Documents. Various documents. Stories. Poems. Prose. How-To's.
How-Not-To's. Technical. Reference. Hacking. Phreaking. Home-Made-Whatever's.
You-Name-It. Men In Black Suits. Silent Helicopters. Satellite Surveillance.
Fear and Loathing.
The documents in here were written by Kim (http://www.carsena-tech.net).
Couple years back, Kim used to write a monthly article for a US West
Coast based E-Zine called "Generator 21" (http://www.g21.net)
Please note that these documents are subject to international
copyright agreements and laws. The copyright is with the author.
Please obtain permission from author before reproducing any of these
FOR YOUR AMAZING READING PLEASURE
Hash House What?
Phen and I had been on the island for a couple of months when a new German friend of
ours named "TV" asked, "have you ever been on The Hash before".
"What?" I said. Phen and I both looked incredulously at TV. "Yeah, sure
I've been on the hash before, been on the piss and the coffee and the cigarettes too, what
about it?" I replied to TV.
"No, no, not the hash, The Hash" said TV again. "You know, bunch of
loonies get together, run through the jungle for an hour or so, then get so drunk they
fall down". "What are you talking about TV?" I asked. "The Koh Samui
Hash House Harriers, haven't you heard of them?" replied TV.
"Oh yeah" I said, "I know of the Hash House Harriers, sure, they
run." I remembered running once or twice in Fiji with the "Hash". Or
rather, more truthfully, I don't really remember running with the Hash in Fiji, I just
remember getting terribly, terribly drunk on beer and that is about it.
That was the beginning of my relationship with the KSH3 (Koh Samui Hash House
Harriers). I am now on the committee. I am THE Hash Law. That means that I can make up
rules. Any rules I like. Silly rules. Utterly stupid rules. The spirit of Hash is fun -
"a drinking club with a running problem" is how they often refer to themselves.
Worldwide, you can and will find "Hashers" running around like lunatics,
following obscure trails of paper, yelling out at the top of their lungs "on-on"
and "are you?" and "checking, checking". The calls of the Hashers can
be heard ringing through the tropical rainforests on the mountains of Koh Samui each
second Saturday year round.
Come rain or sun or cyclone - the Hashers are out there getting lost in the jungle,
fighting with wild animals and natives bearing dreadful weapons. Poisonous insects abound
and pitfalls and dangerous rivers typify the trails laid by the often-sadistic
A Hare is the person or person who goes out before the run and lays the trail of paper
that the Hashers must follow to get to the end of the run - and the beer.
So, on run number 15 of the Koh Samui Hash House Harriers, in September of 1997, I had
been elected to be the "Hash Scribe" for the day.
This meant that I had to write a short report of the run to be published in the
fortnightly KSH3 magazine; a small 3 or 4 page publication produced in the spirit of
furthering the fun. I wrote the report and with a great flourish and fanfare, it was
The following is the report of Run Number Fifteen.
Well, it was another Hash run. Jay, whod on this very day been aptly named
"Relay Delay" by Capt. Sqaull due to his ingrained habit of seriously
considering what you just said to him before replying, had laid the trail. We all knew Jay
and we all knew that this was a trail to test our serious work-ethos. I shuddered in fear
at the thought.
After the usual "where the fuck is the site" questions, mainly from a certain
motorcycle riding cretin whod arrived and hour early and got lost in the bush, the
group assembled in a picturesque valley inland from Mae Nam.
After the usual preliminary blurb by Capt. Squall and others, Jay waved his hand wildly
in several directions and shouted "on-on!" The mountains looming in the
not-too-far distance appeared threatening and dangerous. Many a mind I am sure was
thinking "Oh God no, not the bloody mountain". But no, even Jay with his heavy
work mentality had had the sense to run us around the fringe of a large hill/mountain.
The first check found several members discussing the psychology of the very, very
obvious trail of paper half way up a nearby hill track. "Hmm" people muttered.
:"Hmm, that is far too obvious, it must be a false trail". But those possessed
of vast wisdom had already plumbed the depths of Khun Jays mind and simply knew that
this was his trick, his rabbit-in-the-hat.
Of course, if it was so obvious wed say.. "Hmm, so obvious" and go
elsewhere. Certain fools tested the theory only to be left behind the bunch; apart from
sympathetic sidekicks whod hung back - it was indeed a false trail.
The run rapidly broke up and spanned a few kilometers. The rear runners soon came upon
the front runners, running back down a huge hill and cursing -"fucking bastard,
well get him for that one". Twas a nice lil loop around a
seriously large hill. The front cursed, the rear sighed in relief for having been far
enough back to avoid this pitfall.
The trail wound on through a scenic and gently undulating terrain. Verdant tropical
growth was everywhere, the trail mossy and damp. The occasional large hole and small river
crossing breaking the monotony of the long distance runner
Soon, Capt. Squall accompanied by a few sturdy female runners came upon what the Capt.
informed us all was referred to by the "Coffee Boys" as the tunnel of love.
There ahead was Mooselips displaying his all for the assembled group. (he dropped his
pants and mooned them all!).
The women, gagging and retching later arrived late after getting lost? Lost?
