Even though the hares proposed to hash through a relic in respect to local crashing reform 117 years ago, with fiasco, it’s pity that the hashers don’t have sight of it, more significantly, mirroring that modern reform still makes same mistake for inordinate private desires in which the multitude are treated as audience who are vitally interrelated to life’s improvement ensemble. Historical lessons just linger on oral form. 40 degrees of weather dizzy at thirty hashers or up in baking breeze of dogdays’s outset. Just The Tip hares the way, but his intuition has numbed by consecutive three Hash events in drinking and running, especially Saturday’s Boxer that spellbound another thirty hashers with razed Great Wall’s scenery and moreish barbecue prepared by Boxer hares. Functional brain lives on vigorous blood coupled with clean soul. Hashing marks made by hares for every hasher to find a way out are as realistic as rulers show their policies to help the people onto a good life. Even if many lost their way, the hares care to buttress lost group. Let’s wait and see.
The circle is settled to an open garden near restaurant. A square rostrum in circle elevates stature of hostess like Pussy Nibble as GM and host like Dry Hole as RA, by convention, yelling out three hares such as JTT, Pekinsky Bikinsky and Nut Pirate for a libation whatsoever, part of drinking with a Cock of Shame; welcoming ceremony displays for 6 newcomers standing on rostrum by sending a little cock of keychain and singing Hash song as cherry-picking; DH reels off a strand of accusation-like harangue with each rushee; a Hash polyester arm pipe jacks around Six Kuai Short when he lifts it to drink from the high end that he holds a bottle of beer to stream down. Well done, he doesn’t spatter his body. He wears a yellow cow-hide shoes to run the trail that indeed sticks out a mile; PE Comings from Shanghai reputedly is RA of Shanghai hashers, whose Hash songs can compare to DH’s ones juice up the site; DH as RA administers a naming rite for active Just Alex, eliminating other many nominations, with evidence, his pants distinctly exposed a swath of sweat stain on his codpiece at second beer stop that’s preordained to his Hash Handle to come into being Herr Splashy Pants, he half-nakedly kneels down on rostrum to receive a blast of beer shower and authorized Hasher Song. The air’s permeated with merriment and excitement. Pickle Boy volunteers to work on Beer Bitch; turns out DH leads a chorus of Swing Low with three versions. The halve tuck away local hearty meal.
A team of walkers directed by female PB as walking hare hit the first beer stop in advance in a lane, they’re BlowJob (recovering from his leg’s sprain), Cums with Milk (restoring from her leg’s injury out of a motor accident), Karate, Cum Shot (chief Hash Treasurer), newcomers and unbeknowns. There’re many Three-Way marks baffling the runners through long river bank and semi-village area. Some are weird to poke around for a right direction, such as Mussels from Brussels, Just Mesch, Just Alex, Just Pichuka, PE Comings, PB and so on. In the very beginning, a big intersection chains lots of energy towards the hashers like DH, Bearded Clam, Blister Fister and others; Dark Shaft takes the picture for hashers aside; female PB serves the hashers with cold beers and the hashers gather to talk for awhile and start off the next.
Coursing thru a winding alleyway and crowded market. The local stunningly buzz as to what the hashers pass thru, “What a Marathon in such a hot day! ” Agent Orgy responds in Chinese, “We’re not Marathon.” Whose Red Wienie exaggeratingly lopes ahead of the hashers for a short length only. Striding over foot bridge on main road and down into a culture garden. Tits Qualm keeps his average speed to move forward; Just Joyce’s call for On On is impressively sonorous; Crash Test Dummy races on and off to observe golden opportunity to click a photo for the hashers; Finger My Dough plows his way forward and JTT alike; Dazed and Confused brings a bag of his new designed Hash T-shirt to tout some and jogs all the way at ease; cold beer more likely than not beats out the scorching heat for homeostasis of the hashers. In prolonged branch of Three-Way, there must some hashers to follow, otherwise, that the first one calls back whatnot cannot reach to others behind, along the street to turn right into a living community and on left, seeing some runners and all walkers have arrived at second beer stop in a small street of high rises. Female PB pours the beers for the hashers; Circle K and his two boys–junior Circle Ks carry thru most trail adorably; Super Squirter, BJ and a virgin smoke for a breath. All of a sudden, a slight sand storm attenuates ultraviolation and in the wake of it, sporadic beans of raindrops print on the ground for a moment that drives the hashers to take the road.
Still, Two-Way mark consumes some’s checking endurance. Hashing lineup move through a compounds and climber a foot bridge and down to right alleyway, Hard To Live With insists on his stable steps to jog forward. A memristor of some hashers reminds that the way back to restaurant to cross the starting trail runs counter to the rule of hashing trail. In the expectation of budding hares burgeon out into a maturation to practice a psychoactive pheromones. What we do during our working hours determines what we have; what we do in our leisure hours determines what we are.
July 14, 2015