We are a social running / walking club that meets every Thursday evening, on the first Saturday of the month, and we recently started meeting every 3rd Sunday!, with each run starting from a different place in and around Zürich. We also have regular events for families with children, regular social events, and some big events each year.
Don’t miss our next run!
We would love to meet you. Check out our up-cumming events on meet up (to the right).
Name: ZH3 Hash #1100 The not quite special numbered hash
Location: Triemli / Meskerem
Hares: Meme, Just Sean
RA: Thirsty Thursday
Attendance: ~20 hashers
Little did the Hash House Harriers know, this hash would turn out to be so hare razing.
The clouds parted on the morn of the 3rd day of February, and unique band from far and wide gathered. After some hijinks in the car park and narrowly avoiding the parking cars MeMe and Just Sean stepped in as the regular Hares had been out having too much fun.
After instructions were given the troupe departed in search of their precious … beer.
Some hashers were caught pretending to be FRB when they decided to avoid fish hooks. Yes Dog Woody this means you here 🙂
Others valiantly made it along trail pushing prams over carefully placed tree obstacles – great idea Hares
Some assumed wrongly the goal to get to the top of Uetliberg or die trying. Instead the Hares had another idea- although they may have just forgotten the route halfway. See chatting hare below
Unfortunately the sledding run was closed so we had to pretend to be Mountain bikes on the way down.
Those who made it past the gruelling uphill climbs (we didn’t quite make the top of Uetliberg) managed to join and assemble again for a merry circle. Songs were sung down downs were drunk. Some special down downs were also given and beer chin drippling was observed.
After the circle the good upstanding hashers were treated to On-Inn: Restaurant Meskerem (Ethiopian) food and a long party at the Last pub still standing in Wiedikon. We have to get the hatted new friends to sing at our next circle. The entertainments here included endless quantities (and tittys) of mead and Chili Wine.
Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up.
Name: ZH3 Hash #1097 The Blah Hash
Location: Hare’s Hutch
Hares: Stick A Dick In It and Late Cummer
RA: Asphalt Liquor
Attendance: ~25 hashers, 2 virgins, 1 visitor
Scribe: Fishy Hooker
Q: What did you think of the trail?
A: There were two check points.
Q: How was the circle?
Lively circle animated by AL in the cold and after a good r*n.
Some wine of doubtful quality was poured down and hats were allowed in the circle (!).
The on-inn was of high level with great food and spirits.
Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up. Please send more check-points, hangover remedies, and the wrong time for bitches to ZH3.com.
Name: ZH3 Hash #1094: Freyza Bolokov
Location: Hare’s Hutch (Saddam) Schaffhauserstrasse 80
Hares: Saddam, Squatty Potty
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction
Attendance: ~25 hashers, 2.5 virgins
Scribe: Naked & Wasted
A terrible storm descended on Zürich. Rain lashed down, commuters froze, and trees uprooted themselves. Little did the Hash House Harriers know, this disturbance was conjured up by the dark wizard Saddam, setting the stage for an epic quest.
The clouds parted on the morn of the 6th day of February, and a sundry band from far and wide gathered. Their goal: to enter the mystic woods of Zürichberg, cursed by the wizard Saddam, and return, alive. The band gathered for council in a timely manner, except LIDU, who rocked up late having consumed too much Butterbeer on the prior eve. Unwittingly, two virgins from mythical lands stumbled into fray: Just Mitul from the Big Smoke, and Just Gary from Old Hampshire. Just Nina, having only ever partaken in post-quest celebrations and not a quest itself, was also considered chaste. Saddam explained mysterious glyphs that had appeared, and were to appear, in the woods and swamps. The merry troupe departed in search of their precious … beer.
However, merriment soon faded as the easy paved exit from the shire gave way to the wizard’s dastardly tricks. A long check-back at the top of a stairway afforded no smiles (except Saddam’s); neither did the second nor the third. The adventurers battled through the destruction; mud, splintered logs, and felled trees barred the path. The fellowship demonstrated determination: bold alternative routes were explored (Dog Woody heroically scrambled up off-piste after Shamcock). Fallen warriors rose back to their feet, and lost soldiers rediscovered their path. The stress of the trail caused the hashers to turn on each other (for which Slippery’s abuse of the seniors earned him a DD). Nevertheless, the gang’s steady progress could not be abated. The aquatic duo, Fishy H and Fish F, with no hooks to catch them, led the pack from the front, closely followed by Just Tobias. Everyone (probably, nobody was counting) returned to find their precious.
