Monthly Archives: January 2013

Hash Trash # 670 on January 24, 2013

Hash Trash # 670 on January 24, 2013

This week the pack traveled to Aptos to Bangkok West Thai Restaurant.   Luckily the rain finally stopped and it wasn’t a cold night.   Thmp-Thmp had a cooler of beer in his car and as hashers arrived, they chose to hang out in the parking lot, rather than go inside the restaurant.  I never turn down free beer, so I joined the parking lot crowd.  Thmp-Thmp brought Virgin Ivan.  He said he was trying to start running again.  You know the stupid New Year’s Resolution thing.   Good choice to pick the hash to train for a half marathon!   Pussy Galore made the trek all the way from Boulder Creek, and brought Great Barrier Queef and Virgin Leigh with her.

Whose cockamamie idea was it to lay a super shiggy trail in the dark on a wet night?  If you guessed dBASED, you would be right.  When his Co-Hare Occasional Rapist asked if they should modify their trail due to the wet conditions, he emphatically stated “No”.  Now I know why Puff calls him E-Vile and Satan!   The pack left the parking lot and initially headed right down Cabrillo College Drive (because we saw the hares go in that direction), didn’t find flour so we turned around.  There was a check on the corner of Cabrillo College drive and Rosemarie Ct.  On On was called and everyone headed up Rosemarie Ct.  It was about this time that we lost Great Barrier Queef and Virgin Leigh.  They turned around and went back to the bar.  Pussy Galore headed straight for the bar.  She said she purposely avoids all dBASED trails.

The trail headed into the woods.  It was wet and slippery and muddy, and full of poison oak.   We had to go down a steep ravine and cross a small creek, either by walking across a huge log, or by walking across the creek.  A few hashers tried the log, but then realized that it was too slippery and went through the creek.  Getting across the creek wasn’t a problem, but trying to get up the muddy hill on the other side was another story.  Just Sarah kept sliding down the hill and fell in the mud.  Welcome to the hash!  Once the pack got to the other side, we lost trail.  Schlong Division finally spotted a brown chalk arrow on a tree.  The woods connected to Cabrillo College.  The trail meandered around Cabrillo College campus, then up Perimeter Road, and into the trails in back of the college.  It was really dark in the woods and he trail seemed like it went on forever.  I didn’t think we would ever get out of there.  At least there were no wild animals and we found a bottle of liquor!  At one point there was a confusing check at an intersection and the whole pack was lost (again).   Slonad assured us that he knew where we were and would get us back to civilization before daylight.   Hashers were getting pretty hungry and thirsty too!  Turned out that Dog breath bypassed a check and thought it was a false trail and turned around.  Just when it seemed hopeless, someone yelled On On and we were back on trail.   We finally got back to a paved road, and headed down hill on Haas Road.  Trail went back through Cabrillo Campus.  Beer check was in the woods near Cabrillo College Drive and around the corner from Bangkok West.  Someone who tracked trail said it was 4.25 miles, which is classified as a death march in Surf City H3.

Religion was in the back parking lot of Bangkok West.  There was a strong stench of sewage in the air, adding to the ambiance.  Accuprick was RA.  Slonad was Beer Fairy.  After toasting the Beer Fairy, we celebrated Deep Stroke’s 50th hash and Pussy Galore’s 300th Surf City hash!  Get a life!  Next, virgins were called up.  Virgin Ivan-  Thum-Thmp made him come.  Virgin Leigh (Great Barrier Queef’s Son) said Pussy Galore made him come.  Lucky her!  Both virgins told jokes.  LAME!  There were multiple crimes on trail (as usual).  Hugh ratted out TIMMY!! for leaving his cell phone in the bar.  Luckily Hugh found it.  Dog Breath was punished for being a dumb ass.  He bypassed a check and got everybody lost in the woods.   Accuprick snared the Hare.  He was so slow that he caught the hares toward the end of trail.  Shiny Snail Trail was not present, but ranted her disgust and hatred toward dBASED in a series of text messages to Accuprick.  Back sliders- Butt Balls and Great Barrier Queef were chastised.  Deep stroke was called up for multiple down downs, too many to count and reasons that were irrelevant.  She was FRB this week.  So glad she finally won!  Cumcherto drank, but not sure why.  Schlong Division was saluted for his heroism.  He found the brown chalk on the brown tree.  Lesson to all:  USE WHITE CHALK IN THE DARK!  You can’t fucking see darker colors.  And last but not least, the Hares………………..…… 

Deep Stroke closed out the hash with a soulful rendition of Swing Low.  May the hash go in peace!

