Run #3188 by Monkey God at Charlie Market

After Penang had spent the previous 24 hours being thoroughly pissed on, including one final good pissing just before the off, 35 hashers assembled at Charlie Market expecting another soaking. Somehow, Monkey God managed to negotiate a temporary ceasefire with the weather gods and the actual run stayed dry-ish. The jungle, however, had other ideas. The whole jungle had been transformed into one enormous muddy slip-and-slide. Every root, rock and branch became something to desperately grab while feet disappeared in directions their owners hadn't authorised. Monkey God sent the pack skirting around the hills with plenty of ups, downs, slipping, sliding and general undignified jungle gymnastics. Staying upright became more important than following paper. Eventually the battered pack stumbled upon that most beautiful of Hash landmarks: a beer stop. A very welcome reprieve, giving everyone a chance to wash the mud down internally before reluctantly dragging their arses back into the jungle. After the beer stop came another climb up towards the Hash Highway, where Sam decided the run was going far too smoothly. Getting himself stuck on a check apparently wasn't enough, so he installed his own unofficial bar and comprehensively fucked over the pack behind him. The result was severe cuntfusion, with hashers scattering in every possible direction looking for trail that nobody seemed capable of finding. Well done, Sam — one man, one check, 35 cunts wondering what the fuck was going on. Eventually the paper, the pack and something resembling common sense reunited, and everyone managed to make it home. Some were cutting it bloody close, though. With the heavy overcast sky and dense jungle making the final descent dark well before its time, the back end of the pack emerged looking like they'd spent the afternoon wrestling pigs in a swamp. Still, everybody returned alive, muddy and ready for beer, which is about the highest standard PH3 requires. At the circle we welcomed back some familiar old faces, including Bommy, while also giving Kishi a suitably Hash-style undignified farewell before he fucks off. Returning friends, departing friends, muddy bastards, beer and abuse — all the ingredients of a proper Monday evening. Verdict: Excellent muddy bastard of a run. Monkey God kept the rain off but forgot to drain the jungle. Good beer stop, spectacular cuntfusion courtesy of Sam, and everyone eventually made it home. On On — and next time, Sam, leave the fucking checks alone.