Name: ZH3 Hash #1078: Man up and dress like a Fairy
Location: Bonesklinic, Austrasse 19, Zürich
Hare: Naked and Wasted, Shogginatrix
RA: Weapons of Ass Destruction
Attendance: 38 half-minds and one dogs
Scribe: Butt Bugger, support from Shamcock and MeMe
Even on the 2nd of November, the darkness comes early. The group set off on their quest to find the shot stop and beer stop in full darkness. While the others ran off eagerly yelling, we (Team Cripple) squared ourselves up to the challenge grimly. Would it be beyond us?
Off we went, three people, four legs, four crutches. We soon found another pilgrim lost in the darkness. Our numbers increased, we continued to forge forward, now with 10 legs, but still four crutches. We were cautiously optimistic, but a debate grew up around the quickest and easiest way to achieve our objective. Realizing we had been led astray, our optimism dimmed but was fortified by a grim determination. We would make the shot stop. We continued on, up the hill, up into the bus, always moving upwards. The last stretch was steep, it was dark, and it was difficult. Sweat poured off of us, slicking the plastic grips of the evil crutches we were doomed to depend on. We crested the final steps to the cheers of the exultant walkers, whom we can safely say were most enthusiastic about the shot stop carried by one of our faithful group members.
We lounged, sipped slowly, relishing our victory, the vantage of our position high above the city lights well earned, well fought for. The calls of the runners sounded through the woods, indistinct but growing closer. We struggled back to our feet to greet the triumphant runners as they zero-ed in on the mead and jello shot rewards, kindly carried and hand-made with love and hopefully minimal bodily fluids, by MeMe. We knew our return journey would be slow and painful, leaving us far behind the baying crowd as they circled in towards the final beer stop. A small abuse of technology on trail summoned our savior; Yilkan, of the great city of Istanbul. We piled quickly into his black chariot and chatted and laughed as we past our sweating, and laboring, compatriots. Triumphantly reaching the bag drop with the middle of the pack runners, we invited Yilkan to come join us some Thursday evening when he wasn’t working, and turned to the task of carrying and assembling the beer stop.
The runners, who I guess probably did something cool or hard or heroic or stupid, were sweaty and steaming lightly under their tutus and fairy wings. It turns out they stupidly followed the hare when he confusedly pointed at a sheer cliff and said maybe it’s that way, but I don’t really know. The virgins were among the first up the hill, but they can’t really be blamed for their trust, as virgins, they know nothing. At this point half the hash said f*ck this and took off down the road, while the other half continued to follow and find true trail like good hashers.
Out of Africa appeared out of the darkest stretch of wood (Editors note: That’s racist), living up to his name, but then, somehow got lost again before the circle.
Some claim it was more than 10km, so clearly they did something wrong and should try less hard. Their struggles and labors were rewarded, after a short trick uphill section, with a well stocked beer stop. The Chopfab flowed freely, street lights glinting off unicorn and viking horns, the contented chatter flying high than the less-than-20-franc wings would ever carry the hashers. Special snacks were provided, carefully and laboriously smuggled into the country over the border from a far and distant land by the diligent hariette. Strange flavors snuck into seemingly benign bags lead for an adventure filled experience, would it be plain or would it be smelly cheese and onion chips? Only one way to find out.
The crowd reluctantly simmered into what could almost be mistaken for an attentive audience, and were not disappointed by anything other than the poor puns of the overly ambitious RA, Weapon of Ass Destruction. Though he did seem to delight with his re-christening of Grab My Sack as Kevin Spacey. Burn! Grab My Sack and Kneels Sporadically were victoriously crowned as the King and Queen of the half-assed fairy world, receiving what appears to be a pair of loafers, and a seven sided light up hentai style head mounted dildo respectively. We were awed to realize that Kneels Sporadically was actually the purveyor of both impressive, if retrospectively very similar, fairy costumes. Perhaps if she spent less time on couture she could kneel more frequently, who knows.
Finally, at last, the beer drunk, the snacks eaten, Crinchy thoroughly down-downed for her dog whom would not stay out of the circle, and the Beer Bitch thoroughly greased, we laboriously pulled ourselves to our feet for the return to the drinking horn and bra infested Bonesklinik for a last (or ten) mead (which should not be consumed by the pint. Trust me). Butt Bugger once against bested Smoking Cock in the race to the bar, confirming her position as the Queen of Team Cripple, alternatively known as the Shitty Ankle Squad. Racist behaviour is bad. Don’t do it. The after party raged long into the night, as the hashers outlasted even the grim, black clad, amazingly kind and ernest metal-head bar owners. The last hashers standing staggered out to catch the last buses and trains to their homes near and far, blissfully unaware of the misery of their future headaches.
Notable Down Downs:
- Too many to count for the hares – who somehow avoided dead bugs
- Somewhere approaching a million for Crinchy for her dogs continued attempt to eat the snacks in the middle of the circle
- On Wagons and Off Wagons and In Ubers – Butt Bugger, MeMe and Smoking Cock
- Loves it Down Under’s rebound for her incorrectly assuming the hares should be punished for attempting to kill the hashers, incorrect in assuming that this is not the express purpose, incorrect in comparison to that time 00Semen tried to kill us on Uetliburg, or that time the Americans tried to kill with an active firing range, or that one hash where some people ran in front of a train, or that Winterfest where everyone (except three who were in the car drinking) got hypothermia …
- MeMe made jello shots
- Recirculated costumes, or costumes stolen from their children – too many to name
- Costume prizes for Grab my Sack aka Kevin Spacey and Kneels Sporadically, both made by Kneels Sporadically. Special mention to the two virgins, Just Sean and Just Simon, who turned up in costume for their first time.
Venue: Bonesklinik is awesome. I think I probably had 3-4 free shots from the bartenders and believe Shoggimatrix scored even more. Welcome shots, free popcorn, very cheap booze, bras, and drinking horns on the ceiling, basically we should go there much more often. They even found a doggie water bowl for the four-legged hashers. Not to be confused with the one-footed and two crutched hashers.
Editors Note – Think you can do better? Volunteer to do the next write-up. Please send a hasher life insurance policy, better trained dog owners, and stolen drinking horns to ZH3.com.
