How I Became Hasher

By a guest writer

When that scut Wells invited me into his gizmo, called time machine, I never knew I would end up as something called hasher. He took me away from the world, where everybody walked naked and free, and we knew the names of trees and rocks and we sang our dreaming and we slept under the sky, and he threw me into a crazy place where people have second, flappy skins and no toes on their feet and live inside smooth tall rocks called flats.

It so happened that fat scut Wells, who had skin not like people but the colour of raw meat, disappeared in time machine and left me in a place between flats called Diamond Hill. There, a group of men, called hashers, gathered, talking loudly and laughing. Interesting was their second skin was much flimsier than Wells’, and I could see most of them had the same raw-meat skin, like ghosts. One of them, called Inflatadate, had a dog-animal, called Spencer, and indeed I did surmise that this dog-animal was the most intelligent of them all.

All of a sudden they were running away and on to a way of smooth dark rock, called road. They seemed to be looking for something, as I perceived them running hither and thither in a most confused manner, and shouting loudly to each other. There were more scuts here, but they just went about their own business, not like my scuts who I could see were greatly annoying to the others. I followed them, hidden, and moving lightly and easily like when you follow kangaroo for miles until he gets tired and then you spear him. These scuts were clumsy and fat. I wondered how they ate because they could never stalk and trap anything, not even possum.

Soon we went up into mountain, called Kowloon Peak, where the trees grew thick and there were many rocks. This made me feel better. I surmised that fat scut hashers were following white marks on the ground, that must lead to food. I tracked scuts over a stream and up a slope, where one scut, old and wizened but seemingly without the respect normally accorded to age, went a different way, called short cut. This hash scut was called Gunpowder Plod.

I decided to follow the main group and stalked them higher and higher up Kowloon Peak. These were good moments and I tracked the faster ones through the forest: Inflatadate, Mango Groove and the young one, called Gaele Says No. Only Spencer knew I was there and often sniffed me out, but stupid scut Inflatadate kept calling him back.

All too soon we came out to wide road, called Jats Incline. It was harder to conceal myself here so I waited until all others had gone by. They were called One Eyed Jack, Oranguwang, Eunuch (who I did not see at the beginning) and Shamus O’Pressed. After some short time I followed them and did surmise by the white marks that they had left Jats Incline and gone down many smooth rock platforms, called steps. This was better than road, but oft times the white marks went in two ways and sometimes ran out. On such occasions I tried the other way and found more marks. Then, wondrous to behold, I found a large rock like a cave with paintings on the side. These I scrutinized closely for clues to people, such as ancestors or pathways to water holes, but I could not fathom out the meaningless squiggles and surmised these were ignorant scut paintings showing they knew nothing of the world. Still, it was comforting to be in a place that resembled the world.

Suddenly I heard snufflings and gruntings, like when wombat is crashing through bush, and there emerged fat hash scut Golden Balls, the worst tracker of them all. Luckily I had sat down in the cave and Golden Balls staggered past oblivious to my scrutiny. It was then an easy matter to follow his gruntings and gaspings, and I wondered what foods he would lead me to, as I had seen nobody catch anything or even dig up roots.

Then a most strange thing confronted me. Arrows went two ways, one down steps and one into a scut place for shittings and pissings. I could not understand this as there were no signs of any shittings or pissings in the hole, called toilet, which had no sides and was open for all to see. This indeed was a mighty mystery to me.

Soon I had followed Golden Balls to the finish, which confounded me, as it was the start. At least the mystery of sustenance was solved, as they all were drinking pissings-coloured water which I surmised to be some kind of soup or brew. Wondrous to behold, it came not from a water hole but was contained in a smooth, shiny log beautiful to look upon. It was no problem for me to steal one of these brews, called beer, and it gave me another shock as it was not just cool like delicious water from stream, but cold like frost of winter. My final surprise was when I sipped at it. It did taste like amber nectar and made me feel good, very good. So this is how fat hash scuts get foods!

