Liberty had triumphed over sins

of greed and ignorance

for 238 years from a nation

to whole humankind,

as ultimate value,

lightening the darkness of confusion.

To make heads or tails of a process of evolution,

Hashers extol and celebrate its pansophy.


On Your Knees as a local sassy gold digger crops up to yelp, “They have fuckin’ plundered enormous money and run away. How can I fuckin’ roll out mine!”, with a witness, who’s representing a plethora of gangster logic of local business people because of faithlessness and dirt cheap cost of committing crime. No wonder her Hash Handle was named On Your Knees for certain “sin” and finally eyeing her this one side the majority of hashers have been censuring for. More ironically, if you go to question her outrage, she must mouth with a smile, “I don’t know! I’ve forgotten!” The far-sighted people in fact knew the source of sinful infection derived from rule system and culture for long time rather than from individuals and small group. So the time is drumming to click on a symmetry of regularity with expectative clinical therapy. And simple Hash event plays part in sweating the body and inebriating the mind so as to shelter from the poison of reality, even then a little while in hashers’s good books.

Crisscross of alleyways in downtown raises curtain of a journey of over thirty hashers. Brother hares like Placenta and How Long take care the hashing lineup forward and backward. Several marks of Open Checks string out the hashers. However many hang up at check points to await positive bellwethers to call back, such as Dry Hole, Blister Fister, Finger My Dough, Just the Tip, Just Alex, Red Snatcher and so on. Some are immersing in private talk on the run like Six Kuai Short and Just Sonny; Just Kylee with chic blue-dyed hair bends ears toward musical earphone in the trail; Teddy Secret keeps quiet to jog her melody; Crash Test Dummy counterintuitively leads the way every now and then; Heart On snapshots the hashers’s instant bootstrappings in her tracks; some lope on and off like Dark Shaft, Just Chupica, Pre-Lube, Shaven not Stirred, Transylvestite, Just Jason, Hard to Live with, Tits Qualm and virgins. Unknowingly stagnating on large foot bridge near Beijing Railway Station by threading through the floating population in swarms. When the runners get at first beer stop at sidewalk, A short break mixes with recollection with sip and chat later, the hashers move on the next.

The familiarity of street recalls bygone scene and anecdote the hashers experienced with transient and sojourned fellows. DH roars through to signal behind. The hashers are up for rushing forward via broad Changan avenue, clean tunnel, tree-bordered boulevard, guarded crossroads and turning to serene old embassy area where time-honored structures still give an account of xenophobic history and second beer stop chills down the hashers. In a minute, a subset of walkers managed by Two Stones as walking hare show up as well in its entirety. Drill Me’s Guaiguai doggie pleases the hashers, especially a little young girl; some tastes popsickle the first and last such as Just Jessica and so forth; Khlitleesi runs or walks? Beneficent adjustment with cold beer and bull session juice up the hashers to take the road again. And pass through glitzy and hustling business domain and foot bridge to rotate to restaurant and soon move to a hutong to hold a circle rite hosted by acting GM, Dazed and Confused in panoply, Karate as latecomer appears with bringing a bottle of wine from his son’s marriage for hashers; Whose Red Wienie buys a knife-shaped Mongolian liquor to share the hashers; Pickle Boy’s up to volunteer to serve the hasher as Beer Bitch.

Of course, three hares and four virgins are exclaimed in for rounds of drinks with gleeful Hash songs in a hubbub, in particular which hares use the Cock of Shame to guzzle and the show attracts a spate of local audiences more and more. Just Joyce wins her #10 patch of BJH3 with her glug. Suddenly, a woman’s bellow from third floor of a building plunks down to the circle, “Stop your noise! Get out of here! Otherwise I’ll call the police.” And repeats a few times. It’s about 5pm. The hashers have to shift hundreds meters away to carry on celebration. Time to pick Pony for his #69 patch of BJH3, he’s no longer associated with alcohol, though. The hares have to replace to swill it with Cock of Shame afresh; DH types a list of accusations to remark on one by one for a drink; a local girlish virgin shocks the hashers by shouting, “More, more…” as PB pours the beer for her. Once she calls third time like that in her turns, Cums Shot hurries to impede it; DH as RA precents a chorus of Swing Low with all hashers in the end. The half repast a local hearty meal in a reserved and decent room.

