Hash 760: Courtesy Flush Names Himself

Hash 760 of the mighty Surf City Hash House Harriers will be remembered not for the fine trail from the hares Occasional Rapist and Twister Fister, nor the soul-cleansing rousing religion conducted by a voiceless Dung Fu rip, but for the second easiest naming in Surf City H3’s illustrious history of the newly self-named Courtesy Flush.  Not since the infamous 2005 Stupid Pussy naming has a hasher named himself in a moment of pure Half Mind Stupidity in front of the pack.  

“So there I was, taking a dump.  When a homeless man in the next stall screamed out, ‘For the love of God man, how about a Courtesy Flush.’”

Hash consent was duly given by all and there was great mocking, er I mean rejoicing.  Trust me, I saw it.

And thus was named Courtesy Flush.

I, Banana Basher, being a half mind and longtime SCH3er, witnessed both naming incidents.  The only other hasher there last night to have witnessed the infamous Stupid Pussy naming was Puff the Magic Drag Queen – and he looked at me with his old blood-shot eyes and exclaimed in his fake-South Cack-a-lacky hippie southern drawl, “I do declare that boy isn’t right in the head.”

Timmy, who was swilling hash trough beers with his infamous two-handed, pinky out method, muttered, “Or in his bowels from the smell of it.”

There was a distinct non-pleasant odor.

Yet, I must stopped here in my telling of our tale of the Hash 760 and go back to the beginning of our night since I have been instructed by Pinky Cherry Licker that an accurate record of our hash needs to be recorded for posterity.   It is important.  Everything I write down is this trash is the truth, from a certain perspective.  Trust me, I saw it.

But let me digress for a moment.  And since I was half-minded enough to volunteer to write this crap, er I mean Trash, I shall digress.  Truth is a beautiful thing.  I have learned many truths while hashing.  Hashers are always truthful.  Never ever, ever, have I been lied to on trail.  Ever.  Well once – but she did say she was 18…  but I digress again…

As Friedrich Nietzsche states:  “Truth is always subjective to one’s particular perspectives.” This means that there are many possible conceptual schemes, or perspectives in which judgment of truth or value can be made. This is often taken to imply that no way of seeing the world can be taken as definitively “true”, but does not necessarily entail that all perspectives are equally valid.

For half minds:  What you are about to read may or may not have happened.  But you can all trust me, I saw it.  And remember what the Hash Attorneys Johnny Cockring, DuuHHH, and Choka Cola have all advised SCH3; Deny, Deny, Deny.

We begin at the start location; another new hipster beer joint has opened.  This one is called Lupolo Craft Beer House.  It is located on Cathcart Street near Cedar.  It is hip.  It is cool.  It is a place to be seen.  It has huge selection of overpriced beers.  It’s “internet” was down so it was cash only.  The line for beer was long.  Yet there were hashers.  Life was good.  I got a beer.  More hashers arrived.  The rest of the place was freaking out.  The police were called but refused to chase us off.  A baby cried.  A woman screamed.  A man swore off drinking.  All of this happened, I swear it.  Trust me, I saw it.

The hares made promises of a wonderful and easy trail, and then departed.  I knew instantly that it was all a lie since I am an old-time hasher.  Yet there are so many “Justs” that it amused me how gullible hashers can be.  I could see in their gleeful eyes something I never have when I hear hare promises.  The “Justs” had hope.  It was beautiful to behold. I could see their confidence building.  I could see excitement.   They all believed that the trail would be amazing, and that the beer would be free, and there would be sex on trail.  I just love Justs.

I on the other hand saw the empty pint in front of me and despaired.  Hares are LIARS!

I noticed dBASED sneak away before the start, never to be seen on trail and for once it wasn’t because he got lost.  I heard he had to go see his probation officer.

There was no mismanagement paying attention at the start since there was – what?!? Where is mismanagement???  Holy shit, all is lost!!!  No GMs?  No Accurprick?  No Shallow Hole?  No Hugh Heifer?  What the fuck is going on?  No one was timing the hares.

