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Run #142 - Friday 14 May 1999 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 The Pub Crawl of the Third Killer Hill Weekend The real hard core BH3s (Backtracker, Beer Stop and Foggy Glasses) had once again assembled at Trappen pub, in due time prior to the commencement of the evening's event. Additionally, Dog Handler arrived at the venue (your humble scribe), boosting the numbers with 25%. In addition to fraternising with the natives, the darker sides of Holy Hansa were the main occupation of this sorry gathering of hard core pack. As the pack decided to drift towards the venue for the real gathering, we had not stumbled (who said stumbled - we were running like true hashers!) very far before yours truly got savagely attacked from behind, hands groping for the muscled part of my body. In attempting to twist around, I found myself face to face with The Vicar, Oslo H3's GM. The reason for this savage attack was to announce that he was having dinner with his chicken, oops sorry - Flying Chicken, and his parents (!), and that he might be a little bit late to the starting point! Now, if this isn't what we call a misconception of priorities: parents before hash - and that of a GM - where will this all end? (The softer side of hashing : Poofter's hash?) The pack had been told to meet at Finnegan's Irish Pub at 1900 hours. The hard core were there, along with yours truly, Wallbanger, Fungus, Vodka Splite (GM of the Oslo Full Moon H3), Just Ingvild (wife of Wallbanger) and Just Øyvind (friend of Wallbanger). Sometime later, as the restlessness of the present pack took on formidable proportions, more hashers started drifting in: Creepy Crawly arrived with a bunch of Odense-Nyborg hashers: Smelly Belly, Foxy, Sweaty Balls and LateCumer. Furthermore, Smokie and some Scandihooligan hashers: Scar with 2T's, Corny Flakes and Just Dag. Also visiting from Oslo: Alouwetta and Little White Bus. Finally, Abominator, Dr Butt and Yogi decided to honour the pack with their presence. The pack endeavoured to empty the pub of its beer - tough chance! In Bergen, anywhere you go (save BH3 - as the reader will discover later on!) you will find ample supplies of the golden liquid. Smokie, hash horn(y), commenced showing off his skills, only to be brutally clubbed down by the proprietor for making too much noise! Talk about not appreciating true hash skills! The hare called "Drink it down, five minutes to go!". Just as the pack were readying themselves, who but The Vicar and Flying Chicken came walking hand in hand towards the pub, acting all innocence? "Sex on the hash!" screamed several of the hashers, who were still able to notice such small subtle things... During the stay at Finnegan's, several private parties were observed, it seemed like monogamy was a word of the past this evening, and yours truly, acting in the capacity of RA, was really looking forward to this evening, thinking of all the DDs to be handed out at the end... Smokie was observed in a very serious state of mind, was he in any way concerned about what was to take place later on (concerning him - Abominator, did you inform him in advance?)? Mad Hatter, Smelly Belly's wife, was missing this evening, as she had prepared herself so much for the event that she was out cold when the Danes finally arrived in Bergen! (I just couldn't help looking forward till tomorrow: DDs coming her way...). "ON-ON this way" was called, and off ran the pack. A new world record for BH3, 26 hashers racing (?), stumbling or walking through town. On-ons were called east and west as the pack moved through the city centre, across Fisketorget towards the first check. En route, Smelly Belly really did his best to live up to his name, as the poor sods around him discovered soon enough. From the check, a lot of short-cutting was observed, with the hare leading the way (!) (how could you, Abominator?) as the pack tried to follow the trail towards Dr Wiesners Folkebad, the second pub on this crawl. (It should be noted that at this point no one had started crawling yet that happened only later on, at the On On.) Some of the visiting hashers were really having problems focusing on where they were and what they were doing there, but I guess this is standard procedure some places? At the second pub, Scar with 2T's managed to open his eyes enough to see a local femme fatale and her dog seated at an outdoor table, the lady with a beer and the dog without anything. As the true hasher he was, he pitied the dog (!) by knocking over the pint thus allowing the dog a sniff of true hash culture. In response to the lady's outrage, Scar did the full moon show, and it is uncertain whether the lady yet has come out of the shock she experienced gazing into that most awesome of male hellholes... Before entering into the state of shock, she however managed to suggest that he washed himself behind with his hands, to which Yogi happily complied by running off to buy a beer for the purpose. I will not say what happened then, but leave it to all readers to make use of their own filthy imagination! Scar proceeded on with fumbling Dr Butt's buns, claiming he did not recognise who's they were, but they had the distinctive feel of his wife's... This caused the scribe to seriously consider asking the aforementioned lady to borrow her dog, so that Scar could get assistance the rest of the trail... Foggy Glasses announced proudly to the entire pack that he was off POT-ing, vainly in the hope that the RA would give him a DD later on. How simpleminded can one really get, Foggy? For some odd reason most of the pack just sat with their pints, not providing the scribe with any juicy information for the trash (nor for the later DDs for that matter). ON-ON was called yet again, and the pack set off, for some odd reason in a more disorganised formation and considerably slower than before. That did not prevent harriers of the local kennel, Fungus, Creepy Crawly and Wallbanger from showing off when the pack moved across Festplassen in a manner more like what you see on the last day's parade during the October beer festival in Munich. Gymnastics, racing and other atrocities were committed by these three harriers, in an attempt to attract the attention of the harriets, I wonder? The only attraction to come out of this posing was fatal: as Scar ended up being Creepy's partner in bed that night - but that's an entirely different story... The pack finally arrived at Bergen Gjestehus, the third and last pub of the evening. Sweaty Balls and Corny Flakes went straight for the food, whilst the rest of the pack went for their golden liquid: the Holy Hansa! Yogi went straight for Foxy Lady, in a manner that clearly proved to everyone that Bubba was not with us this evening... A quick bite from the fox, and the bear ran howling off...... Again little was observed as worthy of a note, so the scribe was very happy when On-on was called once more. This time to the On On venue, where certain entertaining events were to take place. The pack now stumbled across Nygårdshøyden in an attempt to find their way to Smokie's lair somewhere at Møhlenpris. The FRBs were cold and shivering by the time the entire pack had gathered at the front door of Smokie's adobe. This is when the crisis arose. Only one (!) crate of beer had been provided - for DDs and for quenching the thirst of 26 hashers!! Panic and confusion gripped the pack, mutiny was just around the corner... There was only one solution to this dilemma (apart from awarding both Abominator and Yogi DDs for such a heinous offence): send Creepy Crawly home in a cab to bring three crates of beer for the pack!! And that on the double!
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