Hare: Fuller Shit
Fullershit’s Titillating Run
“Now listen up you pricks, the fucking run is cancelled…now where’s the beer??”….such sweet and tempting words from our beloved GM on a night where the lightning was striking mere metres away from the start of the run, the rain was pelting down and the sky just kept getting darker and darker!
But no, like the idiots that we all are, we all jeered, booed and hissed our opposition to the words of our beloved GM, accusing him of being as weak as piss and a resounding chorus of “fuck you, we’re running tonight” echoed down Expo Drive at Ashmore and we were off into the rain, lightning and thunder, with yells of “on on”.
The hare, Fullershit, assured us that it was a good run, with a smattering of bush to traverse (in the middle of bloody Ashmore???) and that the run was marked entirely in pussy-pink tape tied to trees and other objects!
The walkers, well, who gives a toss anyway? Fullershit pointed down the road and said “you old codgers, just go down there and when you get sick of walking, just turn around and come back!” Your faithful substitute to the substitute scribe is guessing that a very few of them went on the “walk” as upon his return not one wet shirt was to be seen! They probably all found the beer eskys and said “bugger going out in this shit!”.
A pack of about six runners, yours truly included, trusting in the leadership of our RA and Two Dogs, set off across Expo Drive, straight into grass and mud, turned left and were lost from the start. Someone was heard to utter “whose bright idea was it to follow those pricks??” as we all doubled back and needless to say, were now at the back of the pack. In true defiance of our catchcry of “no man left behind”, needless to say, your faithful substitute to the substitute scribe was left behind, huffing and puffing and wheezing his way through the muddy swamp until he came to Nerang-Broadbeach Road, whereupon the instructions from the hare was to go under the road, not over it, as it is a fairly dangerous road-crossing in peak hour. Trusting these words, several of us went through the drains under the road and were in mud up to our knees and in danger of being swept away by the ever-rising rushing torrents of water…wouldn’t that look great in the newspaper..”elderly runners drowned in Ashmore drainage channel”.
Some hashers were seen to be cheating on the run instructions and diced with death in crossing the road, only to be met by further mud and crap everywhere. The so-called bush that we were supposed to run through in fact turned out to be a wasteland of discarded bottles, unearthed Aboriginal and white fella middens, cannabis party meeting points, discarded car and building parts and other such crap, all likely to cause mortal injuries if one were to be unfortunate enough to fall into it. This whole area reminded me of the pictures I saw in a museum in Hanoi of the destruction caused by incessant carpet-bombing by the Yanks and Aussies…it was a bloody war zone!! ….and all this in the middle of Ashmore!!! You gotta love the Hash…such variety!
Up hill, down dale, through mud and shit and for some reason the lyrics to a long forgotten song by Redgum came to mind…”A four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs.
It was a war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ’til they had you dusted off
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else
And then someone yelled out “Contact”, and the bloke behind me swore
We hooked in there for hours, then a God almighty roar
And Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon
God help me – he was goin’ home in June”
Any minute I expected a sniper to come out from behind one of the wrecked cars and mow the bloody lot of us down, but no, I had to remember that I was only in the middle of bloody Ashmore!
It seemed like we’d been running for hours but we were across a main road from where we’d just started…probably a kilometre away from our starting point. Two Dogs was heard to say “fuck me, it seems like we’re miles away but my computer says we’ve gone 1.4 kilometres”. it was interesting to see the rear of the wrecking yard that I frequent often, the back of the Endeavour hostel, the cement works, and other such fascinating sights. It’s a good thing some of us have a perverse fascination with industrial landscapes!
Fullershit must have gotten bored with marking out the run in the rain earlier that day because it came to a bit of an abrupt end, just as we were “getting into it” and begging for more bush. However, the sight of the three strands of pussy-pink tape marking the way home after about 4 km was seen by some as a blessed relief.
Back we all came to the start of the run at Fullershit’s factory, all looking like drowned rats and cursing the insufferable humidity. Most of us had been sensible enough to bring changes of clothes and there were shoes, shorts, singlets and underdaks flying everywhere as we donned our dry nosh gear. Thank goodness Fullershit had left the airconditioning on in his showroom as the more sensible of us went in there to cool down, pretending we were vaguely interested in the merchandise on offer.
Speaking of merchandise on offer, you gotta give it to Fullershit, he certainly outdid himself in engaging the services of one of our trusted waitresses to “assist” in the service of grog and food, but more about that a little bit later.
The first course of the Nosh was skewers of BBQ’d crocodile, kangaroo and koala, all served with great skill by the likes of Ferrett and several others, including of course our waitress Crissy. This young lady certainly has at least a couple of good points, and service with a smile is one of them…she serves, we smile!!
The mains was a lovely roast…bugger me if three days after the run I can remember what type of roast, but obviously one with which you use Cranberry sauce…delectable it was…..the meal that is, or was it the waitress??
Dessert was freshly diced mango and gourmet ice-cream. All absolutely superb.
One visitor, Bomber said “do youse blokes eat like this all the time?”…to which we all responded “of course we do, why do you think it’s called the fucking gourmet hash??”
Twenty seven hardy souls gathered into a loosely formed circle, which didn’t start until well after nine o’clock as we were all otherwise distracted in erudite, deep and meaningful conversation with our only female attendee, oh and of course making our visitors feeling welcome as well by engaging in bullshit banter with them.
The usual frivolities happened at circle with “down downs” for this and that and of course the icing of ‘Flasher’, who by now just gets iced and “down downs” simply for being, well…Flasher! There was another icing of sorts but as this document is up for what is essentially public viewing, suffice to say “onya Crissy, you’re a good sport luv!!” She certainly made a couple of fine, outstanding points as a result of the icing!
Prick of the Week went to Fullershit, reluctantly passed on by Josephine…oh my goodness, the POW regalia will never be the same again! Don’t anybody dare wash it!!!!!
All in all, a wonderful evening had by all and once again, thanks Fullershit for making it such fun for us all…just proving that growing old disgracefully is the only way to go!!!
Substitute to the Substitute Scribe