Author: zh3admin (page 1 of 4)

ZH3 Hash #1120: The dark matter free hash – Writeup

Case number: 1120
Date and place of the accident: 26.04.2018 in Pizzeria Don Emilio
Diagnosis: Insufficientia materiae nigra
Status presens generalis: Inadequate evaluation of the surroundings. Disoriented, uses random inappropriate words, sings spontaneously.

Anamnesis: States that accident happened around 19 PM in the rural region of Schwamendingen. Remembers becoming spontaneously exhilarated. By the sight of circles suddenly started screaming and running in random directions. Claims to have been looking for a mythical path. No other data could be acquired.

Test results:
Blood tests showed as many as 30 different bacteria with predominance of Sliperococcus digitalis and Spunknicoides simplex. Those two species have a synergistic effect and are believed to cause performing excessive amount of physical activity, loss of orientation and memory.

Treatment – symptomatic: Beerocillin 500UI p.o.; in case of allergy – Bubblomycin p.o. All medicaments to be given in liquid form.

During visitation Patient was talking gibberish, rambling about stellar leggings and sex toys.

Visitation had to be kept short, because of the raging of patients next door. Actually clinical examination was rudely interrupted by another patient who seemed to have an obsessive disorder screaming one and the same word over and over again. As no further communication was possible and he resisted any attempts to be taken out, he was eventually left on his own.

Further examination and supervision is required.

Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Stand up, speak up, write up!

ZH3 Hash #1128: The Apple of my iHash – Writeup

ZH3 Hash #1128: The Apple of my iHash
Hares: Kneels Sporadically and Grab My Sack
RA: Weapons of Ass Destruction
Scribe: Facial Discrimination

A slightly sweating group of nearly 30 hashers gathered at the Pan Asian kitchen near Kreuzplatz. A pestilent and cantankerous Slippery Digit with Hund was on hand to collect funds while Weapons of Ass Destruction (WoAD) attempted to hawk tee-shirts.

The hares, Kneels Sporadically and Grab My Sack, festooned with AppleTM logos and promises of shot stops, fielded questions and then pointed us towards the first mark. The trail took us up the hill into Flutern and through some nice parks. The hares managed to avoid the temptation of taking us by the zoo or into the woods. But there was no shortage of scenery. The trail were punctuated early on by an apple flavored shot stop which was quite popular. Past hares have set the flavor expectations for shot stops somewhere between cheap plastic bottle vodka and cough syrup, so these were a real treat. Many of the hashers had seconds. This salubrious concoction mollified the griping related to the hills thereafter. The trail felt like it was nearly all up hill. This trail was a rare one, not only for the timing and quality of the shot stop, but also because it was so well marked. Every turn was marked and at no point did a hasher doubt her sanity or second guess the manner in which he spends his potential idle hours.

After bringing us back down the hill, the trail terminated in a park complete with naked statues and fully clothed Papa FKK.
We endured an interminable wait for beer to be lugged from underground restaurant storage to the park, after which WoAD convened the ceremony.

– Notable down-downs:

The hares – What did you think of the trail? – (It sucked.) No, really it was good.
The virgins – Two of them. Brought by Naked and Wasted and Saddam. Both were good spirited and full of enthusiasm. Their names I have forgotten.
The providers – Kneels Sporadically, Grab My Sack, Cum in Cider, Facial Discrimination
The beer bitch – Sticky Fingers – was consistently in need of a watch
Late Cumer – for arriving on time
Soaked Baloney and Butt Bugger – for arriving late

Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Please send lovingly used Apple products, videos of hashers doing the cinnamon challenge, and copy write infringement claims to

Zh3 Hash #1122 The Fibo-not-cci Hash

Zh3 Hash #1122 The Fibo-not-cci Hash

Hares: Weapon of Ass Destruction and Just Nina on her Virgin lay.
RA: Asphalt Liquor.
Scribe: Just Begging for It

This bank holiday Hash was planned like many Summer Hashes before it with the Hares having great expectations of beautiful sunny weather and cold plentiful beer. Alas, the mischievous Hash Gods had a different plan in mind for this Thursday Hash and soaked the trail and the hares in torrential rain whilst flour was being laid. Also, the sudden surge in late sign ups was likely to result in the unthinkable becoming reality – that the Hash may not have enough beer to satisfy the thirst of the many beer guzzling Hashers.