Another scut was there, but this one was different, taller than the rest and with hair the colour of spinifex. I perceived bubies but could see no fluff, this one also having a second loose skin, but decided this was a scut warrior queen come to lead her foot soldiers. A strange primitive ritual ensued whereby fat hash scuts gathered in a circle around this woman, called Velcro Lips, deferring to her as she allocated beers first to one then the other. All the while a sort of surf, called Stingray, poured beer into smaller containers for fat hash scuts to drink from. Each time a scut had foods the others chanted raucously. It was passing strange.

Finally the human Mango Groove called upon Oranguwang, who was old and quiet and had some dignity, unlike other hash scuts. Mango Groove made Oranguwang kneel before him and chanted an incantation. Thus did I surmise that Mango Groove was some sort of priest or religious advisor. After the incantation he poured beer onto Oranguwang’s baldy head while other fat hash scuts laughed. This was heinous to behold as Oranguwang did not seem to understand what was happening and looked confused in the way of old men. It transpired that religious advisor Mango Groove had given him a new name: Penile Dementia.

Fat hash scuts looked mightily pleased with themselves and drank beers and shouted raucously in the night. I stole another beer and hid in the shadows awaiting the return of fat scut Wells, who had promised to take me back to the world and away from this crazy place. Then Golden Balls discovered me.

Thus I became hasher.

Girl Power.. Two Virgins and a New GM

 By Mango Groove

This week was the first run of the new committee and Moonie was hare, stepping in at the last minute. Arriving at Tangerine Dream’s and Moonie’s place,you could see a packed crowd. Returnees Go West, Desperate Dan and All the Way were in attendance alongside two spanking new virgins, Joanne (friend of Tooth Hurty) and Jenny (met some of our geezers in a pub in Tai Po). One notable absentee at the start was Golden Balls whom his brother Shamus O’Pressed assured us “should have been here by now.”

As new GM Velcro Lips called for attention, Moonie said something about a rambo / wimp split and a small hill on the rambos but nothing to worry about. The pack ran back down onto Fung Yuen Road with an immediate left into the village while Serbian Bomber did his best to be an FRB by trying to outrun Walkie Talkie. A couple checks later saw us running out of the village, onto the main road and onto a rambo / wimp split with the rambos looking as if we were going up Cloudy Hill. At this point new runner Joanne removed her outer jacket when running behind Serbian Bomber, probably because she was overheating at the sight of a rather large bloke wearing extra small shorts. Also around this point on the trail Eunuch in conversation with Go West: “I think the strategy for tonight is to keep a lookout for chalk arrows.”

As we headed outwards, a check at the base of the Cloudy Hill steps fooled Mango, Salesman and Catch of the Day, who figured there was no way we were going up Cloudy Hill tonight and Moonie has probably found some sneaky trail around the lower regions. Anyway all three were wrong, badly wrong, leaving Eunuch and Go West holding hands and skipping happily up the steps to another check that went straight on. The second group behind were joined by Stingray, Ah Duck and Shamus O’Pressed. As for everyone else, this week’s scribe did not see where they went, as he had to be awarded bufoon of the week because on seeing COTD coming back from a check halfway up Cloudy declared she hadn’t checked far enough and it can only go all the way to the top. Mango actually kept going, but realised something was wrong when he didn’t see any lights behind him after 10 minutes. Yes, the trail actually went right and down some quality trail with a two way split next to an old man’s house. He seemed very polite as he ushered us through and Salesman happily informed him the war was over.

The trail took us down through some forest and back onto the overgrown trail behind Fung Yuen village, with a gentle run home.  Several hashers were back and already tucking into the crisps (yes Plod!!!). Liberace was a late arrival and Golden Balls did make it but got carried away showing off his plasters and bandages that he totally forgot to get changed and do the run.