At the post-adventure council gathering, misdemeanours were identified by the elders and punished (rewarded) by ale (cheap lager). Primary culprits earned deadbugs: Dog Woody had hoppy medicine tenderly administered by Virgin Hunter, and How Do You Define Veird was doused much less tenderly by Squatty Potty. To lift spirits, the council sang hymns: the Chicken Song raised the proverbial roof, but Weapons of Ass Destruction’s improvised “Forestiality is best boys, … stick your log in a log” fell a little (lot) flat.
Formalities completed, the company retired to the dark wizard’s hutch. He and sorceress Squatty Potty had brewed three cauldrons of spicy potion. The hashers tucked in readily. Well fed and off their guard, Saddam attempted to poison the remaining survivors with homemade red elixir. Failing that, he attempted again with stronger transparent elixir. It worked.
Hangover aside, many thanks to Saddam, Squatty, and the other organizers for a great hash, circle, curry, and on after!
Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up. Please send “stupid fat hobbits”, “Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul”, and a barrel of Longbottom leaf to ZH3.com.
Name: ZH3 Hash #1093: The Hangover Continues Hash
Location: The Alehouse – Palmhof, Universitätstrasse 23, 8001 Zürich
Hares: Slippery Digit and MeMe
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction
Attendance: 15 hashers, 2 just drinkers
Scribe: Kneels Sporadically
It was a dark and stormy night. Five-and-ten reckless souls braved the torrential elements in a bid to find that most vaunted and sought-after prize of all: the golden elixir of life.
Was masochism, optimism, or alcoholism the impetus? Would they live to tell their tale? Sit back, grab yourself a tipple, and I will reveal the true exploits of the “Hangover Continues Hash”.
Climbidia and I took a bus into the Hinterberg. On foot we zigzagged down empty lanes and abandoned (at night) buildings, as we hunched defenseless against the violent gusts of wind that pelted us with the Almighty’s post-New Year’s Eve piss. Grateful, we ducked inside the warm and welcoming Alehouse. In the private backroom, Slippery Digit collected Hash Cash like a whore (no touching until you’ve paid up), while the RA did a furious Dance of the Crochet Hook. A bedraggled Sticky Fingers, recently blown in and resembling a drowned rat, dared to suggest eschewing the run in favor of harboring cozily inside sampling the mouthwatering grub, ales on tap and board games on offer. Oh, she of soft will, and meager faith in her other half’s skills! For when we went outside, lo and behold, stillness reigned. The tide had turned.
Our leaders, Slippery Digit and MeMe, sent us scurrying, right from the outset, in every possible direction, to track the hare’s spirituous scent. Before long a course was established and we forged ahead. The white blotches of finely ground and molted meal of wheat had not been washed away, had not converted to paste; indeed, they were visible and regular. The post-tempestuous weather and steps and Steigs soon had us shedding our layers like lepers casting off their fingers and toes.
Our luck and the weather held as we pressed deeper into the area known as the Land of Knowledge with the twin peaks of ETH and UZH and its neighboring Land of Sickness and Pain, commonly referred to as Unispital. On more than one occasion, we caught our breaths and feasted on the glittering views of the city below, the twinkling lights heralding civilization.
Although of average length and endeavor, paved and un-depraved, the path to the barrel of liquid gold at the end of the rainbow was neither direct nor without its perils: At one point, as the crew began to grow clamorous and thirsty, we chanced upon markings that resembled the X that marks the spot. But alas, it looked too erect to be, curves were clearly missing; for it read KS, not BS, to the disappointment of everyone save Slippery Digit, Shamcock and Loves It Down Under. The former rejoiced that we had stumbled upon a Kant Stop despite the lack of any Cunts to the naked eye; to prove his point, he shone his light on the sign above to reveal the word “Kantstrasse”. Shamcock and LIDU insisted it stood for Kissing Stop, and proceeded to demonstrate; the lack of other Kissing Stops had never stopped them before. We paid them no heed and kept our eyes on the treasure.
Not long after, we arrived at a clearing upon which stood half a dozen giant, cubical metal structures. They looked innocent enough, though perplexing. But soon, their evil intentions were clear: As if drawn by an invisible force, Climbidia was sucked inside one of these cage-like beasts. In an epic tug of war, our leader, Slippery Digit yanked and pulled to release Climbidia from the beast’s belly while risking life and limb not to get dragged into the structure himself. Slippery Digit prevailed and with heroic effort pulled Climbidia out to safety.
