image001“Ouch! How about my pointy birthday suit in panoply?!” Porcupine drawls out.

2015 Annual Pajama Run

Worrisome dust devil blows over in the course of time while yearly dramatic pajama run raises the curtain on more than thirty hashing savants appareling in diverse slumbering accouterments, let us say, bundle pajamas looks like Whose Red Wienie in white silk tai ji garment; Bearded Clam in purple quality standard version; Brussels from Brussels in checkered white-black one; Pickle Boy in suntan bath suit; Dark Shaft in short-sleeved light color nightclothes; Just Chen in plaid black-blue-white short-sleeved nightshirt; Crash Test Dummy’s peejays is embroidered four big red letters of H-A-S-H on his own with chic style; the ladies are more than ever fond of white satiny sleeping gown, behold! Shaven not Stirred, Comes on Vacation, Pussy Break, Pekinsky Bikinsky and virgins; Agent Orgy in colorful garish grandiflora skirt; ShitFace CockMaster then in white souffle black tunic one-piece; Pussy Nibble in polka-dotted red bath robe; Just Toy in black textured nightwear and pink bowtie headdress; Waiting for It in otherwise black laced all-in-one, in particular a pair of garter belts from black stockings. Carnival-ish bizarre hashers pan out an ocean of happy laugher and cheerful voices in all streets and alleys warts and all.

Astatic hashing scampers form a stream of eye-catching view in the public. Where the heck is the mark? Rushing there and back, running hares like Benz Over and AO standing still at starting point, with snigger; AutoBlow as walking hare brings a squad of walkers to move away quickly. Even though this zone is familiar to most hashers in the compounds of downtown, involuntarily doling out tongue-lashing to the hares, before long, West Side Farter leading the hashers breaks out of ground loop to be a third ring road and stride over a foot bridge then down to an intricate living community where it seems like a hashing trail with further snaky hutongs, still no mark, though. Just Oracle catches up scattering hashers manqué, to exclaim, “On Back!” when staggering living buildings block off sounding signals amongst the hashers. At last there is a sign lying on the ground to show the orientation along the main road. A skein of direction-free hashers redouble to mingle with stragglers to pinpoint a mark. Passing through two intersections in a hustling and bustling avenue and Discount Dildo gambols to flash before the hashers’s lineup from nowhere. Many times forerunners miss the marks on irregular places and dash into a huge strepitous Panjiayuan Curio Market. Blow Job whoops out, “On Back!”

The locals crane their necks to observe and hurrah the hashers’s crackle. Red Snatcher maneuvers her way through the concourse to yell out afront, “On On!”, through some turns and then move out of this busy Market. To spot a mark on the ground, where an array of vehicles park, does need somewhat serendipity. Wait a minute. The hare seems to bend down to re-mark something on the ground. With screams and crows from a bevy of local pupils, first beer stop on sidewalk meets the eyes of runners and walkers took a break over there earlier. Chitchat identifies hashers-selves with sip and clicking a group photo for ten minutes altogether, such an outward bound movement as Karate, Bjorn Again, Come Too Often, We Dodo, Heart On, Just Sunny, etc. When getting things moving, BfB whips off like an unbitted mustang and pronto gives a surefire feedback for On On that becomes catchword of the day stacking up against On Back. At a time when going down a small length of bypass along a flagging of canal bank where cherry trees in line burst into bloom dyeing pink and white to match up with hashers’s glory and cross through a foot bridge to approach to a park, after paying a stiver for admission, sightseers and lakescape change to be swinging by grid-searching for a sign and sure thing, in a short while, a cry for On On fascinates the hashers to move forward and being aware that the paces are making a big arc surrounding the lake and file out of the northern gate. Finger My Dough reminds this gate is exactly where the hashers got a picture background as ski resort in winter.

A Three-Way point disperses the hashers into three groups to check out. In jig time, BfB locates a way to move on and turn right to keep a long way. Again, BJ yells out, “On Back!” the most almost loss second beer stop where it’s set up a corner supermarket on sidewalk. Conversation, snack and sip relax all runners and of course shoot a picture for pajamaed runners. It’s around ten minutes for a break. Once RA shouts out an Open Check, BfB rhapsodies, “I know where to go!” and nips away in the first place. Sure he did, for he came close to home just now. The next is teased out easily and seriatim, let alone the most have discerned a direction to home, but sniffing out a mark is just shag end, cross over the crossroad and on left in lockstep with moving on right and then left to troop up with point men at home restaurant. Dry Hole draping a dark blue silk bedgown and wearing slippers without socks appears out of blue and seems like seeking for beddy-byes; also, Hebei Horse Herpes with nothing pertinent to topic dressing comes late, too. Ceremonious circle is stationed right in front of restaurant. Many members of Hash Mismanagement adorns with their tiara respectively.

BC as GM takes floor for a prologue and makes interaction with Lost in Marks and Spencer as RA, whose jama with candy stripe has torn big open tickles the hashers’s fancy, to moderate the performance; five virgins are hailed in the circle for a welcome rite with Hash song and little gift; CoV hastens to disclose DH’s quasi-birthday as if pointing out by innuendo for a birthday suit, DH’s guise is indeed immediate to the part of truth; male PB seems to fasten down the volunteer BeerB**ch to a position via his clockwork service; Master Baker better likes to test an imbibed drink toward somebody with the help of BA and naturally calls out miner hats capped LiM&S and Dark Shaft to dredge these tiny pipes for self-parody; there’s a disturbance to acclaim for a late arrival of Chokes One out, who’s self-aware of putting on sleepwear-like pants and accepts a volume of drink for a punishment; a few moments later, Nut Pirate as latest comer slips in below his breath with his way in just having a look at the circle somehow or other; in “accusation” part, MB stands out again for former Mismanagement’s default for his hundreds runs mug and Master Ma’s mug; DH’s songs with Hash lingo stake airy and transpicuous quale to live vibe; lushing and singing lurch higher level that LiM&S comes to stage to lead a parodos for Swing Low, anthropogenic four genres, to round it off and trow gnomic gaiety. The half chow down a local cuisine.

On On…

Pickle Boy

Beijing. Tuesday,

March 31, 2015