However, hopes were raised amongst the faithful as the raindrops gave way to sunshine just as the Hash was due to begin. Obviously Christian Harlot, who was not in attendance, was performing a naked rain dance somewhere in a field in Switzerland. The desperate plea for more beer was answered as further reinforcements were supplied, thereby avoiding the sight of marauding beer thirsty hashers desperately seeking more beer to quench their insatiable thirst.

As for yours truly, this Hash started like any other until I was accosted by Buttbugger in the corridor outside the toilets, held down against my will and forced to take multiple photos of her ass for her own personal gratification. However, I knew Hash justice would be had in circle later and already my first nomination for bad behaviour was attained.

Chalk Talk was orated by Just Nina and will go down in Hash history as the most eloquent and coherent Chalk Talk ever given. Which makes it even more bizarre when for reasons known only to himself Saddam still managed to go in the completely wrong direction immediately following Chalk Talk and subsequently spent the whole of the Hash searching for non-existent flour. A virgin from Denmark was introduced plus some fellow Scandinavian visitors from the Geneva Hash.

The trail itself can be best described as hilly. There was a hill at the beginning, a hill at the end and countless more hills in between. And just when you thought there couldn’t be any more hills undoubtedly you would be wrong. The many check backs, and there were nearly as many as there were hills, ensured that the pack stayed together. The pack can be best described as chatty and jovial. So much so, it reminded me of going for a walk with my mother and her friends, except instead of copious amounts of tea at the end we drank beer.

There was more than the usual amount of Hash Shenanigans on trail and because of the close pack plenty of witnesses of such Shenanigans. Shamcock and Likes it Down Under had to forego their usual romp in the woods due to the overlooking Hash pack and had to make do with just holding hands instead. Slippery Digit was confessing to the Virgin how he lived a quiet and sheltered life before hashing and it was only since joining the Hash that he since discovered Beer, Running & Sex. The Virgin was starting to wonder had she joined a running club or a cult.

But just as we thought nothing could disturb our good humour a ferocious thud was heard at the rear of the pack as if a great oak tree had been felled to the forest floor. It became apparent one of our dear Hash brothers had fallen whilst crossing a bridge in the forest. As concern for our fallen brother passed throughout the pack a shout went up “Ah, it’s only Vega”. Our concerns were soon replaced with relief and indifference as the pack continued on its merry way in the quest for beer. Some kind Hashers did indeed assist poor WC in Vega from the floor where his pride still lies. Obviously he was distracted by what he thought were Bitcoins glistening in the river below the bridge and fell to earth in his haste to retrieve his gold pan he always carries with him.

But such Hash kindness soon gave way to an evil crime of the highest order on trail as Granny Muff was witnessed killing a poor unfortunate slug who until the arrival of Granny Muff’s clown size trainers was happily feasting on flour. No doubt there is a fine on the way to Granny Muff’s residence from the Swiss authorities who take this form of mollusc cruelty very seriously indeed.

Finally after overcoming the many hills the venue was in sight and the guzzling of beer began. Fortunately Saddam had also found the beer after returning from his own private Hash trail.

Circle was officiated by Asphalt Liquor and was literally a circle of high spirits as Schogginatrix found herself possessed by the ghost of a Songmeister. As the down downs were being handed out Schoggi, in a shock to herself and the rest of the Hashers, repeatedly found the perfect song for each down down. Either we were witnessing an incident of paranormal activity or an audition for resident Songmeister.

The circle started as it normally ends with announcements made by Hashers who clearly knew nothing whatsoever about what they were announcing. The Danish Virgin and her fellow Scandinavian visitors were treated to a proper Zurich Hash welcome and a down down song yet all the while looking quite traumatised at the knowledge that they were all born illegitimate. Buttbugger deservedly received her down down for her pre hash indiscretion and for simply having a fine ass. Saddam was overheard saying what he thought he was only thinking – that yes indeed Buttbugger does possess a fine ass. Despite his protestations he was presented with a down down for saying what we were all thinking. Asphalt Liquor shared a down down with her beloved husband of 10 years Papa Caca and as they stared into each others eyes Asphalt wondered how her manly German hunk had in the last 10 years of matrimony somehow transferred into a Portuguese lady resembling Squatty Potty.

