Hash Trash

SIRT6 gene, a homologue of Sir2, is involved in the regulation of aging and longevity in rodents.

A team of veteran hashers hare a hashing preserve for their visit in BJH3, Hairy Crack, Kimchi Muncher and Psycho Analyst. After a couple years, they come back to lead the 30+ hashers to a high dimensional area with their déjà vu, the Old Summer Place neck of the woods. In fact, the long-standing regular hashers still remember the last pajamas run in this zone, such as Crash Test Dummy being the first to rush out of the open check to the right trail and drone, “this way gotta be to the park.” Sure thing, the hare points out this way after the other hashers checked for nothing from the 2 branches. Comes More Often and 007 get late and just in time for beginning. Running and re-marking by the hare. Although seeing a Home In mark, the hare timely corrects it for a new way under a high speed overpass, to enter the Old Summer Palace park. And happy to hear the free ticket. There are 3 colorful children puppets standing at the entrance, in the costume of Qing Dynasty, though.

You Cunt See Me, Dry Hole, Beer Wolf, Nipple Kamekaze and so on scuttle in the front along the cement track. Little Shit Red Hood reads the slogan in the flower bed aloud, in Chinese language, “happiness comes from struggle”. Wandering Tongue, Red Snatcher and Hot Cockolate jog behind and click the beautiful scene in the hashing weather. Cock Chain seems to confuse where he’s running. Breakfast Included trots fast. The streams, earth slopes, greenery and wilderness criss-cross. The most fascinating thing is the hashers pass through many diverse bridges, probably 11 wooden and stone bridges. Pickle Boy sighs, “so many bridges! ” Blow Harder echoes, “I like bridges!” Allegedly there were 188 bridges in this park in the old times. Every now and then the flour sign in the grassy trail usher up and down the baby hills that sense the Boxer hashing. In tandem with the hares HC and KM, constantly adjusting their position to guide the hashing line-up. A subset of chalk signs press toward the way along the winding brooks where the lotus leaves cover the water surface, and the snow-white lotus flowers are scattered in the bloom. The locals can be seen picking lotus seeds underwater.

Suddenly the hashers are losing the way and doubling back to the hare. Once the hare re-locates the direction, the hashers forge ahead and soon Danger Zone shouts out onward. At a corridor, the hashers take a break and a group of old hashers snap picture. Along the quiet lake, hitting the catering shop as the one and only beer stop. Sipping cans of beer, snacking the flavor, nibbling ice cream, shooting the breeze for 17 minutes or so. John the Baptist learns a word tits in Chinese from Not Night. Karate mentions his wife sickened for cirrhosis ascites for a month. Clarke Bend is suave. After setting out, only 6 hashers seek out the running trail and elbow way through the throng of people milling around, defiling out of the park and keeping straightforward and crossroads to return to the HH House. The 4 latecumers turn up like Ass Tonguer, Just Matt, Nature Boy and virgin. And 4 hashers leave early like WT, Dr. Shocker, HC and virgin. BW sends out the FM T-shirt to those ordered.

In a secluded garden, GM Shanghai Man and RA Heart On host the performance. These 3 visiting hares are hailed out to drink together a few times. JtB and NK each scores #10 run patch and plastic mug. SHM acquires #50 run patch and shining mug. Finger My Dough photographs. Multiple “accusations” fill the intermittent time in the blink of an eye, with punchline lyrics from DH. RA HO presides over a naming for Just Leon. In jig time the loudest voice from the hashers knocks down to Spicy Peanut, as hashers’ favorite snack. Then he is asked to get off his clothes till the last layer, kneeling down in the circle to accept his Hash Handle with a burst of beer shower and the Hasher Song. As usual ending up singing and dancing the chorus of Swing Low all hands led by RA HO. Just Stan swigs off more than half a bottle of beer. 20ish hashers enjoy a yummy local food. And staying sober. In the dark streets, the locals by twos and threes burn pinches of paper everywhere, which creates the certain pollution, showing a superstition out and out for the local Ghost Festival. Is it a déjà vu for the hashers from the womb of the tomb?

On On…

Pickle Boy