See all you wankers this Thursday at Burger.  on Mission St in Santa Cruz for another episode of Surf City drunken escapades.

On On,

Shallow Hole

Hash Six-69:From Pleasure Point to pleasureless and pointless

Welcome Wankers!

To the six-hundred and sixth-ninth installation of the Surf City Hash Trash.

The main thrust of this Trash will be an emphasis on the word “Trash” as in Trashy Trail or Trailer Trash Hares. See a discernible pattern emerging here? Yes, it’s Trash and in all variations thereof.

I would assign a number to the errors perpetrated by our lackluster hare-pair, that being Shallow Hole and Princess Di(arrhea) but there’s a limit to everything, even man’s numbering system.

We’ll begin this foray into frivolity at Point A, the Castaways. We’ll refer to our hares as “Outcasts” while we’re at the Castaways, mainly because they should be “cast out” with the rest of the Trash. While the accoutrements of this ancient watering hole have been improved over the years, Puff’s first visit to the den of iniquity was the summer of ’75, I cannot boast the same of the clientele. A number of the denizens here within physically resemble people I saw here in the mid to late 70’s. They obviously being the result of extramarital events most likely precipitated by excessive consumption of alcoholic beverages. Excuse me while I digress but that’s the only good thing about Deep Stroke: We do not have to worry about her spawning no matter how polluted she gets.

The pool table within the claustrophobic confines of this concrete coffin may well be the center of social life. I overheard a guy say, If I win this game, I can go for a week without working! That would be a good thing though because considering how much his hands were shaking, the only job he could get would be as a paint mixing machine or a margarita maker. And THIS is the place our outcasts/hares deemed a good place to bring us. I feel certain there’s an undercover cop car in the parking lot that takes pictures of everyone that enters this dark den knowing sooner or later all patrons will be guilty of some kind of crime.

Instructions of Trail lasted longer than most Banana Basher trails have. These two chicks clucked endlessly, singing the praises of a trail that did not of yet even exist. We were told there would be an opportunity to “Stop & Shop” on trail, the merchandise already having been purchased by the hares. Stay tuned for what THIS proved to be. I watched with fascination, and with more than a little revulsion, as two nice young ladies were transformed into hell-shrieking harriettes. Worse yet, they now envision themselves as accomplished hares. Sadly, the real victims here are their followers-US!!! My Little Bony was seen nodding off at the bar, Wicked Retahted returned to his table and Cuff My Muff threatened them with bodily injury if they didn’t leave so finally they acquiesced and headed on-out. Normal life resumed at the Castaways.

After the passage of the time necessary to recuperate from the cryptic Instructions of Trail, GM TIMMY! signaled the school to swim into the parking lot for circleup. (Now the cops can get REALLY good pictures of us) Here is the list of this week’s merry members of this madness: Thmp-Thmp, Cuff My Muff, Wicked Retahted, Hugh Heifer, Rowdy, TIMMY!, Accuprick, Dog Breath, Cumcerto, Deep Stroke, My Little Bony, Broke Bench Mountain; Justs: Jeanne, Sarah; Virgins: Jake, Ray, Brian and your Acting Scribe, Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Somewhere along trail, most likely after the difficult part was over, Six of Nine showed up. We were also joined by four four-legged hounds.

Okay, the stage is set for another tragic play in the life of the Surf City Hash House Harriers. I will not complicate this Trash with any facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end result I desire. It is with this motive in mind I will now recount the events that comprise Trail Six-69. What follows is a true accounting even if it’s not the events that actually occurred.