The French were called into circle for no reason other than for being French and the opportunity for the Hashers to sing a song about a French man taking a shit and searching for his papier. The Italians were called into circle for being Italian. If that in itself is not enough punishment in this life they then had to endure listening to an Italian version of the Hash necrophiliac song courtesy of Slippery Digit, complete with hand gestures The Godfather himself would be proud of.

The Beer Bitches, Ice Footsie and Dog Woody, were called into circle not for any indiscretions regarding their beer pouring which was impeccable, but rather for their pathetic attempts at crushing empty beer cans. Prior to accepting their down down song they were provided with a final attempt to demonstrate their manliness by crushing a can in circle. Ice Footsie finally channelled his inner Thor in a reference to our Scandinavian visitors to crush his can in one clean stamp. However, Dog Woody’s attempt at can crushing was met with panic as Hashers and civilians watching from their balconies overhead took cover from the resulting aluminium shrapnel scattered far and wide around the circle.

Alas, all good hashes come to an end and we retreated to the comfort of The Grain to drink craft beer and feast on heart warming food. Hashers soon after disappeared into the Zurich night with legs full of pain, bellies full of beer and heads full of the thoughts of Buttbugger’s ass.

A big Hashy thank you to Weapon and Just Nina for a memorable and superb Hash.

ZH3 Hash #1121: The Rubix Cube Hash

ZH3 Hash #1121: The Rubix Cube Hash
Hares: KGBitch and Keys to the Treasure
RA: Asphalt and Slippy
Scribe: Just Brian

The venue was Stars & Stripes which is the BEST venue in Switzerland because it is the named for the BEST nation and only the BEST people go there and it has the BEST food. (Don’t order the nachos though as they have pickles instead of guacamole; they are both green, I guess.)

The hares were Keys to the Treasure and KGBitch which avoided doing a lovers’ down-down despite living together which has to be the fault of the RA.

The RA was Asphalt Liquor who did manage to organize better weather than was predicted with assistance from Slippery Digit.

There were about 35 hashers.

The trail, as usual, lacked hookers which aren’t that difficult to find in Zurich (MeMe has a map) but had an usual marking: a Rubix Cube. At such marking, hashers were supposed to exchange an item of clothing.

Most participated in the theme so there was a fair bit of swapping clothing. Despite the high potential for nudity, there was, apparently, none. The second most likely person to be naked on a Hash denied that she showed boobage although witnesses dispute this hence could be FAKE NEWS. Otherwise Lick My Sac ended up in a bra which no harriet claimed ownership of. The color suited him though.

The main high (or low) light was Premature Cocksucker trying to get Asphalt Liquor to run around in her bra. Although we applaud the attempt as AL wouldn’t be number 1 on the list above (but her husband would be 3), it backfired spectacularly. He ended up running around in his tightie whities (don’t let the truth get in the way of good story and it wasn’t any better) while AL had an extra baggy turtle neck sweater to wear. PC eventually did manage to find some baggier underwear to wear over his tightie whities but, in the process, Kiwi Pee Wee ended up in a dress. (I was even present at this trade and still not sure how it happened or where the underwear came from although Dr Nob said it was his.)

Apparently, there was a walkers’ trail that started with one harriet, Butt Bugger, and grew to three.

As per her name, Virgin Hunter did recruit another virgin, Just Maria from Spain, who was lost for, like, a really long time and only made it back to the circle when the virgins were being called to do their obligatory down-down. The other virgin was from the UK who has lived in Zurich for 8 years although only started to run 2 years ago but has never hashed.

Speaking of the circle, it was quite loud as it was decided that a train underpass was the ideal place for it. After all, Swiss trains run, like, never so it was library quiet.
There were some late comers: Stick in a Dick in It and Latecumer. Consequently, they were put to work as beer bitches which is an excellent policy although these two will probably be permanent beer bitches then.

But even later late comers like Cruching Tiger, Hidden Bruises and Soft Top were welcomed with open arms hence the moral of the story is be on-time or really late.

TAF made her second appearance as she was doing something lame like finishing her PhD. We expect her to make it a habit now.

To go with the theme, Keys to the Treasure introduced some songs with colors that he learned as a boy scout. It must be one fucked up troop.

