2013s Solar Flare

Day Solar Flare Closeup of 2013: X1.7-Class Sun Storm

The ozonosphere’s protectively siphoning the ultraviolet radiation from the eye of day in which the chunks of white clouds manifestly refract more luminaries in the boundless blue ether, which’s not to the extent that the ultraviolet rays undermine the folic acid of human body. The torrid summer’s alternated with autumn solstice, fresh hot and clear air! At the last moment of time level, Hash cline phenomenon comes on the scene by the kindred spirits to the number of 40 or up with phototaxis at a comparative uncouth place, without metro tube, a towering iron pylon jutting on the roadside, knowing little of western fifth ring road. There’s a wee smack of Boxer Hash’s genre because one of the hare is veteran one, Kiss My Maple Leaf, whose trail must be wild and trashy.

It’s pleasant to see that Black Turd dispenses with the need for his convalescent rolling chair and can walk like a cork with his a pair of crutches in the manner. Gap In Mind’s over the moon to say, “Ah! I almost know nobody here today since I had not joined the Hash for 5 months.” In the form of A to B, Black Turd’s car transports the hashers’s bags to the finishing point where the hares can’t divulge it to others arcanely. Saving that three walkers, the majority’d like to have a run. The cyclists have to park their bikes in situ. After an instruction about the marks on the ground for the newcomers, GM gives off the launching call. The hashers spread out for.

Hidden marks cannot evade the gimlet eyes of hashers. Dry Hole and puppy first pinpoint the marked way to march forward in the labyrinthine alleyways where it’s noticeable difference from the downtown’s ones by exposing the trash dumps at haphazard and emitting the stench, there’s a striking contrast with a cluster of blooming magnolia and petunia on the patches of open space. The streetscape adumbrates with personal equation, either familiar or strange, raising the mental exertion on the spur of the moment flash through the passageway and canyons, consequent thought-provoking comments from locals’s tongue in locals fair cheek, “Running in such a hot day?!” “Go Go!”

Asshole Sucker as hare has been nude thoracic and epigastric region as a remarkable sign to inspire the hashers, with words, “Come on?Go Go!” John Drunk Poet as a visitor drenches his colorful hood coiled on his head. Doggi Fondu’s kinetic energy is a balancer for elegance and speed and no-sweat. Just Laura and Just Jack as the visitors light out with young stride. then, the sinewless and the wobbly and all that entail the potion to restore at the beer stop to a nicety. The walkers such as Ferrari and Pretty Woman earlier reached there dolce far niente. Fire In The Hole idly rides a rocking horse to howl the water. Only drinking the cold beer in due course latches on a feeling of refreshingness.

To put together two and two in the lie of the land, the spearheads of hashers such as Chewkacaa, Just Sam, Just Louis and Pickle Boy pierce through many Two Ways, Three Ways and Open Checks on the streets and two lush miniparks with lilac smell and tincture. Chippendale skips over a swath of green belt on the curb, that’s high 1m and wide 1.5m, in order to flaunt his physical strength and excessive energy. Head Consultant, Not Beer Required and some newcomers lost the way after requisite extra beer stop. Forward momentum is stymied by no-mark by the run. The hare Kiss My Maple Leaf in the flesh makes haste to guide the way by the agency of his memory, cutting through an upscale monolithic hotel and cross a boisterous road, then it turns out to all intents and purposes, the finishing point is Irish Volunteer pub. Presumably the whole journey is about 12km.

GM Pretty Woman organizes the drinking circle settled in a shady clearing at the corner of residential quarter as before, a cross between gaiety and thought is uplifting a protracted meeting. Transylvestite glorily procures for his 50th Run Mug but while he steps in the circle, his running shoes glaringly overshadows his new steel mug, bar none affirms then and there, which’s a paire of new shoes. With ideated hard and fast convention of Hash, he speechlessly knocks back the drinkie in his one new shoe passing off it as his chalice; Just Snow’s lionized to win her 10th Run Patch; Steven’s labelled Little Red Cap as his Hash handle under brisk discussion of other hashers on spot; obstinate ebullition of taking the hares beering up for granted thanks to their de rigueur service for the hashers; Bjorn Again swigs a mug by a mug into the bargain, his very enamelled cream mug inlaid the gilt vignettes of Hash logo and procreant symbol, sticking out be dazzling all the more; Most and least Hash dithyrambs’re correspondingly and incisively played out by near solo aria of Dry Hole in the blood of the trojan. Delectable pizza of all sorts at Irish Volunteer finally grip the inner men of the majority at ease. And then Horny On Top and Comes On Vacation spring up for nocturnal canzonet.