Run No: 422 - 7 Jul 07 - Lucky 777 - Scout HQ, Ocean Gardens tunnel, Taipa


Lucky 7/7/7


We met next to the Boy Scout Headquarters, but that didn’t influence the hares one bit. Neither Scooter Babe nor Nasi the Flour Mule performed any good deeds that I can recall (well, apart from the beer and water stops).

Starting from where we did, the wiser heads realised that the way out would dictate whether it was going to be a long or short run and most immediately opted for the Walkers trail. Actually, hashers aren’t normally that bright as a rule, so the decision to run the Walkers was more probably influenced by the hangover from Friday night.




Anyway, we ambled along the Jockey Club front, and came to a check which could have taken us up Little Taipa hill for a quick spin around the top and back home again, but no, the hares weren’t being that lenient. The trail led to the Fountains roundabout, past the swimming pool, on to the OTT and then lost us somewhere in Taipa Village.

The FRB’s were miles ahead by now and Cunter Ass Thompson’s Las Vegas-style check-closing marks had been useful so far to the laggards, but then petered out just as the trail did. Several loops and circles later a familiar sheep-like mentality came over the pack and we muddled along till we found the trail leading up to the church, then down to the pool by the museum houses, where the beer stop awaited.

A Walkers / Runners split took the walkers God knows where, whilst the ‘runners’ negotiated the 1000-step step-case to the Taipa Grande water tank, where Grandad suffered a blowout and had to retire. Cunter and Cum Shot had thankfully marked the check at the top and what was left of the runners (me, I think) shuffled along to the next check above the China Hotel. There a devilish deed had been perpetrated: Deception on the Hash. The Las Vegas ‘Happy Arrow’ pointed towards Taipa, but 400 metres later, with no flour or chalk in sight, it became apparent that the trail was in a completely different direction. So much for helpful Las Vegas-style check-closing marks!

At the bottom of the hill somewhere near the Venetian roundabout, the trail split into Rambos and Wimps. Sadly, this ‘runner’ missed the split and became an involuntary Rambo, shuffling the whole length of the strip, around Lotus Bridge Immigration, past the Grand Waldo hotel and back home along the highway next to the Jockey Club. Then it dawned that ‘Lucky 7/7/7’ was a word play between the date and the Strip. A better reference would have been the bad luck which would descend upon those foolhardy enough to venture into the Cotai Dustbowl.

Anyway, the Circle got under way with a whole collection of down-downs, most of which I can’t remember, due to the effects of exhaustion or dehydration or something. It was probably something. However, the highlight of the Circle was the final naming of Winnie. A variety of names were put forward, with the filthiest choices as usual coming from the ladies. It came down to a 3-way split between Bare Down There and 2 others which escape me now. They must have been good, eh?



Winnie was duly anointed Bear Down There, the milder-mannered among us (male) having done some last-minute censorship.



And so it was: let’s hope we see a lot more of Bear Down There.

 

 

THE IRISH PROSTITUTE

An Irish daughter had not been home for over 5 years. Upon her return, her father cussed her.

"Where have ye been all this time? Why did ye not write to us, not even a line? Why didn't ye call? Can ye not understand what ye put yer old mum thru?"

The girl, crying, replied, "Sniff, sniff....dad....I became a prostitute...."

"Ye what!!? Out of here, ye shameless harlot! Sinner! You're a disgrace to this family."

"OK, dad-- as ye wish. I just came back to give mum this luxurious fur coat, title deed to a ten bedroom mansion plus savings certificate for $5 million.

For me little brother, this gold Rolex and for ye daddy, the sparkling new Mercedes limited edition convertible that's parked outside plus a membership to the country club....(takes a breath)....and an invitation for ye all to spend New Years Eve on board my new yacht in the Riviera, and...."

"Now what was it ye said ye had become?" says dad. Girl, crying again, "Sniff, sniff....a prostitute dad! Sniff, sniff."

"Oh! Be Jesus! Ye scared me half to death, girl! I thought ye said a Protestant. Come here and give yer old man a hug!"

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