Kiwi Pee Wee showed his incredible prowess with the Rubix Cube being able to solve it in minutes. (Apparently, he never got laid in high school).

There was amazing abundance of racists at this hash which was allowed due to the theme. And apparently there is another racist event on Saturday, May 5.

Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up by speaking to Asphalt.

ZH3 Hash #1119: The Two Finger Discount Hash – Writeup

ZH3 Hash #1119 – The Two Finger Discount Hash
Hares: Sticky Fingers & Slippery Digit
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction
Scribe: Buttbugger

General overview of meeting details:

  • Location – Pizza Callimero
    • Kindly note the venue generously offered to extend their opening hours to suit our unique needs. All attendees were encouraged to tip generously.
    • 38 attendees RSVPed via Meetup. A rough estimate in the vicinity of 45 turned up.
    • Gassy Lassy is a notoriously poor rsvper, Note, someone should clarify the value of the rsvp for such endeavors, as well as encouraging her to poop pre-hash.
  • Meeting marketing campaign
    • Two fingers for the price of one was advertised
    • To the best of our knowledge no one was fingered on the hash, which leads us question the accuracy of the advertising in this instance.

Walkers trail summary:

  • Gassy Lassy pooped, and dragged a naïve Cavity Search left right and center.
  • Climbidia kindly provided alcoholic beverages of various natures for all of the lovely ladies accompanying him, with the exception of Gassy Lassy.
  • Butt Bugger offered to marry the owner of a delightful house, Climbdia informed her the owner was single, but not looking.
  • Just Nina learned to her peril the danger of saying anything remotely inappropriate, she also learned that the details as to whom actually said what, is also not particularly relevant.
  • Climbidia had some potential social consequences in the neighborhood. As a result, he has forced to skulk from shadow to shadow, bemoaning the number of ladies in flocking to him in search of sexual skill.
    • Kindly note, none of the other walkers believed him.

Circle highlights:

  • Brownies of an undubious nature were provided by Sticky Fingers and heartily enjoyed.
  • Inappropriate and appropriate methods of wetting bananas were comprehensively discussed, for which, Just Nina was down downed.
  • Just Brian aka he who shall not be named aka lord Voldemort returned from the dead aka Australia aka USA aka his office in true he who shall not be named fashion, for which, he was down downed.
  • Spunknik returned from the dead aka USA. Unfortunately, she returned to hashing much too soon for anyone to notice and as such, avoided punishment, no down downs awarded.
  • Racist gear of questionable and or hash origin were down-downed.
    • Kindly note, the truth should never get in the way of a good down down.
  • Butt Bugger snuck a pair of new shoes through the walkers trail successfully this time.
  • For a comprehensive list of down-downs awarded, hashers are kindly directed to follow-up with MeMe directly
    • Despite the fact that he has formally left, we believe he is probably still up to date on down downable offenses
  • Premature Cock Sucker – the hasher formally known as Just Carlos, was finally named after a more or less illustrious career as a Just hasher
    • Interestingly, his name was unbeknownst to her, proposed by his wife
    • In violation of every hash tradition known to man or bugger, he was named despite wearing racist gear.
    • It is assumed this was removed pre-naming, but, this was not directly observed.

Follow-up actions

  • Gassy Lassy should be advised to poop pre-hash, and improve her rsvp standards
  • All hashers should from this point forward forget they ever knew anyone named Just Carlos, upon pain of down-downs
  • All hashers should note that they should consume bananas from the following hashers at their own risk
    • Just Nina
    • Stick a dick in it
    • Slippery Digit
    • Christian Harlot

The next meeting will be held on the 26th of April, coincidentally also in a pizza place, and also involving fingers. Hashers should note, this will be a dark matter free hash, and this will be strictly enforced.


