Run 332: The “Uno’s Fuck All” Run

Let’s just get this out of the way: we executed yet another flawlessly planned, masterful, highly athletic run.

…Alright, fine, back to reality. Our esteemed Hare, Derro, decided that actually doing his job and laying a trail was far too much effort. He blamed the rain—which, surprisingly, wasn’t just a classic Arsenic-style hallucination this time; water did actually fall from the sky. Instead of flour or chalk, Derro lazily entrusted our miserable lives to a deck of Uno cards. Like us, not a full pack I might add

And boy, was the deck feeling spiteful.

The elite athletic squad consisting of Fresh Meat, Cock Knee, Baah, Derro, and your fearless GM/Sargant Eno ventured into the wilderness, boldly throwing all caution (and basic common sense) to the wind.

Casualties & Cowardice
It took approximately three seconds for Baah to locate the only loose twig in the entire forest and spectacularly stack it. Fortunately, his plummet was documented for posterity. Not wanting to be upstaged by a mere tripping hazard, our over-achieving Hare decided to aggressively cuddle some thorns, donating some decent claret to the undergrowth.

Meanwhile, our returning Front Running Bastard, Cock Knee, was ruthlessly ambushed… by Bambi. A deer careered past him, prompting Cock Knee to let out a bone-chilling, genuinely prepubescent girlie scream. Unsurprisingly, his days of running up front abruptly ended. He scurried back into the safety of the pack, hiding like a terrified schoolgirl dodging a trench-coated man handing out free candy.

Virgin Territory & Questionable Phrasing
The Uno cards somehow forced us into a respectable 5km hike, dragging us deep into rogue bushland and uncharted virgin territory. After hacking our way through what can only be described as Spider-Fucking Land, we slipped out the back door.

Wait, no. We came from behind.

No, that’s worse. We run at night and cum in the bush?

You know what, let’s just move on before HR gets involved or Miscarrige sends another message from Cambodia wrapped in rainbows. We survived and exited on the other side of the park, far from our usual return.

Speaking of HR – Cock Knee proudly showed off his Consent course certificate – after explaining some scenarios involving 2 blokes contemplating a hook-up and us throwingup in our mouths, we decided that consent is only for the Sydney Swans and we will take any bitch we want, when we want and as long as she is on a leash (what did you think I was talking about?)

Gourmet Dining & The Great Escape
While there were zero drink stops on trail, we did have a drink start. Culinary genius Derro provided what can only be described as the most magnificent, awe-inspiring array of sauces ever witnessed by human eyes. Other, lesser sauces would weep with envy. These liquid condiments perfectly accompanied the Michelin-star feast of white bread, snags, and excellently chopped onions—a menu that undoubtedly gave BallBags a phantom food boner wherever he was.

Now, onto the logistics. After the sheer embarrassment of getting locked in the park last week, Baah cunningly parked outside the gates. He claimed it was the “emergency car,” but we all know the bastard was planning to ditch us.

His foresight (or flat-out collusion) was validated when we returned to find cute little passive-aggressive notes on our windscreens, politely advising us to call a number to be let out. Because, yes, some jobsworth locked the main gate on us. Again.

Did we call? Of course we fucking didn’t. We’re Hashmen. We aren’t some sissy, tequila-fearing support group afflicted with a terminal case of Pepeitis. No closed gate can hold us! We fear absolutely nothing… except the very real, terrifying possibility that the side gate was locked, too.

Spoiler: It wasn’t. We scurried out through the side entrance like rats. No gates were harmed in the making of this escape, just our collective dignity.

Next week, we do it all again. Except it will be a different day, a different date, and completely different in every conceivable way, so technically we aren’t doing it again at all. But we are. But not.

On On,