Run No: 441 - 10 NOV 07 - Shithouse's 50th - Irish Bar to Middle of Taipa

Hash 441

The 50th year anniversary of ShitHouse entering the world through the doggy door....

(or the 18,250th day anniversary for those of you counting along at home...)


On Saturday, the sun was shining brightly as the temperature was perfect for a hash. The hash announcement hung in the new offical TMH3 signboard outside the Sacred House of the Taipa Macau Hash - The Irish Bar.

Shithouse was first at the box but was already complaining about the excessive heat as he looked dashing in his fanciest pair of woolen britches complete with spats and the dandiest cravat one ever saw. He showed he was still quite the strapping lad as he nimbly maneuvered the bicycle he arrived on carefully into the parking space, battling the enormously disproportionate front wheel with the tiny small wheel in the back of hit. He tipped his straw brimmed hat at the harriettes as they showed up and he was kind enough to lay his duster down so that the harriettes could step over the ever present puddle of mysterious liquid in the parking lot.

Shithouse was surprised to see so many people stop working their fields and harvesting their crops to show up to the hash, but apparently these young whippersnappers no longer work 6 days a week now-a-days. The final number was 24 hashers by this drunkards count. This included an impressive 3 virgin headcount (although Tittyanna lost her virgin on trail...may he rest in pieces). Rentboy made the long swim over from the Hong Kong Land and brought a couple virgins who had managed to avoid the hash in their 6 months here in Macau (actually, that's a pretty impressive feat)! We also had a seasoned visitor hasher - Black Beard (? sorrry!) from HK come over to torment Shithouse and brought with him two lovely ladies who made sure at circle that rum drinkers were well represented. Also returning from HK for the special day was Bush Pussy and it is always great to have prior TMH3 hashers back, can never have enough of that! Sadly, she was lost on trail to a gang of roving hooligans in white with canes muttering something about having to go drink their milk. We can only hope the Bush Pussy escaped safely back to HK, but she never did make it into Circle.

We also had a returning newer hasher come back to join us, unfortunately I can't remember his name at all, so we'll call him Captain HappyPants as a temporary place holder. Anyways when asked where he has been, he said "he hadn't gotten any invitations to come back to the hash". To which we immediately apologized and swore that we would have to sack our engraved invitation maker yet again. Then we remembered that the hash's engraved invitations are cold, 12oz, and a lovely golden color....if that doesn't remind you, we'll come pour it over your head for you...

Betty, Betty's Boobs, Hasher Cora (Hasher Albert-less), and St Peter all arrived shaking an angry fist at the bright sun whil Roger & Out and Mini Me strolled in from the other direction, decked out in color coordinating jogging suits....we weren't sure if they had jumped the East Asia Indoor Games' fierce video game team of webgeeks or the Dragon Dancing team...but when asked the best answer given was "well it might get cold later..." To which hashers know the correct answer is: it's never too cold at the hash if you drink enough!

Even Hasher Nissa and Hooker No Sing showed up after hearing that this was a tshirt hash. Those two are harder to keep in town than a convict out on parole... Hasher Nissa did come up for a naming later at circle, but the pack's minds were needing more fuel to mull over the naming and it was tabled for a week, but then Hasher Nissa announced she would be missing hash 442, so now we have (at least) 2 week to think of a deserving hash name for Just Nissa.

Nasi was doing a great job that would make the Top Gear boys proud in converting his trusty auto into a B van for the Coolers (sorry, Eski's) while Pestiferous Zyme was caught in a beam of bright light which at first was thought to come from the heaven's above, but then we realized it was merely an extremely rare gap in the smog (which as soon it was pointed out, the smog apologized and quickly doubled its efforts in obscuring the sun) But the light had been seen long enough, for Pistiferou proclaimed that yes, he likes - nay - loves his hash name. This showing of great hash behavior missed be awarded at circle but dear reader, this hasher says on on to the great attitude and it will be damn fun to watch Pestiferous Zyme show us what a Pestiferous Zyme does....

By now, the crowds had amassed and from the doors emerged the two hares for the day's trail, Pubic Plucker and freshly baptized, Dick Pastry who proceeded to give a chalk talk about the amazing technicolor dream trail they had laid. Even being nice enough to point out how the the trail was differentiated into 1/3's by the marks. Such considerate hares! Either the hares had obtained superhero powers and were able to set trail at the speed of light or the trail had been dead hared as they set the Walkers followed by the Runners on their way and went in to presumably challenge the irish bar staff to a tequila drinking contest.

