Run #3171 by Mr. Money at Kali Corner

Run #3171 at Kali Corner kicked off like a bunch of geriatrics late for dim sum — half the pack buggered off early despite everyone knowing the trail was shorter than Kpop Cock Hugger’s medical leave request. Hare Mr. Money laid a cheeky little bastard run through the hills with a respectable 400m climb, enough to make the beer taste earned and the smokers regret every life decision since secondary school. Weather was humid enough to steam your balls, and the jungle was fully armed and operational. The real hares of the day, however, were the bloody bees and wasps. The weekly sting massacre continued with repeat offenders Puki Tao and Skidmark once again volunteering their necks as landing strips for angry airborne cunts. Honestly, at this point the insects probably know them by name. There was much shrieking, flapping, and fake bravery while the rest of the pack pretended not to laugh. The trail itself was straightforward enough, though the constant paranoia of incoming stingers had everyone running faster than usual — accidental fitness for once. Meanwhile, K-Pop Cock Hugger decided the trail lacked drama and took a theatrical tumble worthy of a Korean soap opera. FFH immediately transformed into Penang General Hospital triage nurse and tried dragging him off for emergency treatment. Unfortunately for the performance, after extensive searching we found absolutely fuck all wrong with him besides wounded pride and dirt on his shorts. The level of overacting was so severe even the monkeys stopped to watch. If there had been an Oscar for “Most Pathetic Fall on a Mild Descent,” the man would’ve taken gold. Back at the runsite, Mr. Money also demonstrated his unique approach to catering logistics. Dinner consisted of rice packets with either chicken or fish. In theory, you had a choice. In reality, the hare would politely ask what you preferred, nod thoughtfully, then hand you whatever random packet happened to be closest to his sweaty fingers. “Fish please.” — gets chicken. “Chicken please.” — gets mystery protein. Truly a culinary lottery run by a man who clearly believes free will is a myth. Circle was slightly disappointing in the courage department, with most of the usual loudmouths suddenly discovering shyness when it came time to run the thing. Credit where it’s due though — Skidmark stepped up and ran his very first circle, a noble effort while the rest hid their balls in the undergrowth. The absent scribe, away gallivanting at Interhash, requested photographic evidence of the debauchery, but the useless horny bastards failed spectacularly. Only Fuck You contributed, repeatedly sending close-up photos of what appeared to be his overworked wanking wrist. Truly the sort of journalistic integrity this kennel deserves. Verdict: Short run, savage insects, fake injuries, randomised dinner service, and absolutely useless photographers. Hare did enough, Skidmark earned his stripes, and the bees remain undefeated champions of Penang H3. On On — and next time, less drama, more bloody photos.