Run #3158 by Gay Boy at Unknown

Penang H3 Run #3158 fell smack on Chinese New Year’s Eve, which meant most of you were off polishing lanterns or your livers. A glorious turnout of 16 was announced, but in true bad PH3 tradition, half buggered off early, leaving a lean, mean pack of five hardy idiots toeing the line at 17:30 sharp at Charlie Market. Trail lured us sweetly past the Indian temple before the paper took a hard right into what can only be described as Satan’s rose garden. Up and down, and up and down again, through thorn-infested crawlspaces clearly designed for ferrets, not hashers with beer guts. There was more bush than a 70s adult film and just as much groaning. Eventually we clawed our way out near Olivia and hit a proper trail sliding down to the hash highway — scratched, sweating, and questioning every life choice that led us here. Midway through this jungle joyride, we stumbled upon a confused young local declaring himself a “jungle virgin” looking for Olivia. The hash gods provide in mysterious ways. With dark clouds threatening and daylight fading faster than the pack’s enthusiasm, Uncle Sam stepped up as patron saint of lost boys, shepherding the lad safely along — and later even giving him a lift home on his motorbike. What happened after that is between Uncle Sam, the jungle virgin, and the Chinese New Year gods. The original five plus our bonus virgin legged it back via the hash highway just as the heavens opened. Rain lashed down, cooling overheated runners but turning the construction site exit into a mud-slick skating rink. Slipping, sliding, and swearing, we eventually regrouped under the dubious shelter of Stinky Market, where we were rewarded with giant loaves of bread concealing what may once have been burger patties. Culinary mystery aside, spirits lifted quickly once the ice was called. Circle was mercifully short but satisfying. Hare Gay Boy was rightfully thrown on ice for his thorny sadism and made to perform enthusiastic down-downs. He then proceeded to eagerly drain multiple beer-infused cocks from the sacred phallus-shaped vessel, sucking it dry with alarming dedication each round. The man clearly trains for this. Abuse was solid, rain dramatic, turnout pathetic, and trail memorably painful. Verdict: Savage thorns, heroic five, questionable catering, and a hare who loves his cocks warm and frothy. On On — and next Chinese New Year, less bush-bashing foreplay and more bloody hash-able trails.