Meanwhile the pack was off and headed along the road to the Boy Scout Traffic Circle before following through the tunnel, through Ocean Gardens, and straight on North across the coastal road and across the border from Macau to Mainland china as trail arrived at the water's edge on the beach and as all the water is owned by our friendly Motherland, the hash managed to be set in both China and China SAR, well done hares! Strains of Vangelis wavered through the air as the pack followed both the dobs of flour and the hares' footprints up the sand/rocks/flotsam/jetsam/and stuff that I don't think we want to know what it was...

We popped back up to the road, continued around to the Crown where the trail headed South, across a flyover to the East side of the road and through the McDonald's traffic circle on South and over one more flyover where apparently the R/W split was, but all 24 hashers managed to miss the split (or maybe that is where Tittyanna sent her Virgin and Bush Pussy off to and they just lived happily ever after, never to return...). The pack followed what was later found to be the Runner's trail on South to the Mocha traffic circle and wound around to the East and past the Rockwall before mounting the steep hill to the water tank and the parking lot above it where there was a disconnect of the pack, the first two to arrive was Rentboy who was decked out in full racist regalia of a racing singlet, racing short-shorts, and a smile on his face and a tune in his heart and was closely followed by Cunter Ass Thompson who had stopped to peruse the Hare's checks earlier. The two saw the large dob of flour leading to the trail to the left and followed trail to ~200 meters without seeing any marks, so they turned around and by then the virgin couple of self-attested non-runners (yeah right) were the FRBs and were in the parking lot. As the rest of the pack arrived and the number grew to an even dozen people up there looking for trail, there was a large mark found of "ON DOWN" which was duly followed.

Nasiturd followed by Colonic, Tittyana, Shithouse, arrived and went on trail to the left where they did find the second mark, it was a pink chalk arrow and was found by Nasiturd who was able to confirm that was the trail by asking Shithouse who used his 10cm thick trifocals to see the next 5 chalk marks and turned up both his hearing aids to 11 could hear the sound of guilos on trail ahead gawking at the strange markings. Shithouse cried out "Bully! Bully!" and their intrepid crew of 4 followed true trail around the hill before arriving back at the "ON DOWN" the rest of the pack already found. SCB's the whole lot of them. Fortunately Shithouse was used to the hills as growing up he had to walk to school everyday and it was uphill both ways...with 2meter snowdrifts the whole time. Fortunately when Shithouse started hashing at the age of 8, he had a good friend, Gespbert who Shithouse taught the whole hashing thing to before Gespbert shipped off to Kuala Lampur.

Meanwhile, non-circumnavigators of the pack that day followed trail down the steps, along the road North back to Mocha Traffic Circle and wrapped around Kingsville as they ducked and dodged through the city streets around Park-n-Shop back N-NW before coming across a great sight. Rentboy and Cunter were hashing along when they spotted up a head a beautiful things, two hares laying trail.

Yes, both hares were snared and Cunter and Rentboy were more confused than a mule with spinning wheel, so they dumped their waterbottles on them and continued on. And it was with added hilarity that B was a mere 40 metres (there you go Brits, you can have that spelling, see the TMH3 Hash Trash is equal opportunity :) ) away in front of the Nepalese/Indian food restaurant.

The rest of the pack arrived as did the Circum-hashers eventually. When St Peter and Betty arrived it appeared at first that they had held up a Circle K in an homage to "Raising Arizona", but nay, it was merely the Religious Advisor & his trusty XGM sidekick bringing religion to the masses.

Circle was called after all were in and there were smiles all around from the 2 of the 3 Virgins who made it on it as well as the visitors and the rest of the halfminds in general. Shithouse came on in and a great cry of "huzzah!" arose from the crowd for Shithouse made it the whole trail without having to use his walker or take some huffs from his portable oxygen tank. He did lose his dentures on trail a few times but that was okay, the ground in Macau is exceptionally clean).

Due to the unusual size, each hasher was limited to two whacks each but there was still some great down downs. But before any of this, the TMH3 RA revealed his secret plan by calling Shithouse and all other wankers over 50 into the circle to be diapered so as we wouldn't have to listen to their constant nagging to speed up circle. Great group poses/photos ensued as you can see below (that is if you are reading this on )'s like the casting call for "The Full Monty: Part 22: It All Depends!"

Shithouse was then presented with his second Religious piece for the evening which was his very own hashbottle. As Shithouse christened it, he also was given the phone numbers of three well dressed gentlemen who happened to be passing and observed his performance.