In the evening of Thursday, July 2nd, also the first time of Full Moon Hash is taken over by Dry Hole as GM of FMH and the sky is extra-blue and cuddles chunks of snow-white clouds. Nearly thirty hashers are amped-up to gather an unacquainted restaurant for a hashing in proximity of Dongzhimen. As a matter of fact, around minutes past 20 o’clock, it’s still daytime when the hashers start to check the first mark from the beginning. A vanguard group put all-out searching power for puzzlement for awhile, such as Just the Tip, Just Alex, Whose Red Wienie, Pickle Boy, newcomers, etc, seldom separating out a walking group in FMH ushered by walking hare, Duh Spot who did miss the hashing for couples of years. From a street’s end to another end, the most still can’t find out a way out. Heart On has to phone the hare. There’s a long zigzag distance between two marks. All at once, Red Snatcher yells out On Back. At last, a strip of flour mark lies down a dim corner is discovered. DH’s call for it resounds through the surrounding. Crash Test Dummy races ahead to shout out On On and Open Check. Many tread on his heels like Just Jessica, Pre-Lube, Just Michael(his last time in BJH3), Bearded Clam, etc. And seeing Pony jogging as well, who’s lost the trail for two years. A dark street leads the way up to the busy crossing of eastern 2nd ring road, over there, unmarked trail perplexes the hashers for a time. Laborious DH locates one behind the trash bin on the flyover. Subsequently his call for On On fades away in the darkness via a green belt and living complex.

In great measure, the hashers are in phototactic pursuit and bend one’s mind to  happenstance playing by ear. Wisha! It takes a long while to catch up with right direction from a far-out wrong trail and clipping one’s wing to move on with pizzazz. Sink and Destroy comes down the pike out of nowhere to pop out a zinger of  weathervane. Along with a prolonged somber food street, on left, whisking on the end to turn right for a small supermarket, the hare, Transylvestite, has idled to drink with the walkers and some runners at first beer stop. Shortly afterwards all runners on the trot arrive after a lengthy exhaustive run. Just Joyce distributes the water to the hashers; Puppy has osmatic intimity with Sweet and Furry; Khlitleesi maintains smiling dimples; Pony and Shaven not Stirred team up to hare the trail and after they scat for 5 min or up, the hashers kick off anew. But many start to saunter and Easy Rider and threesome switch over to the walking group against an aimless and directionless grope for nothing; Just Alex, JtT and PB adhere to dig out the mark to push along and become a last group to be second beer stop by cutting through a business zone, thriving lit street till hitting upon Andy’s Sausage shop, Pretty Woman’s not there. All runners shriek out. It’s said that a team of city inspectors (Chengguai) linger around for the time being. BC hastens to set out for homestretch for third hare. Don’t waste any drop of cold beer for sure.

With sloshed arbitrariness, galumphing thru uproarious Sanlitun bar street. The defining moment still counts on lead-up of elongated flour signs a block by a block and plug into eastern gate of Work Stadium for a short length of arc and slide out of southern gate. A modicum of sobriety peppers visible ground with two legs’s mechanical movement for the record. On reaching at restaurant, observing all walkers having returned such as Karate, Two Stones, Super Squirter and newcomers;  SnS rides a three-wheeled cart to strike the pose; the circle takes place on roadside under a streetlamp. DH implements his duty of GM; PB as Beer Bitch cracks open the bottles of beer, yet an icy one slips out of his hands to the ground into pieces, its bang yanks the site in the uproar of the hashers and a foaming liquid of ice-cold beer on the soil are pronto occupied by a black mass of ants from a tree beside. They must be hashing ants. The presentation of ten newcomers exhibits a height of FMH. The Hash songs from DH tug more funny bone than hot button and unruly passion in moderation. Fragmentary accusations by others transfer esoteric complacency with one-liners. Of necessity, DH guides all hashers to bawl at a bright full moon in the firmament as a result. Yummy barbecue outside goes down a treat for fifteen diners. Life is ten percent of what happens to us and ninety percent of how we react to it.

On On…

Pickle Boy.

Beijing. Tuesday.

July 7, 2015