On-out was the typical lackadaisical affair that pleases Surf City. We hoofed it through the parking lot towards 38th Avenue but turned sharply on-right out to Portola. At Portola, we were directed to on-left. Once 38th was reached, we were told to inhibit the flow of evening traffic for 3 or 4 minutes while the herd slowly migrated across the street and turned on-left. A block later, we saw a written communique from the hares: Stop & Shop!        So the pack entered a long-standing, if not well-respected, Santa Cruz institution………

          Inside, the covey was offered a box of prepaid merchandise. Most of this stuff looked as if the hares found it on a nearby beach washed onshore from the Japanese earthquake and resulting tsunami in 2011. Some of the harriettes appreciated the penis-shaped whistles though I took note of the fact Deep Stroke was seen stepping on them and busting their balls. Within minutes though the proprietor recognized us as hashers and said, I’ve had a run-in with you jokers before; please get-the-hell outta here, you’re bad for business! And out the door we went.

On-right back on Portola and we began a long jaunt crossing 41st Avenue and making an on-right onto Adrienne Way, on-left onto Court Drive followed by a quick on-left onto Opal Cliff Drive. Soon we passed the entrance to no-longer-secret Privates beach. As I passed by with Broke Bench Mountain and his always-starving dog, Porter, Broke Bench began recounting his younger days, probably well before he was of legal drinking age. He had a friend that lived on Opal Cliff and they would secure alcohol and inner tubes and float off Privates eyeballing chicks, probably masturbating, and drinking; not to mention inviting attacks from any passing Great Whites. As Just Jeanne began to catch up with us, I took off as I did not wish Jeanne to think I am (or ever was) anything like Broke Bench.

Eventually trail junctioned back with Portola, which is now so far-the-hell from Santa Cruz it has changed names to Cliff Drive.  Trail proceeded on-down Cliff which would soon dump us into the realm of the cops in Capitola, colloquially renamed Cop-itola by the hash. But wait, here’s a tragic development. Flour was found on-right on-down a long, steep staircase leading to the edge of Monterey Bay. Dragging our sorry soles (souls?) on-left we passed under the Capitola Wharf and found…

Bum Wine Check!

I know, I know. This was advertised as sort of a Piss ‘n Booths Memorial Revival Hash but this may have been carrying things too far. An occurrence at Frenchy’s led to PnB’s renaming but I think that was as far as these hares needed to carry this theme. Next they’ll having us hashing for friggin’ miles on the damn railroad tracks!!

Our business here concluded, we moved further along the beach, hopped a wall onto private property and began a brief visit to the first condominiums in California, Venetian. Now however, they’ve been bought by some large corporation and and now known as the Capitola Venetian Hotel. Emerging back onto Cliff Drive, a hare arrow pointed the pod directly across the street but told us nothing after that. Accuprick and Puff, hoping to turn in the direction of home, headed on-left and on-up Wharf Road. They soon sounded on-one. After that though, they were done for; on-on was soon heard across Soquel Creek and on-left proceeding up the locals-only path beside the creek towards the trail trestle. Accuprick and Puff turned back. As Puff neared the underside of the trestle, he heard the on-on far above him, hashers were crossing back over the river using the trestle. Accuprick was lucky, upon seeing this he took the steps on-up from Wharf Road to meet them. Puff had to hoof it yet again across the bridge and use the same steps as Accuprick did.

Once convened on the Santa Cruz side of Soquel Creek, trail made the short but steep on-up onto the locals-only path on the railroad side of the homes fronting on Prospect Avenue. Incidentally, Just Jenna said this trail poses some excellent Peeping Tom opportunities. Once out to Prospect, a hare arrow directed the drove directly across and onto Opal Street. At the intersection with 47th Avenue, I had a bizarre encounter with our newest kennel mate, Rowdy. You may know she was named at one hash, calls another her Mother hash and yet another has she been hashing with recently. Anyway, the the intersection mentioned above was a marked check. When I arrived, Rowdy asked, What’s that? I replied it was a marked check. She said, Oh. While hash marks vary somewhat hash-to-hash, one would believe a check is a check is a check! She then said, At my hash, two lines across trail was a marked check.  I was going to ask her how the hell that worked but then, considering how weird she is, I thought better of it and just moved on with my life.

