Monthly Archives: September 2012

Hash Trash # 652 on 9/20/12

This week the Hare Pair team of Hugh Heifer and TIMMY!!! brought us to Don Quixote’s in Felton.   Puff the Magic Drag Queen, Princess Di (arrhea) and Thmp-Thmp all survived their Santa Barbara hash weekend.  Twat Did You Say? was also there, but had better things to do on Thursday night.  Apparently the Princess had an exceptionally good time (as evidenced by her never ending hangover).  Boulder Creek Hashers, Pussy Galore, Cum Lord, Too Drunk to Fuck and Get Up and Run, Bitch made an appearance.  Cum Lord was fresh off his trip to Asia, where he hashed in Bangkok, Thailand.  There was some talk of $5 happy endings.   Just Trista was brave enough to come out for her second Surf City Hash.   I’m proud to have been her “sponsor”.  You never know how some people will react to their first hash.  I figured either she would love it, or never talk to me again.  Fortunately, she enjoyed herself and a new hasher is born.  Deep Stroke has been on a heavy metal kick lately and showed up in a bad ass Iron Maiden T-shirt.  Tiny Whiny Bitch resurfaced after many months and rejoined the hash!  He told tales of his cross Atlantic cruise and romantic interlude with a fair maiden in England that had her own teeth, drove a BMW and owned her own house.  Unfortunately for him, he had to return, and is now succumbed to drowning his sorrows in cheap beer (but at least it’s served cold in this country).  As an extreme backslider, he was chosen to wear the hash shit vest for the evening.  Get Up and Run, Bitch recruited a virgin (Virgin Jeff) to join the pack.  She somehow convinced HIM to do trail while she and Pussy Galore stayed at the bar, ordered food and more drinks.

Our Hares directed the pack to exit the bar via the back door.  The trail started out with a check on the road behind the bar.  The trail went right on Cooper St, left on Farmer and into the trails of Fall Creek State Park.  Darkness was approaching and there was a stench of skunk in the air.  It was getting dark and creepy, so we were happy when we saw the light at the end of the tunnel.  Luckily no wildlife was encountered.  We came out behind San Lorenzo Valley High School, went therough school grounds.  Trail went right on Highway 9 to a beer check in a parking lot on the left side of the road.

At beer check, we heard confessions from the drunken lips of Hugh Heifer.  She claimed to be the “mastermind” of the trail.  She somehow convinced TIMMY!!! to be her bitch and to lay the entire trail himself!  She was responsible for the first back check and that was it.  Then, she had time to kill, so she decided to go to shopping at Rite Aid, bought some “lotion” and went back to the bar.  My hunch is she was hoping to pick up one of the guys from the band that was playing there that night.

Religion was held in the parking lot behind the Mountain Community Resources Building.  They conveniently had a table there, so we used it for an altar.  Accuprick was RA and appointed newbie Just Trista to be his Beer Fairy.  She was awarded the first down down.  Backsliders, Tiny Whiny Bitch, Pussy Galore, Cum Lord, and Hairy Fuck 2.5 were all punished with a down down.  Virgin Jeff told a joke and was welcomed to the hash.  His “sponsor”, Get Up and Run, Bitch also drank for picking up the virgin at the bar.  Tiny Whiny Bitch was called up for his altruism on trail.  Accuprick was limping, so he stayed back with him.  He’s one tough bastard!  Despite his bum knee, he always does trail.  Next, Puff the Magic Drag Queen, Thmp-Thmp and Princess Di(arrhea) were called up for representing Surf City at the Santa Barbara Analversary hash weekend.  Princess was ridiculed for not being able to hold her liquor and for taking almost a week to recover.  They claimed to have balls of sweaty steel for being out hashing in 97 degree weather.  Cum Lord drank for representing the hash in Bangkok, where he hashed 3 times while in Thailand.  And last but not least, the Hares………………

See Y’all in Boulder Creek on Thursday!  Fall is upon us, so those of you who don’t have headlamps, go out shopping for one!

