Ghoulish Greetings,
I consider the above salutation appropriate considering the scare that was stuck into the pack on Trail 584. Read the following if you dare. I will now recount the tragic events that comprised Trail 584. What follows is a factual accounting even if it’s not precisely the events that really occurred.
We assembled our traveling kennel inside the recently-opened Britannia Arms on the Esplanade in Capitola, colloquially referred to as COP-itola by the hash due to their strict enforcement of the seemingly-innumerable Draconian laws instituted by the City Council. For some reason, this fact did not frighten hare-pair Cuff My Muff (and someone should cuff her) and Hairy Fuck 2.5. Their delivery of incomplete Instructions of Trail did little to instill confidence in the small pack that showed up to hash their trail. They outed taking the keys to Banana Basher’s truck with them as this was an A-to-B trail. At least that’s what they told us. I hope it doesn’t really mean the trail is going to be that long.
Circleup was held in front of the Brit beside a new trail marking introduced by these hares. It is a two-headed arrow pointing in opposite directions. See the Flash for a pictorial of this bizarre mark. Luckily, someone had seen (pre-laid) marker on-right on Monterey Avenue so after getting a good laugh from this cryptic mark, the pack headed on-out. However, a hare arrow was soon seen pointing on-right rather than continuing on Monterey. It is here we will wave goodbye to our notorious short-cutters. True trail turned on-right and went on-up the incredibly-steep steps to the top of Depot Hill on Cliff Avenue. On a map of Capitola, these stairs are represented as a ladder because they are so friggin’ steep. Once there, the gang solved a check and turned on-right onto Grand Avenue. It was a beautiful view as Grand stays atop the cliff towering over Soquel Cove. When Grand ends at Hollister Avenue, the troops turned on-left, came to Escalona Drive, executed an on-left which brought the bunch back to Monterey Avenue. Thanks for the half-mile circle-jerk, hares.
A slight on-right brought the pride to a check at the railroad tracks, not to mention an insulting comment etched on the sidewalk from our hares. Again, view the Flash to see the disrespect shown us by the hares. Trail was found, and no big surprise here, proceeding along the tracks towards the Hound Pound, AKA the police station. As most of you know, if you travel far enough along the tracks in this direction, you will soon be forced into crossing Soquel Creek via the train trestle. I will admit right now Puff used the whimp option and went through the Village instead. After seeing the way it sagged when Banana crossed, I decided not to press my luck at my age. This was new heights of terror Puff decided he could do without. While you may laugh, Puff got a chance to say hello to Flaccid Capacitor who, upon hearing whistles in the area, came out of his house to say hello.
Okay, we’re on the other side of the creek and are still proceeding along the tracks. Once past the houses atop the hill, the hares pointed the pod on-right on Prospect Avenue. We were then dragged screaming into what is colloquially called the Jewel Box area of Capitola. We took Prospect and then on-left onto Emerald Street and then on-right onto 49th Avenue and were then forced to traverse ever-busy Capitola Road. Staying on 49th, we passed the Shadowbrook Restaurant. As we staggered past the parking lot, people turned to stare at us like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade was passing by. One block later we intersected with Wharf Road and the horde was sent on-left on Wharf Road.
Prospects for a nice, short trail began to fade fast as we watched Capitola disappear in our rear view mirror. By the time we reached the carcass of Rispin Mansion, our delight with the beautiful scenery had turned into disappointment with trail and extreme dislike for our hare-pair. Mercifully, as we were pointed on-right onto the pedestrian pathway leading across Soquel Creek into Perry Park, we were finally treated to the long overdue viewing of our highly-favored Beer Near mark. And there, drinking illegally in Perry Park, we finally caught up with our hares.
For Religion, it was decided the parking lot for Nob Hill grocery store and directly in front of the sign stating: No Loitering, Police Enforced (again, see the Flash for photographic proof) would do nicely.
Banana Basher foolishly volunteered to be Religious Adviser and he immediately appointed TIMMY his Beer Fairy. The lowlights of Religion were as follows: Zipper Lips showed up for Religion only; Little Spit chastised/praised for saving daddy dBASED when he became lost (as usual) on trail; Silicon Valley visitors, Tonya Hardon, Today Is Monday and Taint Brush, told us a joke; Shallow Hole was reminded she must keep her (current) husband, Just Sean, sober while his band entertains us at Wharf to Barf Saturday night; Cuff My Muff for her approaching birthday; Little Spit for wearing a racist shirt and dBASED for not correcting her; Hairy Fuck was asked who was the “.5” in his name but he just smiled; Puff for whimping-out and not taking the trestle over Soquel Creek; Occasional Rapist and dBASED for representing Surf City at San Francisco’s recent Red Dress Run; Shallow Hole for attending SFH3’s Red Dress Run too and for saying she found out “Some hashes run!!” and lastly, dBASED (again) for not be able to come up with a song for Shallow Hole. And of course, the hares. I am at a loss of things to say about Cuff My Muff. Well, no, not really. I think the Muff is in the advanced stages of grand-mal stupidity and may soon expire from terminal weirdness. And as for Hairy, his lack of intelligence is amply compensated for by an excess of stupidity.
On-on-on was back at the Brit. The visitors from Silicon Valley though said they’d had just about a friggin’ ’nuff of Surf City for a while so they hit the bricks. Everyone else stayed until the Giants put those pesky Padres away and then returned to from whence they had come.
In my apparently-never-ending search for signs of intelligent life in Santa Cruz, Thursday the 14th will find me in pursuit of the e-vile dBASED. Please assist me in this important endeavor.
By Special Appointment of His Royal Majesty “G”, this Hash Trash has been compiled and printed by permission of no one other than the author at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the tenth day of July in the year of our Hash two-thousand eleven.
On-out,
Puff the Magic Drag Queen