After some drinkies, it was time for the circle…what a circle. Numerous down downs from our new GM Velcro, most notably Go West getting investigated by the ICAC – apparently he has been selling dodgy ginger hair dye; COTD with her Icky Icky down downs; and Ah Duck finally getting named “Oranguwang” due to his exploits with COTD whilst checking out a hash trail. After the downs downs were concluded Tangerine Dream laid on some grub and then it was home time.

Must be said: great evening, superb run, superb circle and superb beer.

AGM Full Moon Guy Burning Run

By Prison Break

This was my first N2TH3 run, as I’m a cherry-picking tart, and I choose Hashes like I choose women, whichever is closest at the end of the night. After sorting through the wreckage of the N2TH3 Yahoo Group message board, which has more info related to Shek Kong hash, I discovered that the run was up the hill from my place. Perfect, just close enough for me to stumble home.

When I arrived, there were a handful of older white gentlemen in short shorts (One Eyed Jack, Stingray, G-Spot, Shamus O’Pressed, Serbian Bomber), younger Chinese ladies in long shorts (TV Tits, Golden Jelly), and Plod dressed like an alcoholic Ip Man. Velcro treated us to a PG-rated strip tease, two thumbs up. And Ah Duck tried his best to impersonate a Shaolin monk. We were joined later by 2firty (Tooth Hurty?) who came in a fancy Jag that once down the hill would remain for the night (more later). Then arrived the psychedelic Scooby Doo Van, with Shaggy, Mango and the Salesman. Apparently this was Salesman’s first run with the N2TH3, despite being its GM. Finally our favorite Japanese rambo Catch of the Day arrived in time for the start.

The Hare was Gunpowder Plod, he was attempting a record of haring every Hash in Hong Kong in one week. He said it was for charity, but we all know it was his effort to push Little Red Swear Books and Sai Kung calendars on the thrifty hashers. He made a perfect garden complete with lanterns, bonfire and an effigy for the burning of catholics named Guy.

Misinstructions were given, but these wouldn’t be too helpful. Because most of the pack was unaware that they were going to run in same area as Monday Hong Kong Hash, Sunday Shek Kong, and Saturday Sai Kung, so there was going to be a lot of confusion on the checks. FRBs confused by checks that were already solved by some ghost runner from the past. Graveyards with well marked trails of arrows in intersecting directions. At one intersection, Mango asked how I was sure I was going the right way. I explained that it must be correct since it’s the only way I haven’t been yet this week.

The cool air inspired the FRBs to fly ahead, but Plod’s confusion-inducing checks did their job of keeping the pack together. There was a nice amount of shiggy and hill work, a rock scramble and an endless number of angry villagers and dogs upset by our presence. All of the runners missed a shrine of candles and beer left on trail by Pissed Up Principal, as an offering to the pagan AGM festivities. Most of the FRB rambos assumed they knew the way, ignoring arrows and doubling back on to the wimps trail. Meanwile, the fit, sexy and spiritually pure FRBs stayed on true rambo trail and pressed forward. Prison Break, Catch of the Day and Ah Duck came in well ahead of the lesser rambos Mango, Salesman and Shaggy.

The pack had grown much larger with the arrival of Golden Balls and the other well dressed non-runners, Simon and Din Din. Then Pissed Up Principal in a lovely dress arrived after she heard there was a box of wine waiting for her.

The GM got the festivities started by setting the Guy on fire and then admiring its wooden penis while describe the many ways he would have sex with it. Plod had stuffed the Guy with whizzbangs and once the fire began we could see that he had built the bonfire on someone’s grave. Golden Jelly then spent the entire circle as fire warden to prevent us from burning down the forest, and to dry off after getting soaked falling in the river on the run.

Simon was made the beer bitch for being so well dressed. However, after about a dozen down downs the circle realized that he had been serving us non-alcoholic beer the entire time. Salesman reacted as if he’d seen a particularly loathsome verminous creature and stomped the downdowns violently while calling for the circle to start again.

The circle culminated with Simon being named Nine Ignorant Cox after some pseudocanto doggerel from Liberace. Then it was the elections. Salesman looked a bit distracted, then named random people. “It all seems a bit arbitrary,” said Shamus O’Pressed, a judgement borne out when Salesman made a traffic cone the new GM.