On On,

Shallow Hole

Hash Scribe 651

Tales from the hash 651 trail. The mere name of dBASED laying trail will scare off many, but for a few, this was not true. The start was Lodato park, a very unfamiliar trail head located in the old Boreland (now the SC sentinel) property on the frontage road b/t Granit/Mt. Hermon exits. The pack waited likely what appeared to be longer than 15 minutes after dBASED left, partly because the late comers (myself and Dogbreathe) wanted to drink a beer (or two). We then all headed straight up the hill following a poorly marked trail, this already looked like hell,  as I hate hills. My only solace was that of being under the redwood trees, and having a cold beer in hand. Hashshitvest went to Dogbreathe, I don’t need to tell why do I? This trail sucked from thr get-go, I let the FRB’s figure out the checks, Dogbreathe ran to 2 falses, and still managed to catch the hare! This trail became one fucked up loop. There was a newer geocache up on the ridge I had to get, so I stayed behind knowing I had the safety of my headlamp, as darkness grew near and the pack was gone. Trail was relatively short at 2.2 miles but the downhill and sudden  loss of light was what slowed us down, well me anyway. I was deep in the forest with blackness covering me, seeing Nipple butts glowing eyes in the distance when he backed tracked to make sure I was ok was the only light out. dBASED failed to have beer check on the ‘mountain’ instead making us go thru hell and back to enjoy a cold one.  Finally the back parking lot came into view, thanks to backtrackers Broke bench and Dogbreathe’s final decent company. Beer check was on a bridge to nowhere. Religion was back at the start. RA=Accuprick, can’t recall beer fairy? Down down’s 1.)=Broke Bench for questioning RA, 2.)= Dogbreathe for being Dogbreathe oh and wearing hashshitvest, 3.) Thmp-Thmp for lost harriettes, 4.)=blood on trail Accuprick, 5.)=Thmp-Thmp again for his 50th Hash run patch! and to his ‘virgins’ never sticking to hashing, 6.) dBASED for laying (t)his shittiest trail ever, he layed like 5 flour marks then a false and or a YBF, I didn’t fall for it, 7.)=Dogbreathe and Deep stroke for catching the hare, they stated ‘ we ran into this old lady and then suddenly realized it was dBASED, LOL! and the hare again….

Ok see you wanker’s at next hash!

Occasional Rapist


Hash Trash 650

By Princess Di(arrhea)

1st Quarter

People, I could be enjoying some dill pickle flavored sunflower seeds watching a BASEBALL game right now, but noooo. Instead I’m going to type Thursday’s tales from the football trail like a good little sports reporter. And instead of snapping your jock strap and snatching your guacamole last Thursday as we kicked off football season, I put on my grandpa’s 49er sweatshirt and made like a Faithful. After all, staying on the good side of our Niner fan hare, Occasional Rapist, probably scored us all a few points.

At El Jardin’s cantina, the usual suspects reunited with kennelmates who’ve been away doing other junk. Dude, Where’s My Trail? was still recuperating from a brutal massage he’d survived in San Luis Obispo. AccuPrick yammered about his recent trip to Boston where he enjoyed a wedding, a “raw bah at the hahbah”, and a whole skiff of beer. We were happy to see Phyllis Driller make another showing, even though she made no bones about only coming for the $4 margaritas.

Hugh Heifer couldn’t fake the football love, so she sported A’s gear. Thmp-Thmp wore tie-dye just to be a contrary dirty hippie. Dude wore a Hawaiian shirt that he raided straight outta Magnum PI’s closet. However, most of the pack was geared up for the either the gridiron or the bleachers. We were really hoping somebody would come as a cheerleader (yes, we’re looking at you, dBASED). Harriettes in eye black were bringing us a special kind of Fantasy Football.

Right before trail kickoff, Occasional Rapist drafted Just Linda and Wicked Retahted for Team Hare. They busted out onto the trail like tipsy quarterbacks. At circle up, the pack’s team should’ve been named the 4.9 Whiners. dBASED got screwed with the wearing the hashit, but he was cool with it because there are no marital aids nor a genuine ball and chain hanging from it…yet. Just wait until the Thursday after his bachelor party!