It was all that we could ask for: A clean(ish), well-lighted place; a safe oasis, where this band of weary misfits could shelter from the cold, hostile world outside. Zweifel potato chips were like manna from the gods. The frothy golden liquid flowed cold and strong; we had found the key to continuing our hangovers. We had entered Circle Paradise; we would not leave for a while.
After our initial hunger and thirst were slaked, the RA declared that the moment of reckoning was upon us. It was like an opening of floodgates as accusations of every stripe and shape flew: ass-slapping, mistaken identities, racial discrimination, sexual harassment; the usual allegations and then some.
The rebounds, too, abounded; nearly every time Shamcock opened his mouth, mayhap? Everything was a drinking offense and every offense was drunken to. From the very late arrival of Butt Bugger to the always timely arrival of Miss Michigan. From the smile that was plastered on our virgin Bram from Amsterdam’s face to the three Justs for being just Justs. From Dog Woody, WAD and Saddam’s knees (bare) to LIDU’s great tits (not bare). Punishment was meted out by the skillful or simply lazy and slovenly Beer Wench, aka Sticky Fingers, who managed to dispense the contents of a dozen cans of beer, some apple wine and hot sweet cider to 16 circlers while sitting in a puddle of beer.
Most disconcerting of all, Climbidia, despite brand-new contacts, mistook a wringed-out lime for a Shamcocked condom; in Climbidia’s defense, Weapons related that lemons were used as contraceptives in ancient times. The evening further devolved when Just Sean, by dint of bad positioning, became used as target practice (or perhaps a mis-used lime? or an abused kiwi?) by catching Shamcock and several other tossers’ froth on his good person and great hair.
Back at port, flush with victory, we partook of the well-earned comforts there for our pleasure. Those who enjoyed camaraderie had plenty of jolly sailors to share boasts and a drink with. Those who enjoyed cards were drawn into a game of swashbuckling fun. Those who wanted to satisfy their hunger were able to choose from ramen, chicken wings, fish burgers and the like. Those who wanted to sample the taverns’ goods could choose from multiple beers on tap, from sour Michigans to chocolatey stouts. Those who desired another type of goods had to, well, take matters into their own hand. To wit: Climbidia’s slippery digits slipping into Slippery Digit’s shorts and making contact with actual flesh and … no, let’s not go (down) there …
One thing was clear: We had completed our quest and the hangover would continue. And we would be back for more, come hell or high water.
Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up. Please send Whore Rules, more literary allusions, and “actual flesh” to ZH3.com.
Four hashes occurred occurred at various times and various places, but any records languish on the ash heap of history.
ZH3 Hash #1089: X-MAS MARKET HASH – 17 December 2017
ZH3 Hash #1090: Longest Night – 21 December 2017
ZH3 Hash #1091: The Holiday Hookup – 28 December 2017
ZH3 Hash #1092: The New Year’s Eve Hash – 31 December 2017
The naming of the hash, Hot Free, was an elegant display of irony as the hares had to lay trail twice, the second time live because the first had disappeared under a layer of sleet. Thanks to technology and Shamcock (even though it was not made for trail …), chalk talk was carried out remotely from the depths of the forest and we set off up the hill (does any hash in Switzerland start otherwise?).
This write-up will be a challenge in view of the fact that my total contact time with any of the pack amounted to less than 5 minutes – with the pack trekking up into the darkness, I realized that I had forgotten my torch and went back to the venue to collect it, because it looked DARK up there. Following up the hill, I found a bunch of hashers crossing my path and followed them, although no-one had seen flour for a while, and the rest of the pack could be heard in the distance in the opposite direction of travel. I set out to explore potential trails and lost even that group. Found a checkpoint and headed shakily up a very slippery slope, grabbing onto trees, branches and twigs to prevent a precipitant slide back into the valley – Snuffler cruised past effortlessly, demonstrating contempt for anyone who doesn’t run on four feet. Dead end, so back down the slippery slope and on along the trail to find a single blob of snow at a fork in the road. Tried right – nothing. Tried left (up the hill) – still nothing. Snuffler, bored with the monotony of simply running, picked up a log twice the length of his head and with a girth that barely fit in his mouth. Later, even that was boring, so he carried it by one end, at one stage nearly swatting my legs from under me as he passed on a narrow trail.