The OnOn moved to the roof barbecue for sausages, hot dogs, curry, rice and drinks. Mrs Plod was polite enough to allow us to enjoy her roof garden. Then the real GM was revealed: Velcro Lips. (You can see the full committee here.)

At the end of the night, 2firty got back in his fancy car but was unable to get it up the hill. After a dozen attempts, he parked it, grabbed some roadies and left the keys with Mrs Plod. Not sure if it was the beer or the car that failed to perform that night.

AGM Gallery

Finally, we bring you Stingray’s financial report for the year.

• Following the recent stock market gains our losses for the year are now in negative territory.
•  In line with inflatuation it has been proposed that hash cash be raised below the average amount for which the interest rate and partial losses be reduced by and large to prevent any upsurge in the defecit thereby creating an overdraft in the undercurrents of future excesses.
• The Hash piggy bank is therefore brimming over with abundant dosh and all AGM costs and or expenses should be easily catered for by the Hash ATM… especially now the police mess is no longer available as the police have got themselves in a mess so we cant get in the mess while the mess is in a messand the mess with the mess is not easy to mess with as anyone messing with mess is likely to end up in an even bigger mess, don’t mess with the mess I say! 
• As for the AGM …. is it really in Saigon ????

The Saturday Run No. 4

A Kung Kok Revisited

Velcro Lips had set this one before, on a muggy spring night when only five runners turned to go slip-sliding over the greasy trail. It deserved a better audience, and six months later it got one, as almost 20 hashers turned up on a fine autumn afternoon. Silent Partner Screwless had been chucking up as he set the run but was considerate enough not to mark the trail in sick. It was mainly flour, with a little chalk and bog roll, Velcro explained as we set off up the hill.

The first check caught out G-Spot and Golden Balls, who went off up the grassy route to the left. Meanwhile Mango had been doing some pre-run “checking” and led the way up the road to the cup-de-sac, where trail went into the shiggy by way of a mucky culvert and some steps. And stayed there.

I can now only describe what happened in my neck of the woods. Having fluffed the first check I was almost last into the shiggy with only Eunuch behind – but he was helping Travis along and carrying Ruth on his shoulders. A contour bit along another culvert followed and then it was up up up to almost 400 metres. After a while there was G-Spot and One Eyed Jack admiring the view. Then Dram sitting in the shade. Then Victim with his characteristic whimper. Blimey it was hot. Camel was next to appear, heading back down with his stress fracture starting to hurt. As G-Spot clung to my tail we reached the trig point where Plod for some reason was semi naked taking photos. The views were terrific and we stopped to take them in.

Or rather G-Spot did. “Picture?” asked Plod, and he bounded up on to a rock to show off the very latest fashions from Irian Jaya – a sort of nipple on his head.

I was off. Down the defile and up to the second summit, where Shamus O’Pressed and Hoover were trudging back uphill from taking a falsey. The right direction went steeply down some slippery stuff and as Shamus and I braked by grabbing at tree trunks we heard a strangled yelp behind us as Hoover went arse over tit. In front and out of sight there were Ah Duk, Stunt Double, Catch Of The Day, Mango Groove and Inflatadate. It was a long long descent almost to sea level, coming out at the bottom of A Kung Kok Road. As the FRBs tackled that last uphill leg back to the start they sighted Dingaling driving away. He’d got there at 4pm for the 3.01 start. Meanwhile, Plod had gone back down the way he came up, falling over as he did so. Eunuch also went back down the same way but in a somewhat more dignified manner, having carried Ruth to the summit on his shoulders. And down again. Inflatadate was first back (“Entire trail was new to me,”) while Mango came in second following his normal Gurkhaesque descent.

Velcro ran the circle then most of the pack moved on to the Fo Tan pigeon daipaidongs for an extremely boozy meal. Another great Saturday Run.