First it was Brexit then the good people of the USA went and elected the Donald. They say good things always come in threes. Or was it bad things? Anyway our esteemed GM Rumpled Foreskin completed the trio of significant events by gently coercing me into becoming the incoming GM for next year. I had been holding out hope that the news of my impending GM ship would bring a last minute reprieve at the hands of full blown monkey hound revolt. That hope was in vain: obviously no one else wanted the job.
First off I would like to thank all those who have worked so hard to make todays and every other Monkey run a success.
The hares Bam Bam and The Wizard deserve a special mention today. Remember if we don’t have hares with commitment and effort we don’t have a run. Thanks also to Beetroot head for volunteering to be an auxiliary hare at the last minute.
It isn’t just the hares though. Working away tirelessly, well almost, to make sure that the Pattaya Jungle Monkey continues into the future is the mismanagement team. To get us where we are a lot has to happen behind the scenes. From managing website, organizing resources, contacting people, ordering Beer and transport to turning up at meetings.
Because the mismanagement has been so fucked up the casual visitor to the PJH3 Monkey could almost be excused for being barely aware of all that misguided effort and commitment. Seriously though the mismanagement faces are beginning to look very old and haggard. I am struck by the fact that some of those faces have been around for almost a decade or even more on the mismanagement team. Your Hash needs you. Your mismanagement team needs you to get involved. It needs all the help it can get.
Organizing a piss up in a brewery is not as straightforward as it might first appear.
11th March 2017 thirty odd souls and general misfits have managed to drag themselves, somehow, along to the Boomerang Bar for an 11 am departure to regions unknown. When I was a kid my family used to go on bus trips called mystery tours. So little changes.
The prime objective of those trips involved a lot of beer too. Today we are being looked after by The Wizard. Presumably he knew where we are going? Although previous experience has shown this can be a rather foolish assumption as some hares have never actually set foot on the trail. I must have gone back to sleep on departure as I remember absolutely nothing of the journey out to the nether regions of Highway 331. I was aroused from my comfort and encouraged to disembark from the Song Teow. The first thing that struck me was what an ugly, motley crew we made. The evidence for this can be found in the group photographs. I am the crippled hunchback attempting but failing to squat down in the middle of the front row.
The next thing that struck me like a brick on the back of head was the sun. No one had warned us that ‘ruuduu raun’, hot season would arrive today. After the group photo we assembled in glorious sunshine to receive our instructions for the day and have our kit inspected. A list of miscreants who had failed to turn up with brightly coloured odd socks was noted down to be used later. The virgins were invited to introduce themselves to the assembled experienced hounds. As usual no one bothered to listen to the hare’s description of the trail and trail markings. Then we were off, sent to explore the sun scorched hills of the locality.
We left full of optimism and safe in the knowledge that today we had some special inside information in the form of Beetroot Head. He had been drafted in yesterday, at the last minute, to help paper the trail due to The Wizard having an emergency appointment at his local beauty parlour or some such thing. This was almost a smart move on the part of the hares. If it all goes pear shaped: blame Beetroot Head.
Beetroot Head must have been totally knackered out by the previous day’s exertions (or night time frolicking’s). Every time we got anywhere near a back check Beetroot would just stop and start scratching his ear or picking his nose and start muttering that it was a nice day for a walk and isn’t the view good from here. Consequently we let the front runners have their fun running up and down the hills and having the fun of discovering the blue painted sticks.
Somehow we managed to navigate a way out of the maze of a quarry and head up into the hills which were shimmering in the midday heat. Mad dogs and Englishmen came to mind for some reason. Good to see that the Aussies amongst us haven’t managed to shed that particular cultural heritage. I did enjoy the air conditioned bits under the trees and especially the tree covered gulleys and ravines. I didn’t witness any major accidents or incidents although I did spot Street Cleaner covered in blood.
Apparently a tree had head butted him.
Apparently our esteemed GM was a little green around the gills by now but was feeling refreshed after emptying the contents of his stomach over the trail. I am reminded of that wise old Thai saying ‘gaam daam sanong’ (กรรมตามสนอง),’ bad karma is coming back to wreak havoc’. I don’t know what Rumpled had done but it must have been very bad. As the run, walk, debacle wore on more and more hounds followed the lead of Jellobutt and joined him in making sure no one missed the checks.
This was good as it meant there were more people to shout out instructions to the lone front runner looking for the on trail. Jellobutt did complain later that too many of the checks lacked shade and general comfort features. I will make sure to remember that when I am out haring I will be setting up all checks in the open with absolutely no shade and definitely no sofas either. Next run check sitters better bring a parasol along with you.
I was passed and re-passed by our most experienced monkey hasher GI Joe countless times. I was going well until he sent me off deep checking in the wrong direction. He did have half a km more on his GPS than I did at the water stop though. Meanwhile Fingerless with his peaches and cream English complexion was rapidly developing the potential to glow in the dark later that night. He was even making Beetroot look pale and wan.
All I remember of the water stop was that it was on a hill and it had a nice tree to provide some welcome shade. I don’t recall any comfy chairs or hammocks. No one had seen Lord Lucan for ages. Spag and Dizzy were still with us. Lucan Made me Cum was still taking lots of photos. Mental Disorder was grinning, probably because he had missed out the hilly bits. Fag Hacker was grinning as if he had found a secret stash of beer. Ball Ringer was well, just being Ball Ringer.
One of the last arrivals at the water stop was Whore in the Window. He looked like he would be really cheap at this point of the proceedings. The next section of the trail was downhill all the way. It was still hot and dusty but it was downhill and thankfully flat. It was a tired sun scorched pack of hounds that wound its way into the oasis of the c-site. The beer truck and contents was safe and sound, a quarry full of clearish cool water to swim and lol around in and there was even a little shade. The ice blocks had been carefully placed so as to be in full sun the beer coolers were a further half a km beyond them. Apart from that everything was perfectly arranged for a relaxing and fun circle.
The sausages were great. I didn’t even mind that Beetroot Head got the spare one. The circle was good it started with me in the bucket and got better from there on in. The virgins got initiated. Bam Bam announced that the next run, the AGM run, would be his last. We showed our appreciation and there were chants of 5 more years but sadly to no avail. The after run venue was successful and enjoyed by all. Thanks for all your hard work hares.
Absolutely Fucking Clueless
On On
Absolutely Fucking Clueless
