Date: 4th May 2008
Hare: Fair Cop
Scribe: Fair Cop
Strange, is it not, how a very small event can be the direct cause of a much larger event, seperated by great time and distance? The example of a butterfly beating its wings to cause a tornado on the other side of the world being the most often cited example of the so-called "Chaos Theory". Given this name, it should come as no surprise that the phenomenon has reached the Athens Hash. Long, Long Ago...In a distant Hash, Strawberry Foreskin wore a T-shirt featuring Star Wars characters, to commemorate some far-off hash's "May the Fourth be with you" run. The metaphorical butterfly had flapped its wings... plagiarism was in the air.
A modest turnout of Hashers reached the compact parking area near Vravrona, to be greeted by the rare sight of Wet Dream refusing to take money (all free for the AGPU). Further disbelief ensued as Hashers received a free "May The Fourth Be With You" T-shirt. The revelation of a free lunch on WD & FC's balcony completed the trilogy of hash generosity. One can only draw the conclusion that Rim Job must be ill to miss such an economically attractive hash!
Various Hashers had made a gesture to The Star Wars theme: My cardboard light sabre, Doggie Style's space-age hair-do, and an entire Princess Leia Outfit, complete with ear-muff hairstyle from Clitoria. A spectacular effort which drew appreciative honks from every passing carful of bemused locals. There can be few greater compliments than “your appearance made me honk!”
And so to the trail. Although it may seem poor form to applaud one’s own efforts, I shall endeavour to offer an unbiased view. All checks replaced by the suggestion to "Use The Force", all falsies replaced by "The Dark Side". Sadly, the rubbish heaps weren't replaced by anything except more rubbish. The pack were treated to the mercifully rare sight of Kumkwik's backside disappearing into the distance as he made a bid for the title of FRB, and to the equally rare sight of Mountain Goat staying on trail to the on-inn. The walkers managed to miss a turn, leaving them on tarmac for the final kilometre, but pronounced themselves otherwise well satisfied.
The runners trail was competent, rather than spectacular. Certainly, it never reached the spectacle of Cook The Fook’s “Easter in the Olympic complex”; the entertainment of Prickly Bush’s “Rope Swing and Basketball”; the logistic success that was Fiery Tw*t’s “Horsebox”; or the anatomical horror that was “Rope up a Muddy Bank behind Strawberry in a Red Dress”.
This trail included an elegant back check, the usual ‘dead-end sidetrack’ and ‘missed turning’ falsies, and an innovation of which I was particularly proud: the ‘double-bluff’ falsie. This consisted of a tempting looking track off the main trail, with the blue flour semi-concealed, as if the main trail were about to reach an ‘F’, and this was the true path.
Certain that some hasher would be tempted and sidetracked in a rush of self-congratulation, I watched and waited for my victims to take the bait. What I observed was the Greenhouse of Pride receiving a direct hit from the Wrecking Ball of Reality, as the entire pack lumbered by with barely a second glance, leaving the carefully laid flour to be blown away, undiscovered. “ Har Well ”, as the atomic scientists say. “You can’t win ‘em all”.
A brief circle was quickly adjourned to WD & FC's balcony, where the important business of the day could begin. Democracy in action. The culmination of two thousand five hundred and eighteen years of Greek history, when all hashers solemnly cast their ballots to select leaders from their midst. The time when the levity must stop, and every man or woman shall stand up and be counted. Runaway winners were Clitoria’s Pussy and Robert Mugabe.
When the winners renounced their candidature, the hash was left with the usual second best for our Mismanagement. Cook The Fook decided that the role of GM is actually an excuse to be used as target practice, and passed the honour to Floppy Dick, who was absent, thus foiling the committee’s attempts to pass the trappings of office, also known as the hash crap, into the boot of his car.
Wet Dream, Myself, Clitoria, Love Bug, Mad Dog, The Bookmaker and Fiery Tw*t all failed to escape, and even Oxymoron managed to retain the (apparently defunct) role of BeerMeister.
Electoral duties done, Wet Dream served the food, prompting appreciative comments all around, and allowing Spyshagger to get back to Rear Entry, from whom she had been separated for at least fifteen minutes while she assisted in the kitchen. Hashers returned to refill their plates an indecent number of times, finishing off bowls of chilli and curry, a nut roast, two hams, stacks of cheese pies, mushroom pies, an entire apple crumble and most of a sherry trifle in the process. The empty wine bottles seemed to multiply of their own accord, and the well stocked fridge became progressively less so.
Several hashers were afflicted by a sudden rush of exhibitionism, and proceeded to gurn at the denizens of the Internet, via WD & FC’s outdoor webcam. This prompted shockwaves throughout Cyberspace, as voyeuristic web-surfers were torn from their observation of Loutsa’s number 6 bus stop. It must be that Chaos Theory in action again!
P.s. Anyone wishing to purchase one of the excellent “May The Fourth Be With You” T-shirts should volunteer for the currently vacant role of Hash Haberdasher.