At 45th, a hare arrow turned the troops on-left and a block later dumped the congregation into the dark depths of Jade Street Park. Trail became problematic for the next 200 yards. Flour was found on the lawn, chalk was haphazardly strewn onto ball courts, walkways, fences and trees. Eventually we found ourselves face-to-face with…….       Yep, the friggin’ railroad tracks. Just as I feared. An on-right onto the tracks move us all the way to 41st Avenue, or, technically, just a few feet shy of 41st. An on-left into an office/apartment complex at first appeared to be a circle jerk but turned out to be the location of Deep Stroke’s current flop as well as Liquor Check. Yep, the very back of this complex is where Deep Stroke is parking her rambling wreck and it saw double duty as Liquor Check this night as well. When Deep Stroke asked me if I’d like sex on the beach, my first inclination was to tell her sex ANYWHERE at my age is desirable, though practically impossible, but then, considering who was asking me, I fear what that means with someone like her so I declined her offer. She then held up a plastic jug, how classy, that looked like it originally held raw goat’s milk or possibly industrial strength rat poison and said, THIS kind of sex on the beach, Puff. I reluctantly took a hit and again, then moved on with my life.

After Liquor Check, Rowdy, Deep Stroke, Just Jenna and Puff moved out, crossed the tracks and found trail on-left onto Melton Street followed by an on-left onto 38th Avenue. Oh, boy! We’re finally headed in the direction of home! The spots for Beer Check are thinning out considerably, I began to fear the hare-pair had something evil in mind. My suspicions were soon confirmed as we took an on-right in the dark and smelly alley behind the strip mall containing, among other useless places, the Castaways. Sure enough, at the end farthermost from 38th, in an area as much someone’s front yard as an alley, Beer Check was finally encountered. This was a thankfully brief affair as we had a substantial amount of ground to cover to convene Religion at Wicked Retahted’s abode many blocks away on 30th Avenue.

The above tasks completed, Accuprick called to order the six-hundred and 69th meeting of the Surf City Hash House Harriers. Here’s a list of the criminal activities that transpired this week.

My Little Bony was (foolishly) appointed Beer Fairy. As is Bony’s wont, he did more drinkin’ that pourin’!

Cuff My Muff, Virgin Jake, Wicked Retahted and Six of Nine were punished for missing Beer Check.

Six of Nine spent more time at the altar for driving all the way here rather than attending the Gypsies H3 hash up in the City.

TIMMY! and Just Sarah were busted for using each other’s mortal names on trail.

Deep Stroke led the litter in a hash song she’s wanted to do every since first invading Surf City: Long black sausage. None of which shall I spit back up for you here. Ask her, she probably like to do it again for you. (to you?)

There were numerous other crimes, real or imagined, that garnered attention from the RA but I lost interest after Deep Stroke’s rude ditty about a poor little cat. Religion ran so long that both on-on-on pizza locations were closed but I heard a rumor Cuff My Muff sweet-talked a teenage boy into giving her some. Pizza I meant, what was the first thing that came into YOUR little half-mind?!?

And this brings to a close yet another sad chapter in Surf City’s less-than-illustrious history. There will be no books ever written about us other than a few brief references in the police log, no national (or even local) holidays. Even the charities to which we donate each year would prefer not to acknowledge they accept money from us.

Control of your computer will now be returned to you.

By Special Appointment of His Royal Majesty “G”, this Hash Trash has been compiled and printed by permission of no on other that the author at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the twenty-first day on January in the year of our Hash Two-thousand thirteen.