A couple of lefts later, I came to a check-back from the wrong side and followed it back to a trail where, miracle of miracles, there was flour. Giving the hares their due, where I could find it, trail was marked with epic mounds of flour which stuck out of the mush nicely. (Ed. Note – The trail was perfectly marked until Stettbach, where we lost the plot. Well done in terrible conditions.) Another checkpoint, so went up-hill through shiggy and found two dots, but not the cross. Another flour-less trail, another left, and then a sinking feeling of familiarity as I saw Footsie prints in the mush and realized that I’d come full circle. Sound of the pack in the far distance to the left. Back through the same check-back to the last checkpoint, staying on the trail until I came to a viewpoint and a Hash Hold (really? In THIS weather?) and realized that I was on the outgoing trail so headed down the hill. The walkers led by Squatty Potty and Slippery Digit (dressed as a Yorkshireman) did a speed workout between Schwamendingen and Stettbach Bahnhof. A radiant Butt Bugger was inside eating pizza and fending off multiple proposals of marriage from the restaurant staff.
Hashers trailed in, along with a clean looking Climbidia, and circle was held under the awning outside (stroke of genius, hares …) with glüwein, cider, spiked hot chocolate, and, for the traditionalists, beer. Special thanks to MeMe and Loves It Down Under for the warm-boozy drinks. Hands were kept warm by new hash gloves (On sale now!) A departing waiter, picking up his moped, stopped wide-eyed in his tracks at the sound of, ‘… sex with you is boring …’ before departing into the sleety night. We all steamed gently while every hasher made a nomination “whip-round” style, a concept that Crutching Tiger, Hidden Bruises found impossible to understand, and then in for pizza.
At the on-after, How Do You Define Veird was defrosted, Just Andrea aggressively rejected the cream atop her soup, Just Scott told us this was his last hash in Zürich, and What Cums in Vega Stays in Vega spoke at length about tulip bulbs.
1) Please sign-up for SOLA. The ZH3 have two teams and will get a 3rd team if there is sufficient demand. Otherwise, no complaining.
2) Winterfest– four slots left. Please pay if you have not.
3) Bring a flashlight (electric torches) to every hash until at least the vernal equinox.
4) Hash in Basel on Boxing Day (26 December)
5) Of course it is okay to change your mind, but please, if you are not going to make it to the hash, change you meetup sign-up (Sticky Fingers, Canada Wet, Stick a Dick in It, and Tall Balls were D.N.S. tonight)
Gopferdammi siech es isch chalt gsi, und denn hets no gschneeied obe druff! Nöd numme bim lege vu dem super hash, NEI es het denn no afange schneeie wommer alli am säckle gsi sind. Zum Glück hets nöd nur eine, aber zwei Profis am Start gha wo de Hash Organisiert hend. Naja, välicht hani da übertriebe, ein luute alte Haas, de Schlüpfrig Finger, und eh wahrechti Jungfräulichi Häsin, de Nur Tobias, hend sich i dem Wetter nach usse gwagt und en Pfad vorbereitet für die arme Hashers wo sich bis nach Dietikon, usserhalb vu de gwohnte Zone 110, hend müesse bewege.
De Nur Tobias het sich aber wahrhaft müeh gheh, durre richtig schöni Winter Landschaft hemmer eus bewegt, Brugge hets geh, Tannebäum, Flüss, wirkli s’ganze Packet. Irgendwennmal sind den au es paar wenige Hashers uftaucht, 10 insgesammt. 2 Dervo hend chei ahnig gha, ufgrund vu Ihrem Jungfräuliche Status, was mir da überhaupt mached. A de Arschzerstörigswaffe isch das aber egal gsi, de het sini Rolle als Religiöse Berater überhaupt nöd wahrgno. Wetter: Scheisse, Begrüessig vu de Jungfraue: Nid passiert, Chride Red initiiere? Chasch vergesse, de isch am Wii suufe gsi! Da simmer alli blöd da gstande und hend müesse warte bis er sin rotwii abgegutsched het bis mer mal hend chönne loslege …
Danach isches aber RUCKZUCK gange, die Läufer sind los gange, und d’Spaziergangrundi het sich gmüetlich uf de weg gmacht. D’Hockendi Töpfli, d’Füddliwurmerin und de Schlüppfrig Finger hend für en gmüetliche Lauf dur d’Winterlandschaft vu Dietlikon ufbroche, das mit Hund im Schlepp. Irgendwie hend die Läufer jedoch echli Startschwierigkeite gha, und d’Spaziergangrundi hets immer wieder ufghollt, fuhli Säck die…. Es isch denn so nach richtig Schwiizer Art, demokratisch entschiede worde, dass es Ziet isch zum eh heissi Schoggi trinke, teils will d’Füddliwurmerin bi de Stäge fascht gstorbe isch, mehrheitlich aber wills arsch chalt gsi isch. Also ab zrugg zur griechisch inspirierte bar, wo vu voll verzettlet gsi isch mit posters für en Porno Neujahresevent (de Chlamydia het denn spöter recht interessiert uf die Posters glueget).