2nd Quarter

The 4.9 Whiners stepped out onto the field and cut left down Capitola Rd. A sheriff’s car was waiting for us at the next check at Jose Ave. They must’ve been on to us, so we charged ahead and lost ‘em in the park. We also lost ourselves as trail seemed to drop off in there. AccuPrick got us back on track and across the bridge to El Dorado. dBASED went on left and nobody wanted to follow him, but he was indeed actually on trail (for once) and somehow got us to go along with him. It was a right turn back on Capitola Rd. and a left ahead on 16th Ave. We pounded neighborhood asphalt for a while and made it to the check at the animal shelter. Down 7th Ave., some true trail marks led us into Harbor High.

We didn’t want to disturb the football team’s practice, but TIMMY!!! and Puff wouldn’t have minded catching some of the cheerleader practice. You know, just to learn some new cheers to hasherize. …riiiight… At any rate, we were hoping trail would head towards the football field so we could try to tickle tackle Team Hare. We didn’t go near the field, just up the hill to La Fonda instead. We were lucky trail went left instead of right because the bridge is out. That could’ve ended badly. We headed downhill on sidewalk and then worked our tight ends uphill through woodsy shiggy. At the hilltop Adult School, we were instructed by a beer near mark.


Beer check was a tailgater at the end of Park Way. Beers were popped and next thing ya know, Easy Cheese was squirting on Cheesy Poofs. Deep Stroke asked the big question of the night: “why doesn’t guacamole come in a can?” I think we now know where Deep Stroke’s next fortune will be coming from. Our tailgater was in a perfect location…except for the barking dogs and voracious West Nile virus mosquitos. We were quickly pestered into moving down field.

3rd Quarter

Occasional Rapist’s mom, Coach Beverly, was our kind religion hostess nary a block away. I’d rather hang out in her lovely back yard than at a football field any day. We all settled in and made ourselves at home as Hugh Heifer kicked up her bum leg and Phyllis took a seat on the couch to watch some DNC. And I thought she was just in this game for the margaritas.

Ref AccuPrick gave us a warning that he was on vacation again. BEWARE! Shit’s gonna get sloppy. He crowned Deep Stroke beer fairy but she was too busy trying to unwrap a meat stick to be bothered. (I never thought I would type those words.) Once the tasty beefiness was unsheathed, Deep Stroke offered it up to all who came near it only to be left wondering, “why does everyone reject my meat stick??” Each and every down down beer was then defiled with a de-foaming swizzle by the terrible meat stick.

Dude got questioned on trail by the po-po because he fit the profile of a guy they were on the lookout for who was “smoking weed, yelling at cars and wearing a Hawaiian shirt” Yes, he does indeed fit the profile…but the Dude abides so they let him go. Twat Did You Say? was put in the game, looking all cute in her fancy work duds, after missing trail. Meat stick swizzle for T-Dub!! Just Linda got a hare patch and a new hash name should be getting sewn on her jersey soon. 3/3 of Team Hare got busted for wearing hats during their down down. PENALTY!

4th Quarter

On on on was back at El Jardin. I swear I saw the hostess’s lips say, “oh dear god, they’re BACK??” Maybe we should’ve tailgated in the parking lot instead of forcing  their kind staff into pouring us more cerveza at the two-minute warning. El Jardin was more than ready for us wind down our game and post the final score:

Team Hare – 3/3 beers

4.9 Whiners –  $4 margarita

Everybody wins!!!


dBASED will be haring next week’s trail beginning at Lodato Park in Scotts Valley. You have been advised to bring a flashlight…and maybe some kind of wetness protection. I’m thinking Right Guard.





Hash 649

by Princess Di(arrhea)

Hashers from SLV and beyond met up at Monty’s Log Cabin to give the Labor Day weekend an early kickoff. Speaking of kickoff, it was an unusually tough time prodding the kennel out the door of the cozy cabin to do trail. Some were sidelined due to previous beer-related incidents. Some just had a whole lotta drinkin’ to do. Maybe it was comfy barstools? Anyhoo…

Hash 649 brought us the first signs of autumn. It was kinda cold out, we brought flashlights and there’s a pumpkin patch in old Monty’s yard. I called it a ghetto pumpkin patch, but was corrected right quick by Hugh Heifer, “it’s a redneck pumpkin patch.”

