G’day, I’m Phantom and together with Taxi Ride Her, we were in town for Nash Hash and decided to hare the run this week. Hashers began to emerge from the subway at DaWangLu while others arrived on bicycles. Black Turd finally arrived and began to strip people of their hard-earned cash, and at 3.05pm we were off. Unfortunately, several hashers arrived at the start at 3.10pm, but luckily the first beerstop was only 344m down the road, as was cleverly pointed out by Skinhead, showing off his new wrist GPS. Many of the more serious athletes, including Ferrari who lamented the lack of Chianti, declined beer, opting for the more sensible but rather boring water option. Several members of the pack were on their mobile phones trying to direct the late-comers to the beerstop, talking and pointing their arms the way that people do when they try to give directions over the phone.
With the late-comers with us, including the aptly-named Laidcummer, we were off east along Jingguo Lu towards 4th Ringroad. The walkers, under the guidance of the geographically-challenged Lee, enjoyed a gentle stroll to the markets while the runners ran through underground tunnels and busy roads around the 4th ring interchange, regrouping with the walkers at the market for a cold beer. Pubic Hair and Deep Inside still refused beer, but most of the other so-called athletes weakened for the amber nectar. This reminds me, Taxi Ride Her and I went out for a few beers the other night when a group of jerks kept shouting “Pedophile” at me. Okay, so I’m 54 and she’s 33, but so what. It completely ruined our 25th anniversary.
Off we went again, down the steps where Hard To Live With tried his best to take out a mother and baby (10 points). On on to the next beerstop in front of the Nash Hash hotel. Childish jokes about the “foot massage” parlour next to the beershop were made – “You call that a foot, this is …..” etc. Sadly, Pretty Woman, organizer of the Nash Hash hotel, lost his way and led the hirsute Master Baker and several other hashers off on a wild goose chase, arriving at the beerstop just as the pack was leaving. This is probably why he plans on getting a room there during the Nash Hash. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Maria, the Spanish concierge, who said to me on checking in, with a huge smile on her face, “Oh, are you a friend of Andrew?”.
On On we ran again to another market and another beerstop. Pretty Woman and several harriets went shopping. Undulator and Dry Hole chose the ice cream option (Breaking News: after years of devouring only green bean ice creams, Undulator has discovered mango flavor). On on again along the canal, across the bridge and into the On Home in the garden inside SOHO apartments, where Snot and White Rubber used to live. We all thought it was a perfect place for a circle but the security guard didn’t, and like the UN Security Council, one ‘no’ vote vetoes all the ‘yes’ votes, so we relocated to the concrete strip in front of the restaurant. A mate of mine recently got tattoos all over his body of those little symbols they have on maps to designate landmarks and other points of interest. What a legend.
After organizing beer from three separate vendors, GM’s Snot and Dry Hole called the circle to order. After punishing the hares, and after years of hashing I still can’t work out how giving an Aussie a free beer constitutes punishment, the new runners were welcomed and long time no sees were welcomed back. Dazed and Confused then took the controls as RA, immediately “punishing” the hares again. When I protested and suggested that he get some mirrors in his house so he could see what he was wearing before he left home, he sang “Bullchit, bullchit, it all sounds like bullchit to me”, so that was the end of my protesting. Nutcracker joined me for the (yawn) predictable “All Australians are born illegitimate etc ad nauseum”, and also received her 10 run patch. Two runners from Fullham were called in for wearing matching shirts (vomit), but worse still they were running club shirts! Several hashers drank from the Cock of Chame including Pretty Woman, Cumshot, among others. More shenanigans took place, Molotov Cock did his Evel Knievil impersonation and jumped over a few drinkers, Piles and Placenta were punished for being in their best Sunday clothes, Le Cunt should have been punished even if he wasn’t (I just wanted to write his name in here). Two runners were named by Dazed and Confused: Lee Mitchell will forever be known as Beer Bitching and Mark Krawek is Knob in Hood. Freakin’ Shakespeare said “Fook, fook, fook”, or something like that.
From here it was on on to dinner, then for those too foolish to know better, on to Paddy’s bar to watch the (Third) World Game. Tottenham have that new Italian striker, Grabatelli. They were on fire a few weeks ago, but not tonight. The Spurs sadly lost, but don’t worry Shakespeare, they’ll improve once most of their players get out of jail. Okay, sorry, a bit cerebral, read this paragraph again.
Taxi RH and I are primed for the Nash Hash, starting Thursday. See you there!!