Name: ZH3 Hash #1081: Check Your Beer Tolerance Hash
Location: Indian Palace, Schaffhauserstrasse 410, Zürich, ch
Hare: What Cums in Vega
RA: Weapon of Ass Destruction; RB: Thump Her Insides
Attendance: 31 half-minds and one canine-mind
Scribe: Two racists – Facial Discrimination and The Unnamed
It was International Tolerance Day, but our hare had willfully misinterpreted the day’s true meaning in naming this hash.
And so, as so often in life, we must turn to Lady Gaga for a more profound understanding of a complex message. She has said that “tolerance, acceptance and love [are things that] feed every community” and there was a considerable amount of these things during the evening even prior to getting smashed and going gaga ourselves.
From the start, acceptance abounded as we welcomed two complete strangers to our humble congregation during chalk talk. They were no ordinary strangers, for it takes a special kind of madness to join a bunch of unfamiliar weirdos for a run in temperatures cooler than the beermeister’s fridge. Some of the more sensitive hashers among us shuffled uneasily at this whiff of insanity, but they were quickly distracted by confusion as Weapon of Ass Destruction unloaded one of his puns on us (seemingly by accident, I might add, as even he looked momentarily dazed by it).
With the exception of Facial Discrimination (whose entire being is unable to stop grimacing until he’s sweated 14 buckets and run 20 km), we all sensed our metaphorical cups overflow with heartfelt ambivalence as the virgins introduced themselves. The American Virgin Mike informed us he was American and the French one, who was actually German Tim (take note American Virgin), invited us all over to his place across the road for an orgy afterwards (I may have misheard this, but try your luck next time you’re passing).
Once chalk talk was over, we went back in to the warm and had curry. Just kidding, that would be sensible.
Once chalk talk was over, we set off in to the bitterly cold night air to find the deposits of flour that our aromated hare (Ed. Note – I think that is racist.) had laid. What Cums in Vega, Stays in Vega, out-did himself this time, for the trail could easily have been a humdrum trudge among oppressive epitaphs to Swiss architecture’s penchant for concrete, but it was instead a fortified concoction of forest paths, ambling fields and, er, Bahnhof Seebach.
As we foraged deeper into the boondocks in search of our prize, it soon became apparent that it was here that the hare would test our tolerance. For not content with sending us up hills and round bends in traditional fashion, he insisted upon inserting a few unnecessary guffaws of his own.
Several times, exasperated front-runners came to a stumbling halt and began inadvertently flagellating themselves as they fidgeted with their head torches in search of elusive third dots. So gifted was our hare that the pack’s bewilderment frequently turned to anger and then much later inflected in to admiration as third dots were eventually found six hundred meters from second dots. In testing our tolerances, he diced with death though. For were it not for dopamine, washing away our indignation upon calls of on-on at the zenith of our impatience, we may have lynched the fucker. (Ed. Note – That is racist.)
As with all great hare-jobs, it was the delicate cruelty of anticipation that made us want for more even as the hare bit down knowingly and painfully on our tender bits. The Front Running Bastards (Just Carlos, Down on My Sister, Soaked Baloney, Facial Discrimination, and Keys to the Treasure) clearly enjoyed the pain more than others, but by the seventh furlong, buried deep amongst the rest of us mortals, Sticky Fingers announced that her legs had turned to lead and that she may soon die.
The pack immediately rallied around her and did nothing. Luckily, Weapon of Ass Destruction – unexpectedly overcome with spousal duty – dug deep and managed to muster the smallest quantum of empathy humanly possible (this was a wonder to behold) and Sticky was able to stay with us for another 75 Tall Balls (150 meters) to the vaunted View Stop.
The hash constitutes such a careful balance of absurdity and purpose that it is at times a metaphor for life itself. Nothing seemed to encapsulate this more aptly than the View Stop. For it was here that purpose, in the form of lovely warm Glühwein and a moonlit view of Zürich, greeted us, while our shivering bodies simultaneously reminded us of the absurdity of standing still covered in sweat in temperatures hovering above freezing.
Had Darwin been observing us he may have wondered what adaptations nature would clumsily bestow upon us hashers in future to survive such extremes of silliness. But the future is too far away for some so I herewith propose that we invest some hash cash in a gene editing experiment to see what we can do to help some of our more delicate hashers make it through the Zürich winter. It would be a blessed relief to all of us if Keys to the Treasure no longer had to wear those vulgar tights of his, so we could start by giving him furry legs. Butt Bugger: this is undoubtedly a job for you. Slippery Digit: please release the funds straightaway – we want to see a thick carpet of ginger fluff on those pale pins by Christmas.
Back at the View Stop, our stomachs sizzled with Glühwein while our hearts warmed with the third and last of Lady Gaga’s essential ingredients for every community: love. At the mere mention of this word, some of you will no doubt be retching reflexively. Yet, Lady Gaga’s deep and eternal wisdom is, as always, undeniable.
Love came to us in the most surprising of forms: MeMe. Having set-off with his fellow walkers (Vulva Las Vegas, Just Dennie, and Christian Harlot), our intrepid hasher quite literally went the extra mile and detoured to the View Stop in order to deliver the Glühwi. But this was just one in a sequence of events that created a cumulative volume of love in the form of warm spiced grapey ethanol. For the beverage itself, though fortified and delivered by MeMe, was initially prepared by none other than our wonderful hare.
For those not paying attention to the hare’s endeavors, allow me to elucidate you with this trite surmise: it is those who at times inflict the most intolerable cruelty who may in fact be the ones who love us the most.
And so we return to where once we began and the International Day of Tolerance. Our tale would suggest that ZH3 is accepting, tolerant, and loving; the three things that Lady Gaga tells us feed every community. Are you not sated? Certainly not this scribe. Thank you Lady Gaga for bringing our awareness to the tender underbelly of the ZH3 community. On-on, lass, and stick a pair of silly socks on; we know you’re a hasher really.
It turned out that Circle was just 500 Tall Balls (1 km) away from the View Stop. It was a chilly affair; however, our spirits were raised by the announcement – and initiation – of a new RB: Thump Her Insides.
As Weapon of Ass Destruction handed over, Thump Her Insides began her reign by nominating hashers she couldn’t see. This included pretty much everyone not wearing a high visibility vest like her. It’s a wonder no one rebounded her for not simply carrying a torch. One senses that no such allowances will be made next time. Good luck, Thump ;).
Other notable downs downs went to Iberians of all persuasions for something Flash in the Pants did in absentia; quite a feat Flash!
From there on in, the rest is a blur, but it suffices to say that a number of hashers were down-downed, beer was drunk, prosecco was scoffed, and songs were sung before we all retreated to The Palace to annoy the other diners.
May the hash go in peace.
Editors Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up. Please send a better poker face, multi-side die, and a beer for M. Albert Camus to ZH3.com.