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ZH3 Hash #1117 – Un Hash italiano

ZH3 Hash #1117 – Un Hash italiano
Hare: Soaked Baloney
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction
Scribe: How do you define Veird

Hashie, the Hash Stick

Hi, my name is Hashie, the hash stick! Before I became a hash stick, I was chillaxing for about 1-10 years (nobody can really tell how many exactly) in the woods of Oerlikon. I had quite a calm life until that one day #1117, when a stupid hasher, who goes by the name How Do You Define Veird, picked me up from my cozy, shiggy spot in the woods during another ZH3 trail! I was just in the middle of my annual hibernation, when that f****** tosser molested me and took me with him! He dragged me along all the damn trail and performed all kind of veird wanna-be martial arts movements from the Matrix. Veird banged me against trees, hash cars, hash bikes, hash brownies, other hashers and especially against each and every harriettes’s T&As – what a creep! Rumour has it, Veird even abused me to smash a window of a local immigrant shop owner who just got his C permit after trying so hard for continuous 25 years! I can’t really remember much of it coz it went all blurry after contracting a severe concussion when Veird threw me down 500 feet from Milchbuck bridge after soaking me in white gas and setting me on fire with his f***** fag.

I already thought it was over, but it took only a matter of seconds and Veird was in the starting blocks to continue his diabolic torturing of me! He dragged me around all of Kreis 11 until finally arriving at the Beer Stop at the old MFO park next to Oerlikon train station. I remember this place only from stories: My great-great-grandfather had served here years ago until the moment when they sliced him up into pieces in order for him to serve his final duty as wooden plank in Uto Kulm’s hotel on Uetliberg.

Veird had put me in the middle of the circle for everyone to see my tormented and hash-raped existence. Just when I started feeling a little bit more at ease for the first time in the long time, a f****** hash dog grabbed my by the pussy and aggressively cut my throat with his choppers in one go. All hashers, except Veird, got instantly disgusted by the massive amount of tree flesh and liquid that splattered all over the place – some even threw up or fainted. Luckily, a hash doctor stopped by to treat the incapacitated.

I am not sure what I have done wrong in my life to upset Gaia this much, but somehow I feel like I am doomed to live this life in darkness for an eternity…!


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ZH3 Hash #1111: Annals Scavenger Hunt

ZH3 Hash #1111: Annals Scavenger Hunt
Hare: Asphalt Liquor & MeMe
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction
Scribe: Cheesy Balls

Where am I? Zurich I think. No jelly shots.
New beer cooler in hand. Magic. No jelly shots.
Top of a hill. No car. No jelly shots.
People cycling up the hill. Why? Mad! No jelly shots.
Young girls giving stickers. No jelly shots.
Different colour stickers. Yellow for walkers. No jelly shots.
Sticky coloured teams. Only one purple. No jelly shots.
It’s cold and wet. Shorts and T-shirts for some. No jelly shots.
Circle up. Italians complaining ‘it’s cold’. No jelly shots.
I’m sure there were virgins. Did someone say ‘prizes’. No jelly shots.
No clue what’s going on. Some kind of hunt. No jelly shots.
Off we go. No markings. Hare lost. No jelly shots.
Accosted by scooter. Two front wheels. No jelly shots.
First stop and questions. No clue. Two jelly shots.
Blue pen for blue team. Makes sense. One jelly shot.
Paper gone and off we went. No jelly shots.
Up hills and down roads. Never saw any flour. No jelly shots.
Stop two and more questions. No clue. Three jelly shots.
Woods and some shiggy. Wrong way. No jelly shots.
Stop three and questions. Saved by an expert. Three jelly shots.
More trees and some paths. Light headed. No jelly shots.
More questions. Did someone say ‘Lik-em’. Three jelly shots.
Were we supposed to be running? No jelly shots.
Last quiz before beer. I think there were questions. Three jelly shots.
Found the BS. Yeah! Time for a beer. Cold and wet. Two jelly shots.
Circle was dark. Snacks were scavenged. Two jelly shots.
Hares magnificent. Down downs deserved. One jelly shot.
Walkers triumphant. The prize was given. Two jelly shots.
How long is the circle? ‘Who cares’. Three jelly shots.
Swing low and walk down. Many jelly shots.
How wonderful is the hash?

Thank you for moments of my life I cannot remember, but know were great!


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ZH3 Hash #1115: don’t know what I’m doing

ZH3 Hash #1115: don’t know what I’m doing
Hare: Tall Balls
RA: Asphalt Liquor
Scribe: What cums in Vega stays in Vega

Life rarely presents one with stark choices. This trail was an exception. As the pack raced merrily down a smooth and wide hiking trail in the mountains towering above triemli, a check-back led the pack to a point that asked hashers to leave the relative security of said smooth and wide trail, and descend down a formidable 50% slope consisting of mud, covered with loose leaves and hidden twigs and twines. Faced with this life-or-death fork in the road, the pack sensibly chose to spare life-and-limb. Except, that is, for a handful of daredevils who were subsequently rewarded with down-downs for their foolhardy election.

