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#310: AGPU 2026
March 17 @ 6:00 pm
Top o’ the mornin’ to ya—or more accurately, top o’ the evening, considering we spent it crawling through the streets like a pack of thirsty leprechauns chasing a pot of gold that turned out to be a massive esky full of cold ones. For Run 310, we traded the muddy forest trails for the paved “dirty tree” (that’s thirty-three for the uninitiated) pubs of the local area for our Annual General Piss-up.
The Changing of the Guard
The night was thick with tradition and the smell of Guinness. Our now-former GM, Fresh Meat, finally stepped down before he could be impeached, and we’ve “elected” Pepe Le Spew as our new Grand Master. May his reign be long, loud, and full of shit. We even managed to complete a single-block route, which, by the sacred laws of the Hash, makes the whole debauched affair an official run.
The Shenanigans
The “walking” part of the pub crawl was really just a brief interruption between drink stops. By the time we hit the halfway mark, the depth perception of the pack was roughly that of a one-eyed pirate in a fog bank.
The Casualty List (Incidents):
Miscarriage found himself back in a shopping trolley. We tried our absolute best to tip him out—purely for scientific purposes, mind you—but failed miserably.
Ball Bags was seen wandering about with a thirst that could only be described as “supernatural”.
In a move that would make a traffic warden weep, he decided to play chicken with an approaching tram while crossing the road illegally. Fortunately, he’s still with us, though his survival is clearly more a matter of luck than tactical brilliance.
We were joined by an honorary guest, Lee, our very own “Bruce Lee” for the night. The man was everywhere at once, roaming like a high-speed tourist and capturing the chaos on film. He was fast as lightning; we just hope the photos aren’t as blurry as our vision was.
The Aftermath
We finished the night at the Tandoori Palace. I’m fairly certain the owners start reconsidering their life choices the moment they see us rolling in with a massive esky and a decibel level that could peel paint. We were loud, we were rambunctious, and we were exactly what the COVID Hash is supposed to be.
Sláinte to a cracking night with only a few minor casualties!
On-On!