Puff the Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3

Acting Scribe


Trash from the Tropics #668

We’ve all been freezing our nipples off with the latest cold snap, right? Cuff My Muff’s sign on the door beckoned the pack to enter Pono Grill and The Reef Bar. It was just the first of many of our hare’s odd scribbles of the night. Luckily, this one was a good sign. Inside Pono was warm, drinks were flowing and there was a Cubano band doing their thing and making us all do a little cha cha. Hugh Heifer sipped her peach vodka and went to “hang with the cool kids” like she was at luau for cheerleaders. The party got into full swing when little Shallow Hole arrived and Banana Basher picked her up and gave her a spin while My Little Bony cheered him on. TIMMY!!! barely managed to not get his martini glass kicked out of his hand. I shit you not. Wicked Retahted just keeps on living up to his name. This week he was bragging to Deep Stroke about the new shoes he was wearing. We know Deep Stroke loves her Chelada clam beer, so let’s hope he’ll like his filet o’ sole beer when he drinks from that new shoe!

Thmp-Thmp greeted Virgin Jeanne from and walked her over to chalk talk. She had no idea what she was in for, so she’d brought two dogs along to her first hash for extra protection. Too bad dogs can’t really save you from the real threats: shitty beer and frostbite. Before we knew it, we were all kicked off the island. Time had come to circle up outside and shiver. Puff the Magic Drag Queen was braving the cold like a man bitch by foregoing the usual ponytail and wearing his luscious lad locks like a scarf.

The first check at the corner of Union St. and Center St. was a bit of a stumper, but soon enough the pack was trotting on trail past the firehouse and turning up Walnut St. There was another check quandary awaiting us at the YWCA, then it was up Chestnut St. to the stairs that lead to upper Locust St. The liquor check at the top of the stairs had us all scrounging in the ivy for the loot. Dog Breath and Schlong Division were pulling all kinds of empty bottles out of the foliage. Finally…a full bottle! Sweet Malibu rum gave our night another little taste of the tropics.

Back on trail, we headed to Mission St. where a cryptic trail marker across from Mission Hill Middle School hinted that we should jaywalk. Gawd, I hope our mom does not read this! Cumcerto and I spent our snot-nosed kid years on the Westside with our mom always warning us to NEVER EVER go near Mission St. Those were the days of yore when kids roamed the neighborhood and played outside—pretty much what us hashers do now, except sans beer (perish the thought). Like jumping in and out of a crazy double dutch jump rope session, we all scrambled across Mission St. and hopped out alive on the other side. Trail then cut down an alley next to the school that also serves as an underground railroad of sorts for student escapees from Mission Hill “Penitentiary”. Students have been known to sneak out through a hole in the fence there to buy candy at the gas station across Mission St. (we never did this, Mom–we’ve just heard stories). 😉

 Trail ascended to a check at High St. and everyone was a little nervous that we were gonna be upward bound. Luckily, Hare Cuff was merciful and led us on right downhill. At the end of High St. was a pretty bullshit double arrow trail mark that must’ve meant “this-a-way or that-a-way???” Doggie and I headed this-a-way toward Harvey West and soon came across another mysterious mark that said “DBS”. We turned around, shrugged it off and followed the pack that-a-way instead across the pedestrian bridge to Holy Cross. Next stop was beer check in the Sash Mill neighborhood. There was a very nice selection of Kona beers, but we were kinda hoping for for a flaming volcano bowl to cozy up to. The frosty beers only made the night frostier, so we got moving again and headed to religion at the parking garage where the Silver Bullet once stood (R.I.P).

Deep Stroke was our RA and Thmp-Thmp was our beer fairy. There were no analversaries to celebrate this week, but there were plenty of other reasons to drink crap beer. Backsliders Banana and Mrs. Groper were the first to have the honors. Soon enough, Wicked was busted for bragging about his new shoes but he refused to drink out of them because they were too clean. Banana and his own stinky shoe came to the rescue! Wicked chugged out of it like a champ. Virgin Jeanne told a joke that started, “why did the hashers cross Mission St.?” and had a clean punch line. It’s OK, she’ll learn… Doggie, most of the pack, and I got a lesson of our own when everybody who didn’t know what “DBS” meant had to drink. Apparently, it’s another version of YBF that means Don’t Be Stupid, coined by former SCH3 hasher Ho Chi Min Clitty.