This suicidal shiggy run was the highlight (or was it the lowlight?) of this otherwise uneventful r*n (well mostly uneventful, but more on that later). It began in quite fair weather and broad daylight on a lovely green patch between a parking lot and a concrete underpass. The hare hastily drew some random circles on the grass to describe the trail markings, which made complete sense to veteran hashers and no sense whatsoever to the lone virgin.

Presently, the pack set off and was right away presented with an uphill climb. The climb culminated in a checkpoint that led part of the pack to fearlessly cross the railroad tracks of death, only to find themselves misled. Just as they prepared to cross back and rejoin the true trail, the gates of the crossing of the railroad tracks of death descended, and nearly decapitated an unsuspecting “smoking member” of our tribe. Rest assured, dear reader, that though he escaped unharmed on this occasion, he nevertheless faced the consequences during the circle.

The trail bobbed and weaved and descended and climbed (though it mostly climbed) through a bit of pavement, a bit of trail, and a whole bunch of shiggy, until the pack practically made its way to the top of Uetliberg. The hare won a lot of plaudits (angrily expressed throughout the ordeal by most of the pack) for leading us on this effortless journey.

At the end of the day, everyone miraculously made it back (though not everyone chose the path ambitiously laid out by the hare). Much merry was made at the circle, helmed by erstwhile and intermittent RA Asphalt Liquor. Cavity Search and Climbidia did a fine job as beer bitches.

Notable down-downs:

Slippery Digit: For Cunning Linguistics Involving a Canine.

Smoking Cock: For not dying by railroad crossing gate

Grab My Sack, WCIVSIV, Just Scott: Suicidal Shiggy Run

Squatty Potty and WCIVSIV: Due to the former accusing the latter of running like a gazelle (and then recreating the alleged long springy graceful strides for the benefit of the encircled assemblage).

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ZH3 Hash #1113 National Chicken Wing Appreciation Day Hash

Name: Hash #1113 National Chicken Wing Appreciation Day Hash
Location: Started at Kreuzplatz, ended in a dubious, dark wood
Hares: Christian Harlot and Grab My Sack
RA: Asphalt Liquor
Attendance: ~20
Scribe: Just Nina

Expecting idyllic spring weather, Christian Harlot wished to honour this momentous day by providing the Hash with chicken wings grilled out in the wilds. Her Co-Hare, Grab My Sack, led the runners up a steep trail to a secret mystery location whilst the secret chicken team ferried supplies up the mountain, foraged for booze in the wilderness of Denner, and prepared to light the fire.

It was cold. Very cold.

It started to snow.

The runners arrived at the end of the trail before the fire was lit, and there were a few desperate attempts to light strips of cardboard with magical invocations before the wood arrived. Everyone huddled around pitifully until the flames rose high.

It continued to snow. The alcohol, being stored in an icy trough of water, was also very cold. Despite the RA’s best efforts to detach people from the new and beautiful and warm and golden and shiny and WONDERFUL fire, the Circle was formed around it, as it proved both physiologically and psychologically impossible for people to move more than a foot away from it. It was warm. Not like the snow.

At one point during the numerous down downs, the chicken song was sung. This seemed appropriate. Shamefully, several of the hashers on one side of the circle refused to participate in this culturally significant ritual and managed to look vaguely uncomfortable and embarrassed.

By this point, snow had blanketed everything around us, including benches, bags, and any hashers foolish enough to have wandered off. In the meantime, chicken wings had been expertly tended to by Smoking Cock, and only occasionally fallen into the fire. Once ready, they were devoured voraciously. With a variety of sauces. This may have been very messy, and there was a period of silence broken only by moans, grunts and slobbering noises. Then the second round. Then the third. Then the… I lost count, there was a vast quantity of delicious wings.

Eventually the beer was drunk, the wings were gone, and the increasing risk of hypothermia drove even the most dedicated hashers home.

Editor’s Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up.

