucets 200th run in a dress and then forget to send Faucet the email telling everyone not to come in a dress. Despite the dubiuoness of it all, Faucine turned up in drag only because he could not believe everyone in Hash could actually keep a secret for the whole week and felt he should be punished for thinking so. Normally keeping something secret in Hash for a few days is doing well. Lucky it was a nice dress and perfect for running on a balmy 30 degree night in 90 percent humidity. The hares Uranus and Grunter must have been giggling all week. They decided to use F arrows which could stand for Faucet or Faucine but also for fucking funny. There were 3 Hash Halts and all appeared an orchestrated surprise. Faucine lead the pack to the first one at town beach only to be stopped dead metres away by one of the four hundred fucking fishhooks on the run. Don’t know how they organised that one. The second one was at Faucets house. Bombies in the pool while he’s out at hash? May as well get him to shotgun a can while he’s there. That didn’t quite go to plan as he struggled to get the can open while sucking on the hole. Then the last halt around the corner at the Kimberley Klub. Again Faucine was the only one in a pretty dress surrounded by a sea of sweaty bodies in orange. Not sure what the backpackers made of that one.
The circle started off sort of around Faucets scooter which mysterious disappeared at some part of proceedings. Cock in a Frock wore the pink jacket and Faucine got a nice ice chair to sit on. As things got underway he requested one of those young cute pole dancers to sit on his lap that Crackdiver normally gets with the word tit in their name but alas he got a girl who was later named Scrotum Tennis. There were the usual charges but the one for No Name Rosie for wearing her top back the front seemed most appropriate. I don’t recall any virgins but there were three namings with Scotum Tennis as mentioned earlier, along with Razor Tits and Dirty Bitch. Can’t really remember how these names eventuated but they seemed appropriate at the time.
The food was another of those things that also started with F. Well the word did anyway. Some sort of felic (spelt foneticly) looking sandwich things which seemed full of healthy stuff. They worked. For some reason Faucine felt it appropriate to count the takings on the footpath next to the trailer and laughed off the suggestions of ill gotten gains. As the crowd dwindled, Faucine searched nearby bushland for his scooter with success but was not so lucky with his helmet which was hidden in someones ute who’d left earlier. He was left to ride home via Doggy and Quickies new place in search of his helmet and then headed of alone, man and machine, blonde hair blowing in the breeze. Until it blew off and he had to ride back and collect it. Another shit night, just like the other 199 of em.