We had at least four dogs at religion and a couple of ‘em started getting a little testy with each other. Well, except for portly Porter who was too busy begging Puff for treats to be bothered with the fracas. Broke Bench Mountain has been staying out of trouble lately, too ‘cause he’s clean livin’! …for now. It was revealed that Just Sarah couldn’t figure out how to open her beer at beer check because she’s never had a beer without a twist-off before. TIMMY!!! was punished for never hooking his adult kid up with a decent beer. Schlong had the most valid trail complaint this week: not enough boobs. Because it was nipple-shatteringly cold! The hare drank, we drank to the hare, and we quickly scattered to the warmth of El Palomar Taco Bar for on on on. Puff was foolish enough to announce he had an open tab. I’m pretty sure a few gallons of margaritas made their way to his bill.

Next hash will be sexxxy #669! See you at Castaways in Pleasure Point. Take it sleazy, wankers!

Hash Trash 666’s……

We survived the end of the world, but then came hash 666….’s, biblical prophecy cites that end of the world is marked by antichrist whose number is 666…hindu prophecy reveals that the end of the world is marked by Kali yuga, which in its final stages of the kali yuga the world will disolve and formed again by the time it happens, all the people in world will know the real truth about the universe and themselves, yet they will be helpless to save themselves!! This sums up hash 666…we gathered at the chicken coop known as Henfling’s, Hash Six-Six-Six

this is the hare’s second home.  Pussy Galore was her co-hare, actually another excuse for her not to run hash trail. As I settled down for a drink, I caught up with Pussy Galore, whom apparently is making plans to start a crop of Alpaca at her farm. We also had 3 virgins, Virgin Eric (Hugh made him cum), Virgin Maggie and JP (Twat made them both cum).  Backslider Just Zach decided to return, as did Sunday Semen, and Nice Butt… (ok she lives in New Zealand now and her home kennel is in the UAE). Nice Butt….brought her current pimp Navigator, both visiting her mom from  Christchurch, New Zealand.  Trail had us run criss crossing Hwy 9 into neighborhoods, many which we’re still decorated with christmas light’s.  The highlight was the first check, which had us at a Greek orthodox  temple with a shiny gold roof temple, and a truck loaded with Jell-o Shots! Red and spicy! We then had to still run almost another 2 miles to beer check, total miles ~2.5 miles to beer check, we all devored  huge magnum’s of Anchor Steam’s New Years Celebration, right on Hugh! We then relived trail back to Hugh’s humble abode. I got to meet her son briefly (he was glued to the computer inside). I think Hugh took pleasure in starving us from not providing the chip trough for a good 30 minutes! RA Accuprick and his beer (mistress) fairy Cuff my Muff tortured us with many down down accusations, first up, Cuff for being BMF, the Analversaries=Twat did you say got her 25th hatch patch!, Hugh got 250!! get a life get a life get a life life life…… Navigator from New Zealand, Nice Butt..for relocating there to Garden City, Christchurch,  Just Zack (virgin backslider), then TIMMY! for not having uttered not one word of a song when asked, then the virgin’s: Eric told a sick mom joke, JP (Jon Pierre) showed us his “lost gum” I missed that one, it was too dark, and we viewed Virgin Maggie’s (whom loves Ohio) bumm tattoo of the Brown’s university logo. Dog Breath and Accu got blamed by dBASED for cutting the fence at jell-o shot check like dumb asses, they all drank. We shall find out what happened at PG’s house for her last Sat. night potluck tequilla fest. she was announcing at the hash, apparently she was celebrating her husband being out of town:)….and the hares…..

Hash Six-Six-Six

See you all wanker’s tonight at Hash 667 At Burger.!

Occasional Rapist


Hash Trash # 667 on January 3, 2013

Happy New Year Surf City H3!  Let’s hope 2013 is a year of good times, healthy livers and peace on earth.

For the first hash of the year, our Hares Princess Di (arrhea) and Thmp-Thmp summoned the pack to Burger.   This was Surf City’s first visit to this location.  Great beer selection!  They even had a beer named especially for me called Shallow Grave.   It was a delightful porter with the hint of chocolate.  Yum!  I should try to sue for royalties, or at least free samples!