It’s The Great Redneck Pumpkin, y’all!

The drinkin’ was getting off to a good start with TIMMY!!! and his gibson. ‘Round these parts, they must not know that he is not to be trusted with a martini glass. This time he managed not to drop it in the dirt. Before we knew it, we were all getting a good buzz on, which is always a good idea when you know religion is going to be held at a church. Deep Stroke, our harriette, blessed us all and scurried off in a heavenly cloud of pink dust. Halleloo!

Thmp-Thmp’s chalk talk teaches us that 1 gross = 1 buttload

About half of the kennel saddled up and hit the trail. We headed pretty much directly to the Henry Cowell entrance and cut right following the park’s trail along the creek. Virgin Amy was soon hitting her first shiggy with mucho gusto. She gamely slid down a marked steep sandy embankment and clawed her way back up like a natural. TIMMY!!! and Hairy Fuck 2.5 didn’t fall for that diversion and kept moving on. Further ahead, Puff the Magic Drag Queen was constantly blowing his whistle. He was definitely on the right track because an Olde English 40 oz. 8-ball check was just ahead. And there it was–on a picnic table, in the woods, sitting next to a paperback book. Felton keeps it real, yo. Virgin Jon polished off the bottle like a good chugging DFL should while scoffing at the lightweight swigs of his predecessors.

Refreshed and back on trail, the pack continued to wind through the park’s dirt paths. The checks were mercifully simple but the pink flour got a bit dicey through some ivy-carpeted shiggy. It didn’t take long for Puff to start blowing his whistle like a crazy train again, scaring off deer and pissing off hippies. I was so distracted a mountain woman chiding us for noise making, we were lucky Hairy Fuck saw the true trail arrow that showed our way into Roaring Camp. Flour led us down the railroad tracks and through a maintenance yard.

Puff’s sultry FLASHdance

Amid some confusion and chaos as we exited the park, hare Deep Stroke dove into a patch of poison oak to avoid being snared by Phyllis Driller. The chase continued through mountain neighborhoods as we dodged rural traffic like shifty ‘possums. Lord, were we happy to finally see the beer near mark! Then trail just kept going. And going. Past the Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall construction site, past welcoming-looking driveways, past a few party porches…what gives?

We were suddenly at religion at St. John’s Catholic Church.

As we shrugged off the missing beer check and pillaged the beer cooler in the parking lot, churchgoers started to arrive at the parish to do their do-gooder stuff that they do. Banana kindly asked if we could stay. As long as things were kept to a dull roar, the answer was yes. !!!SUCKERS!!! The party carried on as we moved to the other end of the parking lot.

Banana disallowed “frat rules” as he RA’d (I suppose we played “church rules” instead?) and Puff was our magical beer fairy. Zippercised and Wheaton Whacker, our visitors who drove ALL DAMN DAY direct from Seattle, managed to make it to our little hashlet despite being pulled over by the fuzz. They brought a few nifty little songs along with them, too. That’s just one of the benefits of going to hash choir practice. Yes, they really have that kind of thing in Rain City. It was like the harmonizing hash voices of angels were paying us a visit.

Banana did a round of salutes to half-minds near and dear to his beer-drowned heart. TIMMY!!!, Phyllis Driller and Get Up and Run Bitch all got a special “I love you, man.” Phyllis should’ve down downed for missing catching the hare, but she couldn’t manage to snare a beer, either. Poor Virgin Jon’s joke was jeered and Virgin Amy’s joke was wildly cheered: “Knock, knock. Who’s there? YOUR MOTHER’S A WHORE!” That’s a pretty clean joke for us, but as Get Up and Run Bitch said, “we’re being nice to the church.” We also kept the songs a tiny bit less less foul.

Come to find out the beer check was supposed to have been at the JW construction site, but there was too much action there. I’m glad we’d kept on going. St. John’s church was quite tolerant of us degenerates. And for that, let us pray…