Run # 314. Good run. Nothing interesting happened. 6km with a hash halt. Corona's. No bottle opener. The newer hashers got lost / cheated / didn't care, but still found the hash halt. Dirty and Quickie were economical runners and skipped running several loop roads that fooled less skilled hashers. Super Turd ran against the arrows. After being on a small boat with five men, no deck space and no toilet for 10 days he seemed confused (two weeks away and no down down?).
No Roebuck Primary School tour sadly. It's been awhile.
Enough about the run. Logistics. Or Men vs Women. Crack Diver put his hand up for the run. Typically, he delegated food to Razor Tits and setting the run to Dirty Bitch while he sat back with a beer. Feminism triumphed and Crack Diver cooked, set the run and presumably cleaned up. In the dark. Naked. Okay probably not naked.
The lights went out (water & electricity enforcer's?). Incidentally, best time for a power outage. Lights out, immediately 30 torches come on. Ok, only the ten hashers who remembered their torches turned them on. Nb: Cock Up carried a dolphin torch the whole run. That's how they did it back in the day. Working arms and legs. Which might explain why he was stretching after the run.
Halfarse is a sparky. He did something on a ladder.
What else? Crack Diver confiscated the hula hoop we found in his shed in case it got 'damaged'. It was pretty. Not before most male hashers gave it a swing. Hippy hula hooped while downing a beer. He and Half Tit showed up late and (maybe) drunk. Dominated the circle again with several down down stories from the week. About each other.
Camel Toe RA'd. Dirty got a second b'day down down in a red hat with 2 beer hoses. Turd got one for a stolen engel that he lent to someone. Slocum invited everyone to an orgasm party. Sorry Slocum, I can't come.
One virgin. He danced. Around Faucine's birth stone. Where was Faucine?