S3H3 #90

Run Report – Just Phil’s run (or: Chalk, Chaos, and Confusion)

As we assembled at Grand Park D9—an area noticeably cleaner than a dog’s arse and, dare we say it, D2—the eager hashers loitered about pretending to stretch while actually waiting for the run to start. A brief but entirely predictable delay followed, courtesy of Three Shitty Tits and Tootsie Robinson, who arrived fashionably late and unapologetically so.

We were joined by two Pattaya hashers, two bright-eyed virgins from merry ol’ England, and an additional trio of international virgins (Russian, Romanian, and Finnish), all somehow procured by Team Jackoff, whose recruitment methods remain both impressive and deeply suspicious.

With the questionable guidance of Gobblin’ King and Chemically Castrated, the illustrious Grand Master, Piss Bath, assumed command of the circle and shared some information about the run—the rest being left to fate, instinct, and blind optimism. As the sun began to set, we set off into the concrete jungle of D9, relying solely on chalk arrows scattered across pavements and roads like clues in a scavenger hunt designed by someone with commitment issues.

It quickly became apparent that the chalk markings were not only multi-coloured—at least five different shades—but also, as famously described by Lickhertits, “consistently inconsistent.” As a result, we got lost many a times, doubling back, second-guessing ourselves, and occasionally staring at the ground as if the arrows might magically rearrange themselves out of pity.

As we zigzagged aimlessly through the streets, we did manage to notice the shiny new developments of D9, which—confusing navigation aside—were surprisingly appealing.

Adding insult to injury, the two English virgins took to hashing like fish to water and somehow became the FRBs, boldly leading the pack and humiliating seasoned veterans who suddenly found themselves questioning both eyesight and life choices. To be fair, the upstarts did a solid job of finding arrows that no one else could see.

Eventually, after sundown, mild dehydration, and repeated debates over whether an arrow pointed that way or this way, we reached what we believed was the end of the run: Wasabi restaurant. Spirits were high, beers were opened, and many beers were consumed before we were cruelly informed that the walkers had not arrived—and worse still—that the circle was actually being held in a park 15 minutes away.

With heavy hearts and heavier legs, we begrudgingly relocated, guided heroically by Python in Your Beaver. Upon arrival, the circle was finally formed—fuelled by the many beers already consumed—and we held a posthumous naming for our fellow hasher, “Just Phil,” who sadly passed away shortly after Christmas 2025.

After due consideration (and absolutely no influence from alcohol whatsoever), the GM Piss Bath bestowed upon him the name Phil “Too Soon” Cotter. May he enjoy eternal beer stops in hash heaven, watching over us with a grin and shaking his head at our navigational skills.

On-on. 🍺