Author: zh3admin (page 2 of 5)

ZH3 Hash #1127: RED DRESS RUN 2018 – Writeup

ZH3 Hash #1127: RED DRESS RUN 2018
Hares: Dog Woody, Just Patty, and Dick Back of Notre Dame
RA: Asphalt Liquor and Weapon of Ass Destruction
Scribe: Grab Me By The Pussy

The 4th annual Red Dress Run, organized by the divine combination of Loves It Down Under (who celebrated her birthday and received a bell in an attempt to satisfy her pleasuring desires at will, results are TBD without details) and Shamcock, started off in glorious fashion with superb weather provided by the lovely RAs of Asphalt Liquor and Weapon of Ass Destruction, gobs of money being collected for the charity of Susy Utzinger Stiftung für Tierschutz, and plenty of hashers and horrors dressed to kill in their red dresses… and then the chalk talk started.

In true ZH3 fashion, one of the hares, Dog Woody, cleverly snuck off for one last, long stare in the mirror and to have a moment to himself to think “Damn, I look good in red”, and left his co-hare, Dick Back of Notre Dame to describe what lay ahead for the 60+ dashingly dressed hashers.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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…!


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

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!


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

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).

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

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.

« Older posts Newer posts »