ZH3 Hash #1107: The French Revolution of 1848 – Write-up

Name: ZH3 Hash #1107: The French Revolution of 1848
Location: Restaurant Swaad
Hares: Smoking Cock
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction
Attendance: 19 hashers + 1 Canine
Scribe: D.E.Floured

As I came round I could see stars behind the silhouettes of treetops. It was night. Where was I?

Close to my right a voice. “Can you move your toes?”

The voice said it was Just Ottmar. A figure helped me to my feet and told me we had to keep moving — despite the sheet ice — otherwise eagles would trail us. Or the eagles would catch the rabbits. What rabbits? Which eagles? Nothing seemed to make sense. I was cold. My head hurt. I didn’t know where I was. The man insisted we run.

I stumbled on the uneven and slippery path as he ran effortlessly. He kept mentioning flowers. I couldn’t see any. He seemed worried about not losing a flower in his hair. I could make out lines, what looked like insignia on his bodysuit. Military? It was dark, my head hurt, my spine hurt, I was in an unfamiliar forest without flowers and an imposing soldier was worried about his hair. I decided to keep quiet and obey. I don’t know how long we ran. Later, at the tree-line I saw the movement of lights, then figures. Ottmar called a signal as we approached. We were nearing a city.

It seemed to be a paramilitary commando. Outlines of a score of people, interspersed in pairs or trios at irregular intervals along a road, some holding muted flashlights. Parachutists perhaps. Parachuted into the forest, where they must have stowed their equipment. Only one was carrying a rucksack. The rest, wrapped head-to-toe in material so one could only see eyes, were unarmed. They had a dog with them, and hadn’t been looking for us, so I think they were hunting the rabbits. Or one rabbit’s flowers.

I was jostled into the middle of the group. Behind me someone spoke ominously about widows, a naked and wasted body, and chalk outlines. A silhouette shouted menacingly that there were “no criminals in Tsvitzerlan.” They were vigilantes!

A gang of vigilantes, hunting in the peri-urban region of whatever settlement lay ahead of us, hunting and murdering the families of the seditious and the insouciant. My life was obviously endangered every second I spent among this militia. Despite my disorientation I had to escape. I tried to run. Vision blurry and feet unsteady I attempted to flee down the paths branching from their route. Yet whenever I started in one direction, the pack would double-back or change course. I tried a few times, they persisted; and insisted “Be near, be near!” I cannot remember how long this continued, nor do I understand why they did not kill me on the spot. Only that we ran until weariness overcame my entire body.

Next in my recollections is the gang standing in a clearing. They were angry. They were discussing supplies, they were meant to restock with super-dense, nutritious energy and multivitamin rations. This was the rendezvous where an agent had been supposed meet them. In their hunger and thirst they cursed the name of ‘mimi’ their treacherous ally. The only hint of provender was shitty beer. And yet — on this coldest of nights — the beer was warm, so ‘meme’ must have been here recently. Growing evermore vociferous the vigilantes repeated the syllables: mee-mee, měi-měi, měi-méi.

In a flash of lucidity amid the cacophony and the throbbing at the base of my skull I realised they were shouting mèi mei (妹妹) and that their collaborator was surely the younger sister of a vigilante.

At that moment I felt dizzy and cold. I lay down. I may have slept.

At some point in the night there was food — baguettes and a variety of rather nice cheeses — combined with the macabre celebration of the capture of their prey, Carlos and LAM. I don’t know where they found the food, yet this night’s hunt had evidently yielded a protesting hispaniard and a subdued visitor by way of Hanoi.

A ringleader made a mocking lunge-pose and drank some kind of hallucinatory from a special glass, while the vigilantes chanted. They forced Carlos to do the same, while shouting oaths and curses. Then LAM was made to follow suit. Subsequently each of the vigilantes took the mixture to their lips in turn. Through the crowd of bodies it seemed as if with every sip the draght changed color: at times the glass was yellowish, then appeared to be blue, then redder. Until I was made to drink. The lukewarm fuzzy foam stuck to my palate and I swallowed the bitter substance with difficulty. My head spun. The cold wind seemed to cut deeper. I became dizzy. I lay down.

The next thing I know, I woke up in here.

As dictated by D. E. Floured, from the Triemlispital on February 22nd, 2018.


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