Perfekt, het die truppe denkt. Nach de erschte heisse Schoggi mit Baileys isch denn aber doch eh Müehdigkeit erschinne, en Motivationsschub hets brucht. Bier Stop ufbaue! Genau wases brucht het. Zu Dritt isch die Truppe also usse gange und het sich der Arsch erneut abgfrohre. Es sind denn doch no die erste 2 Harretes erschienne, d’Nur Andrea und d’Nur Sophia (eh Jungfrau, chli, wie en Iiszapfe isch si zrugg gschliche). Sie hend de rest vum Pack verlohre und hend ufgeh. Natürlich entscheidig? Tee mit Rum! Namal 20 Minute sund vergange und die letzte armselige Hashers sind denn au no cho.
De Chreis isch eh chalti und schnelli Affäre gsi. D’Jungfraue Nur Scott (chunt definitiv wieder) und Nur Sophia (Die gsehmer nie meh…) hend Ihri Iiweihig gha. De Chlamydia het de armi Hund ufgruefe, und denn dörfe als Ersatz für Sie trinke. D’Arschzerstörigswaffe hets irgendwie gschafft sini Bestrafig für s’schlechte Wetter z’vermiede. Nur Tobias isch zälebriert worde für sind erste Pfad, hetter natürli dankend agno. Wie immer, het D’Arschzerstörigswaffe versuecht de chreis so lang wie möglich z’phalte mit sim Yogi Bär Lied, hemmer zum Glück chönne abchlemme und die ganz gschicht ich schnell zu endi cho mit de chürzischte Variante vu “Schwing Tüf” sit Jahre.
Rough translation: The trail was shit, the weather was shit, there was good alcohol, the circle was too long, Virgin Just Scott was cool, and other Virgin Just Sophia will not be returning.
Name: ZH3 Hash #1086: The Gunky Appendages Hash
Location: Grain, 47°22’34.6″N 8°33’33.2″E
Hares: Sticky Fingers and Slippery Digit
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction RB: Thumper Insides
Attendance: 33 hashers, 2 dogs, and a man wearing Christmas trousers.
Scribe: Just Tobias
Two virgins and one visitor graced us with their presence. Just Zsuzsa and Just Ioannis impressed with their exotic names and linguistic talents, but Polly Wanna Crack Whore (Washington D.C. – Everyday is Wednesday H3) just made everyone wonder what exactly happened. No-one got the name of the hash right.
Surfaces were slippery, sticky in places, dark and cold, but digits and fingers were wrapped up. The trail offered something for people of all creeds and colours, as long as those people get off on woods, shiggy, and telling clumps of snow and flour apart. Yours truly is one of those people, and reached the end with a raging semi.
Located at a record-breaking proximity to the venue, circle formed around a welcome fire. Just Joe was recognised for c*mming on a Thursday. Spunknik unexpectedly commemorated her 100th hash and Grab My Sack has survived around turn around the sun. Polly Wanna Crack Whore gained favour with his recital of an old ditty by the name of ‘Hot Vaginas’. Bierathloners, virgins and hares were all noted.
On-Inn at Grain:
Like before, we had a room to ourselves, a good variety of drinks, and food which both looked nice and probably tasted nice too, praise be.
Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up. Please send the other half of that boner, Christmas pants, and pyromaniac nymphomaniacs to ZH3.com.
Sali zämme. Perhaps you attended the 21st annual Bierathlon or perhaps you did not. Either way, you paid for it, as it was a hash sponsored event, so grab a beer and read on for some of the details from the events that transpired on 2 December 2017.
The cold that settled down for kaffi und kuchen did not deter the sumo wrestlers, the Disney princesses, tropical jungle animals, or even Die Spanier from coming out for foolishness and frivolity. Two by two we were to march through muck and mire propelled by wind as well as fire.
