Date: March 23, 2025
Theme: The Sin City Monkey
Hares: The Wizard, Milky Piss, Spastic Whore King
The Wizard: No worries mate, time only "feels" like it's moving slower when you get heatstroke.
Slug: I can't hear you speak louder, a big truck just rolled by.
TW: You lost again! Tell me where you are. I'll send a baht bus to get you.
Slug: I can't tell where I am mate, the asphalt is too wavy.
TW: What road you on?
Slug: The one that bounces up and down and looks like a fuzzy drink.
TW: Slug are you high?
Slug: No I just think the earth ran out of trees.
TW: What you mean?
Slug: Well, aren't objects supposed to have shadows? This road has no shadows. I don't have a shadow.
TW: Don't worry mate, delirium is just a symptom, it will eventually go away.
Slug: So where is Pattaya from here?
TW: Slug, I don't know where you are.
Slug: That makes two of us.
TW: Can you find shade?
Slug: No shade but I just saw a couple of fire hydrants fighting over a dog to get a splash.
TW: Can you go back to the last paper?
Slug: Paper? I'm way way beyond paper. I'm looking at broken glass, rocks, a rope, a dead animal carcass.
TW: Look for a broken check.
Slug: The only thing broken now is my will to take another step.
TW: Any last words you want me to tell your loved ones back home in case you don't make it?
Slug: St. Laurence of Spain in year 258 died by being tied to an iron grill over a slow fire that roasted his flesh.
If it's good enough for St. Laurence, it's good enough for Slug.
On On
The Ghost Rider
The Great Pattaya Monkey Hash Heatstroke Hustle
It was March 22, 2025 — a scorcher of a day in Pattaya, Thailand. The sun blazed down like a fiery god, baking the earth and making the coconut trees wish they had legs so they could run off to find some shade. Not that there was much shade to be found. The Pattaya Monkey Hash, notorious for its wild runs and even wilder after-parties, had gathered once again to tackle a new trail.
This particular run was set by the dastardly trio of Oz, Milkey Piss, and Spastic Whore King. Whether they intentionally crafted the route to be a sun-scorched hellscape or were just sadistically optimistic about everyone’s hydration levels is still up for debate. The trail wound through open fields, dusty dirt roads, and the occasional patch of thorny bushes. Shade was as rare as a sober Hasher, and the heat shimmered off the ground like a mirage.
Among the runners was a Hasher affectionately known as Jello Butt — a man of great spirit and questionable decision-making. About halfway through the run, Jello Butt started to feel the heat gnawing at his brain. His legs wobbled, his vision blurred, and he began to resemble a drunken giraffe on roller skates. The next thing anyone knew, he was face-down in a patch of sun-baked grass, mumbling something about “cold beer and air-conditioning.”
Panic swept through the pack. Hashers aren’t known for their medical expertise, but they are known for pouring beer on things and hoping for the best. Thankfully, someone had the sense to drag Jello Butt into the nearest patch of semi-shade and douse him with water. As he recovered, sprawled out like a beached whale, he muttered, “This… this was a terrible idea.” Everyone agreed.
The circle that day was more raucous than usual, thanks in no small part to Twinkle Dick. Normally a background character in the Hash antics, Twinkle Dick transformed into a one-man entertainment machine. Armed with a questionable singing voice and a repertoire of songs that would make a sailor blush, he led the group in a series of increasingly ridiculous chants. Each song was more absurd than the last, and soon the entire circle was howling with laughter, beers raised in solidarity.
Jello Butt eventually staggered back to life, propped up by several helpful Hashers and more than a few cold drinks. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the Pattaya Monkey Hash continued their time-honored tradition of beer-fueled storytelling, the tale of the “Great Heatstroke Hustle” was already becoming legend.
Later that night, someone suggested renaming the trail “Jello Butt’s Desert Death March.” It didn’t stick. But what did stick was the memory of Twinkle Dick’s impromptu concert, the merciless heat, and Jello Butt’s valiant (if sweaty) near-death experience.
Another glorious day in Hash history.
On-On
Twinkle Dick
