Monthly Archives: September 2011

Hash 597:Stolen tequila,stolen flour,a stolen night of our lives


Above is a picture of this week’s hare just prior to on-out. Well, not an ACTUAL picture but more a comical pictorial representation. More accurately, this is how the pack would envision him by the time Beer Check was reached.

How did we arrive at such a dastardly opinion of old man TIMMY you may ask? (Though I seriously doubt you care) I was afraid you may though so I have prepared a brief recap of Hash 597 for your perusal. Let’s get to it, the quicker we’re done here the sooner I can leave for the nearest bar and you can return to more important tasks as well.

Things began pleasantly enough. We assembled our traveling kennel at old favorite Bocci’s Cellar. We also had the pleasure of enjoying an extremely rare event:three (count ’em, THREE) Virgins: Jill, Ted and Weston. Also, we had a transplant from the Corvallis, Oregon hash, Golden Dripster. We were graced with a rare guest appearance by Pixilated Obscenity though she refused to hash after hearing who the hare was. Inseparable buddies Just Chad and Dan slithered in for their monthly visit as well. Even rarer, Moose Knuckle made his annual visit to Surf City. The Knuckle now resides in Taiwan and claims to have conquered Yushan peak (12966 feet) on his mountain bike. Be aware though the Knuckle had been drinking prior to making this assertion. This sets the stage for Hash 597. Oh, yeah. Our hare. TIMMY kindly stepped up on a weeks notice to assume the reins of haredom as no one had signed up as of Hash 596. As an addendum to TIMMY’s kindness, it is a well-known fact Hare Raiser Banana Basher will not allow TIMMY to hare under any other conditions than extreme distress.

The herd migrated to Encinal Street, circled-up around a check and made introductions. This check took longer to solve than it should have and I of course blame this on the poor trail-laying abilities of our hare. A long false on-left on the accursed railroad tracks was an obvious pre-lay. True trail was eventually located on Encinal crossing the tracks and making an on-left onto Sylvania Avenue. Partway down the block trail turned on-left into the Costco parking lot. Except for Hugh Heifer and Hairy Fuck 2.5 that is. They continued on Sylvania in an obvious attempt to shortcut.

Continue reading Hash 597:Stolen tequila,stolen flour,a stolen night of our lives

Hash 596 Chaminade chagrin:Seeing red and feeling blue


Puff has recently returned for Sant-o-Barbara’s 17th Analversary festivities. While I cannot speak for our kennel mate Swiss Army Cock who also attended, I feel confident he had as much fun as did I. More on those jokers later. Right now I feel the need to ream the hare, or hares, for Hash 596 in absentia.

At first I was somewhat disappointed the turnout was so pathetically minuscule, eight hounds. Now however, I am glad so many of you chose to drink at home instead of attending. I fear had a larger pack been in attendance, many of the attendees would have sworn off hashing completely after this trail.

As the announcement stated, trail began on Katherine Lane, a dead end street in the northwest corner of the secluded Santa Cruz Gardens area. TIMMY read a note from the hare(s) directing him to read the contents to the pack at 6:48 which was to be on-out time. Since the hare(s) was long gone, how would they know when we actually left? More importantly, what the hell would they care?!? He/she or they were sitting at home sipping their drinks and laughing about what a mess they’d left behind for the pack to try and negotiate. TIMMY was instructed to read the note as the hares(s) knew Banana is not capable of reading for long without losing interest and words of more that two syllables are beyond his capabilities.

Continue reading Hash 596 Chaminade chagrin:Seeing red and feeling blue

Hash 595: Seabright at it’s WORST!!


I do not wish to alarm you but this trail upset my stomach to the point I will be on sabbatical next weekend in an effort to recover from a bout of PTSD-Post-Trail Syndrome Displeasure. In fact, just this morning, I booked a trip to beautiful Santa Barbara where I will spend next weekend.

However, prior to attempting to recover my health, I will discharge my duty as Scribe, one of the many things I intend to discharge soon, and recount the failure that was Trail 595 in hopes it shan’t be repeated again.

Things began pleasantly enough. We ensconced ourselves at The One-Double-Oh-Seven Club and began our efforts to deplete the bar. As is typical of late, the pack began small but grew to a respectable sixteen hounds and two lousy hares by on-out time. One-half of our hare-pair, My Little Bony, is on the downhill side of a seven day drunk. The only laudable action he performed tonight was to stumble to his nearby house and let his housemate’s girlfriend in. Personally, I wish he’d stayed the hell home but, miraculously, he found his way back to the Double-Oh. Banana Basher drank for two while the Bony one was away. Their Instructions of Trail were almost non-existent except for making the claim that a Beer Check existed. That’s all I ever want to hear from these two jokers anyway. They outed themselves into the alley between the Double-On and The Bicycle Trip leaving a hare arrow in their wake. These two appear to have a propensity for alleys. Continue reading Hash 595: Seabright at it’s WORST!!

Hash 594:Traipsing through terror with TIMMY the Terrible

You will find the Trash as disorienting as you did trail, but it’s not my fault!

How’s that for an opening disclaimer? As is my charge, I must accurately and truthfully recount trail as laid by the hare. This week, sadly, there was no semblance of order to trail. Instead of the Mad Hatter, this week we had a Mad Harrier. I will, however, endeavor to recapture the mystery, if not the frustration, that comprised Trail 594. Fill your glass, here we go.

As is standard fare for a TIMMY trail, the merry members of this madness convened at Santa Cruz Mountain Brewery on Ingalls Street. This has always been a pleasant beginning to a hash; the beer is good and the room is comfortable. I must admit some slight trepidation when TIMMY is our hare but ignorance is bliss so I tend to ignore this fact as long as possible. Assisting me in this endeavor is a substantial increase in alcoholic intake. Continue reading Hash 594:Traipsing through terror with TIMMY the Terrible

Hash 593: We’ve finally gone to the dogs

I’m finally ready.

I waited an extra long time this week to concoct the Trash for Hash 593. While this hare is deserving of a good thrashing, physically as well as verbally, I wanted to have at least one or two good things to say about her trail. I was unsuccessful.

We started, as is the standard fare for Hugh Heifer’s harings, at Henfling’s Firehouse Tavern in Ben Lomond. As a matter of fact you could make a good argument for Henfling’s BEING Ben Lomond but we’ll say that drunken debate for another Thursday. Our traveling kennel was assembled on the rear deck area for two reasons. One, we had almost as many four-legged hounds as  the two-legged variety (hence the title of this week’s Trash) and secondly, no one from Santa Cruz wishes to be seen at Henfling’s by anyone for whom they care. That may sound harsh but I know many of you are sitting there nodding at your screen. The Boulder Creek Crowd commandeered the table closest to the door to the bar because that’s just the kind of people they are. The Clowns from the Cruz manned the one closest the exit in case a barroom brawl broke out. In keeping with his lackadaisical attitude, Waxi-Pad chose neither but rather took a chair where he could keep an eye on both Tables of Trouble. When no one would buy her another drink, hare Hugh Heifer rose to her full stooped-over height to deliver Instructions of Trail. Though I paid no attention to what she said, I closely inspected her attire. At first I thought it was very ‘green’ of her to be recycling a bag from the Gap for her flour bag. After finishing trail though I decided she was forewarning us about the large “gaps” in this trail that would be sadly lacking in trail marker. As I watched Hugh shaking her flame-red hair, it dawned on me she looks like a kitchen match that refuses to ignite.  She hopped on-out and we returned to drinking beer and petting dogs.

Continue reading Hash 593: We’ve finally gone to the dogs