. Sure saved them a few miles
maybe it was just the debilitating effect of
A couple of useful zigzags allowed a tad of shortcutting for those who were (a) to the
rear and (b) had their eyes open. Its always fine to see the slugs catch up with the
real-runners, eh what?
Here and there along the trail the paper appeared to peter out a bit - just the rain
which although had not dissipated the tapioca powder used for the checks and false
trail markers, had somewhat decimated the paper-shreds. This led to some serious searching
here and there but in the end, as usual, the trail was picked up again.
Good old Internuts was up back there, pulling paper-wads back out of the bushes,
separating the strands and placing them back in far more obvious locations, complete and
complemented by arrows and pointers scratched into the sand track with a palm frond. What
a kind soul is Internuts, and a damned fine sweeper into the bargain!
A long trail, laid by a professional work-ethos expert, it was a test to the bitter
end. The trail had obviously been the subject of several days of careful and
time-consuming research by Relay Delay (or is that Delay Relay?)
Several dangerous river crossings, No "killing-fields" and no
"bush-of-thorns", the trail was possessed of both virtuous and sinful
characteristics. TV antennas and knife wielding natives sprang out from behind the jungle
cover. Fruit was to be had along the way, rambutans and star apples.
The last leg of the trail ran through a coconut tree felling area complimented with
over 50 loggers trails and again, a thin trail of paper. As confusion again (as
usual) began to take a firm grip, the more hardy and experienced realized they were not
"far from home" and eventually found the trail and got back on track again. By
now the runners were spread out over more than 2 kilometers. Would they all make it home?
The run started at 4:30 PM and the first runners came "in-on" home around
5:50 with the last group arriving at about 5:05. Speaking of which, this last group was
made up of several of the runners of the gentler sex who all claimed to have become quite
Hmmm, seemed to some of the gathered congregation that perhaps, just perhaps,
theyd simply dropped back and waited to hear the Hash-Horn closing in on the in-on
end of the run? Just perhaps? Naaaaah! How could one ever think such a thing?
A very good and quite laughter-filled down-down followed.
(note: The "down-down" is a ceremony held at the end of each race. The group
of runners stands in a circle and tell various nasty jokes about each other, force large
quantities of beer upon each other and generally enjoy themselves, reminiscing about the
run that day.)
Jay was bestowed with the name "Relay Delay" (again, was that Delay Relay?).
T.V. - represented rightfully by Pubic Chechenya - left message that he had failed to
attend due to a nasty little cut on his index finger. How he got such cut? Hmmm
Pubic Chechenya was accused of spending his days at Coffee Boys and Exit (Gay clubs) in
Chaweng and reminded of what Mooselips and The Capt. referred to as rule-6
POOFTERS". He attempted to pull Blind&Fast Eddie into the circle later, to back
him up. Stupid fool!
One of the virgins - "chatterbox" as Capt. Squall was heard to refer to
her - almost died at from laughing at the utterances within the circle and without!
After the down-down the group decided on a radical alternative and retired to The Congo
Estate to sample the reggae music and inexpensive beer and food. Apparently all were in
general agreement that said Estate provided good value for the baht in these tough times.
The final judgment of the run? All seemed to agree in a generic manner that (a) it was
not too long, (b) it was not too tough, (c) it was quite certainly very scenic, and (d)
perhaps a few too many checks? (perhaps), (d) a bit wet in places, like in the deep-end of
the river crossings and finally (e) not to award Delay-Relay-Delay the Hash-Shit.
So, Clueless retains the title and life goes on as before
until the next run in
Nathon, already recod by Pubic Chechenya.. oh you fools, you poor fools!
Footnote: The run that was subsequently reco'd by Pubic Chechenya (the writer)
earned him the title of "Hash Shit". It was a bad run, too short, very
confusing, several people got quite lost. But in the true spirit of the Hash, the group
simply had the best fun ever, bestowing the title of Hash Shit upon Pubic.
The title had been carried for several months by "Clueless", who had laid out
a run that was far too long and arduous. "
A story of the cannibal island
A story of what few blessings life has to offer us. Count 'em
Buffalo fighting on Koh Samui in Thailand
to hear something really scary?
Cannibals? Sure, in Fiji there are, maybe.Shit, it tasted
just like pickled pork anyway!
Chopper runs in Bangkok
Elephants in Bangkok (no they were not pink and yes I was sober.
More or less sober that is.)
"Hey nice T-Shirt dude!". Full moon parties on Koh Phangaan
The Hash House Harriers strike again! This time it's "champagne
Mate of mine got his head smashed in by some soccer hooligans on
Mornings in Bangkok. On the way to work
PCs in the tropics
Advice for the owners of PCs in tropical regions
Search About Thomas
SEX1 Ah. The "sex"
topic. By request, I wrote about Thailand's reputed "sex industry".
And you think the traffic is bad in Bangkok? Try Samui!
How to survive in the tropics. This IS funny.
Times change. Sure they do, but it pissed Joey right off this time!
Finally, the chopper run!
in Thailand are a serious trip dudes!
troppo mate! Totally!
Like it says, up-country in Thailand on a small-ish motorcycle
of one's own desires
END OF LIST