We had 2 Virgins this week.   Virgin Sarah, daughter of or GM TIMMY!  Not sure why it took so long for her to show up at the hash.   Broke Bench Mountain brought Virgin Albert.  They arrived late and caught the pack at Beer Check.

We had a few visitors.  Taint Brush and Tonya Hardon came from Silicon Valley H3.  Since dBASED and Occasional Rapist went over the hill to hash with them the previous Saturday, they returned the favor and made the trek to Santa Cruz.  Nice couple who like to make a homemade version of Chelata (clam beer made by Budweiser).

Dog Breath brought a mysterious lady named Rowdy, who said she was from Monterey, but has been hashing in the Middle East for 5 years and her home hash was Zimbabwe.  Guesing her met her on one of his top secret CIA missions.  She seemed a little too subdued for her name.

Just Andrea made an appearance this week.  Apparently it was her 3rd “paying hash”.  We seem to see her a lot, either at the start or at religion, but rarely on trail.  In all fairness, she is still recovering from a foot injury so she couldn’t do trail this week.  She does like to party, so she fits in well with this motley crew of nut jobs.

For the first trail of the year, you would think the Hares would go easy on us.  But no, they made the pack climb on of the biggest hills in town, all the way up to the entrance of UC Santa Cruz.  Damn them!  There was a bottle of Jagermeister near the tennis courts of University Park Terrace Park.   We went through a bunch of apartment complexes, then headed downhill on the Bay Drive walkway.  There was another bottle of booze stashed on the wooded trail.  Beer check was in a little park close to Mission St.

The Hares chose an elementary school parking lot for Religion.   Not surprising, considering the Hares are the adoptive parents of a couple of cats and Psycho Baby (AKA Jugular Jimmy).   Accuprick was RA.  Tonya Hardon was his Beer Fairy, who took the first down down.  She drank again with Taint Brush and Rowdy when the visitors were called up.  Dog Breath was sentenced to drink for lying (not sure what he lied about though).  Deep Stroke drank because she’s still here, claiming RV problems are prohibiting her from leaving town.  I have a hunch there may be foul play involved.  Perhaps Puff the Magic Drag Queen has been using hash cash to pay the mechanics to hold the RV hostage.   Santa Cruz IS paradise don’t you know?  Why the fuck would anyone want to leave here?  Driving cross country sounds like a good idea, but take it from me, I did it 3 times and it’s a LONG ASS trip!  You think there would be all this cool scenery, but it’s not that great.  In the Midwest all you see is fucking corn fields.    In Wyoming, they have the the biggest bugs you’ve ever seen.   And your windshield gets covered in bug guts.  On route 40 driving through New Mexico all you see are signs warning you of Elk in the road next 400 miles!  And have you ever ben to South of the Border (The tourist trap in South Carolina)?  I did see a mirage driving through the Mohave Desert.   But you can see all kinks of shit with a little dose of hallucinogenic.

We celebrated Accuprik’s 100th and Hairy Potter’s 169th Surf City Hash!  Get a life!  Hairy Potter also drank for being a backslider.  dBASED was chastised for “hash man love”.  WTF?  Occasional Rapist and Just Andrea drank for being DFL’s.  Virgin Sarah’s Dad made her come.  Incest is best.  She sang a British version of a hash song.   Virgin Albert told a stupid joke about Dr Pepper.  Choka Cola, drank water and is now serving as her husband’s designated driver.  Their bun in the oven should be arriving shortly.

And the Hares………….. S H I – TTY     TRAIL!

Usually this would be the end, but Accuprick decided to continue to dish out down downs.  Must be old age.  TIMMY!!! drank for being an irresponsible bastard because he lost the Hashit vest.   Wicked Retahted was called up for just being himself.  And then the pack sang a lovely rendition of Happy Birthday to Accuprick.  That bastard is 60 years old!


The road goes on forever and the party never ends………………

Shallow Hole