Arriving with the advanced team at 10:00, Slippery Digit helped clean the swamps that surrounded Richi’s Kiosk. Richi’s was the HQ for the day’s festivities and without these efforts the race would have been impossible. (Or at least much more squidgy.) SD also acted as chief organizer, money collector, liaison with the locals, and securer of our 12 slots across the two competitions. It is safe to say that without his efforts, the ZH3 would not have been able to continue our participation in this event. For this we are forever grateful.
MeMe came next and staked claim to some of the only paved real estate in the area. He added to the supply of dry land with his table and filled it with a spread of food and strong drink. Of the six table legs, five kept to the ground. Drop on Trail was not impressed. For this we are forever grateful.
By 14:00, everyone gathered to watch the start of the Küplilauf. Drop on Trail and Just Tobias led the way dressed in scrubs stolen from a local children’s hospital. Stick a Dick In It and WAD followed dressed as hashers. Super Squatty Potty and One Night Wonder swooped in to the middle of the pack. Christian Harlot and Butt Bugger limped their way around the track. This event marks Butt Bugger’s first post-op competition, coming in as a last minute substitute for the suspiciously missing Sticky Fingers. The final two teams were sadly marked as DNF because they were having too much fun to return their crate to the finish line. Just Selma and MeMe caught some sort of Christmas virus. Shogginatrix and Cavity Search were all smiles, as they showed off their dance moves in sumo suits.
After the dust had settled, the Bierathaon began at 15:00 with pandemonium as 210 teams streamed across a 2.5 meter gap in some shrubbery. There was a lot of experience on the field and thankfully no major injuries were reported. Facial Discrimination and Fishy Hooker set the pace, looking more confused then fearsome as skeletons. Next, resplendently plumed, were Dr. Knob and Saddam dressed as the male members of Abba. Wife and husband team, Asphalt Liquor and Papa FKK came next, dressed as a pirate and a parrot. LIDU and Shamcock, stole the show and likely broke the bank, dressed as a nut and bolt complete with electric lights. Two non-Yorkshire men dressed as Yorkshire men, Slippery Digit and Climbidia, came in in just over an hour after consuming their 10 beers, a flask of whiskey, hummus wraps, sausages, and small lamb. Finally, Ms. Fucktober and Stogie Gibberish, dressed as nerds rounded out the competition.
Post-race, no one was so drunk that they need to be carried away from the field of play. Some needed to be hauled away from the disco ball but most went quietly. We broke camp and headed for the hills. Before the train arrived, Asphalt Liquor and WAD ran a short messy circle. Before pulling away from the station, an over served bystander was prodded onto the train and later assisted by Fishy Hooker and Drop on Trail. (For which she is forever grateful.) A short but scandalous train trip featured the hashers informing the denizens of Zürich about the condition of both Yogi Bear’s and the president of the United States’s genitalia. We are a classy bunch.
Climbidia generously hosted and toasted the hashers at his home. Pizza, crisps, a rouge sandwich, beer, leftover Thanksgiving wine, and water were consumed in earnest. For this we are forever grateful.
A mostly tame affair compared to nearly naked parties of yesteryear, but each of us took heroic draughts from the horn of plenty and then departed, one by one, into the cold dark night.
|Bierathlon – 3 Liter saufen, 6.8 km laufen|
|Amalgamated Hash Name||Rank Overall||Category||Category Rank||Official Time||Comments|
|Facial Hooker||36||FM||3||44:40||Were you suppose to be Pandas?|
|Dr. Sadoknob||62||+100||13||50:39||Dancing Queens|
|Liquor FKK||83||FM||14||54:49||The suit still fits!|
|Shams it Down Under||114||FM||17||1:02:23||Best Costume|
|S.T. Digit||129||MM||87||1:07:16||We use to dream of living in a corridor.|
|Fucktober Gibberish||DNF||FM||DNF||1:50:00||Get er’done.|
|Küplilauf – 1 Flasche Prosecco geniessen – 2.7 km laufen|
|Amalgamated Hash Name||Rank Overall||Category||Category Rank||Official Time||Comments|
|Drop Tobias||20||FM||5||16:51||More beer please!|
|Dick Destruction||68||FM||26||30:13||Que frio!|
|Butt Harlot||71||FF||40||33:31||Can we see the Strava replay?|
|Me Selma Me||DNF||FM||DNF||1:50:00||Naughty or Nice?|
|Cavitynatrix||DNF||FF||DNF||1:50:00||Huge in Japan|
Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up. Please send swamp drainage, the location of my super suit, and Short Circuit to ZH3.com.