Circle continued with the hares and shithouse (quite deservingly) receiving multiple offerings of the golden nectar. A story emerged about Hasher Nissa performing a Rainman act on trail looking for her keys that she managed to lose on trail (and did find on the 4th or 5th try). The truth came out about Captain HappyPants and BushPussy who autowanked to the OTT thinking, nay, guessing that B was there, eventually Bush Pussy went home (wait,isn't the OTT her home?) and the new boot was left to resort to technology on trail which was aided and abetted by Betty to get him to on in.

Scooterbabe made Shithouse strike a pose and with a few deft flicks of her wrist, captured his likeness on another fantastic TMH3 hash shirt that was given out to all and circle would down as the challenge of getting a table with service at the Indian Restaurant began. 30 minutes later, a rousing rendition of the Music Man under our belts, the rest of the restaurant patrons gone for the night, and the second coming of Christ being all complete, the food began to trickle in and then it didn't stop until everyone had a very content smile on the face which was only shattered by the realization that they were now in serious danger of sobering up and this could not be so the bugle was broken out and the call to action sounded for a migration to the Irish Bar post haste!

And there they went to ask such questions as:
"How many people can you fit on a loft?"
"why is the fire extinguisher in the fireplace?"
"Just what does the acidity of Coke do to Bailey's?"

And so the night carried on and it was promised to Shithouse that in another 18250 days, we would throw him a hash party even bigger and better. (heck, that should be about the time of TMH3 hash #3050 if it all plays out well (check the math, it's right!))

And so wraps up my account of the hash that I told the cops when they came asking about the diapered masses congregating on the streets.....

On - can give you another reason to drink! - On



Five Happy Go Luckies for you this week, a couple more hightech, and couple more traditional

First a triple downdown offering for you to break up your work day:

(Safe for Work)
(Safe for Work) (Safe for Work)
(Possibly *NOT* Safe for Work - Language)

and now the more traditional offering interruption to your mundane weekday:

The Seven Dwarfs are on holiday, travelling the World.

On their journey, they stop off in Rome, where Dopey wants to see the Pope.

They went to the Vatican City, and stood outside the Papal home.
The other six Dwarfs stand back a way whilst Dopey walks up to the Pope`s residence, and knocks on the Pope`s door. The Pope answers his door, and Dopey falls to his knees, and clutches the Popes robe.

"Father, please, tell me for I must know. Are there any Dwarf Nuns in Rome?"
"No, my son," replies the Pope, "there are no Dwarf Nuns in Rome."
Happy smiled.

"Father, Father - in that case, are there any Dwarf Nuns in Italy?"
"No, my son," replies the Pope, "there are no Dwarf Nuns in Italy at all."
Happy grinned, and a couple of the other Dwarfs smirked.

"Well, then!" exclaimed Dopey, "are there *any* Dwarf Nuns in Europe at all??"
"No, my son - there are no European Dwarf Nuns." replied the Pope.
By this stage, Happy has tears running from his eyes, and is almost laughing out loud. The other Dwarfs seem barely able to control themselves.

"Please Father - tell me this!" implored Dopey, "are there ANY Dwarf Nuns ANYWHERE in the World?"
"I am truly sorry, my son, but there is no such thing as a Dwarf Nun."

Happy rolled around on the floor, holding his sides and chortling at the top of his voice. Even grumpy was smiling.
One of the Dwarfs started chanting, and soon the other five joined in.
"Dopey shagged a penguin! Dopey shagged a penguin!"


(apologies for the stereotype, swap it out as you like :) )

A Scottish tourist attended his first baseball game in the US and after a base hit he hears the fans roaring "Run....Run!"

The next batter connects heavily with the ball and the Scotsman stands up and roars with the crowd in his thick accent: "R-r-run ya bahstard, r-run will ya!"

A third batter hits a slam and again the Scotsman, obviously pleased with his knowledge of the game, screams "R-r-run ya bahstard, r-r-run will ya!"

The next batter steadfastly holds his swing four times and as the ump calls a walk the Scotsman stands up and yells "R-r-run ya bahstard, r-r-run!"

All the surrounding fans giggle quietly and he sits down confused. A friendly fan, sensing his embarrassment, whispers to the Scotsman, "He doesn't have to run, he's got four balls."

After this explanation the Scotsman stands up in disbelief and screams, "Walk with pr-r-ride man! Walk with pr-r- ride!!!!"


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