There was panic!  < insert panic noises here with lots of screaming >

Dung Fu Grip arrived, complaining that he had lost his voice, yet I could hear him.  What the fuck was he talking about?  He realized that the SCH3 was in trouble – and he being of beer soaked brain, yelled ON ON.  And all was good in the world as SCH3 circled up.

At circle, Dog Breath appeared in his super hasher cape.  He looked very fast, almost like an athlete.  (Did I hear charges of racism?)  It turns out that DB’s cape was (cough cough) borrowed from a local hash.  Crimes!  It turns out that the stolen flag was from the good hashers in Monterey, CANDH3.  Dog Breath was beaming.  He was bragging.  He was boastful.  He was Dog Breath.

Finger Nips was plotting to steal back the cape.  Trust me, I saw it.

Pack made it to Cedar and Pacific and stopped.  It was another “speedy” start to the trail.  Finally Dung Fu was heard running past the Bus Station yelling ON ON – I thought he lost his voice?  The pack gave chase – and scant markings were found on Pacific (good hares – remember SCH3 – by agreement with the SCPD, we only use chalk on Pacific – never ever flour – we don’t need another HAZMAT incident.)

We ran past lots of great places to have a beer on Pacific.  Fap Jack tried to enter a few of them but Pink Cherry Licker yanked his chain back on true trail.  At the corner of Pacific and Laurel, check mark sent the now running pack towards Kaiser Arena, or as Electric Labia Land calls it, “Hunky Monkey Auditorium; her one stop shopping place for tall sex meat.”

Down Laurel Street Extension there was a check mark at the homeless Beach Hill staircase, and you know one hare took it up and then falsed trailed the pack.  True trail headed along the levy, past Miguel, the ever present drug dealer.  Slownad stopped to check out what he was selling.  Trust me, I saw it.

Now into the Beach Flats, and I became scared.  I saw a “Puff is a Tosser” chalk message.  I saw true trail arrow.  I also lost the fast front running bastards.  I also lost the middle of the pack and the back of the pack.  I did find true trail on Second Street headed uphill – of course – past the Bowling Alley and quickly towards the tourist traffic on Front Street and up Beach Hill.  Amazing how we always were going uphill.  This trail reminded me of a freaking Escher drawing.  But let me digress for a moment while I catch my fucking breath.

Back in Vietnam…  I was hashing through the OP Slave-Labor Factory, when I saw Puff the Magic Dragon Queen pull up in his VW Hippie Candy Wagon.  I watched the old bastard make a deal for OP Shorts.  It turns out that he sold his soul to the devil to have an endless supply of his infamous fashion mistakes.  Trust me, I saw it.

But back to trail…

The pack dodged cars, tourists, and homeless.  Once up Beach Hill, the pack found marking leading us along West Cliff Drive which was lovely at that time of the night.  The hares being nice for once had the beer check at the old cliff bathrooms.  Canadian Penny Slut was telling the “Justs” that free sex was further along on trail.  You can never trust her.

At beer check, Twister Fister told everyone about his sex-capades at the old bath house.  Puff told everyone about his two times – YUCKY!!! –  Lots of retching soon followed.  Trust me, I saw it.

Being that this trail was an A to B, the pack was told to find its way back near Kaiser Arena.  Electric Labia Land joyfully skipped off to B.  She loves Hunky Monkey Auditorium; her one stop shopping place for tall sex meat.  Trust me, I saw it.

Arriving at religion, the pack was worried.  No Hugh Heifer.  She had broken herself.  Of course the pack wasn’t concerned about her health; they were worried about the lack of religion beer.  But the ever amazing Ms. Heifer despite her injuries appeared in her ever trusty beer wagon.  There was much rejoicing.

Religion was conducted by the voiceless Gung Fu Grip.  You would think the pack would take pity on him.  It didn’t.  Trust me, I saw it.

Before he could start, a hasher on his fifth hash appeared in circle and joyfully retold his tale of the trail.  “So there I was, taking a dump.  When a homeless man in the next stall screamed out, ‘For the love of God man, how about a Courtesy Flush,’” and thus was named said hasher.

Unfortunately another hasher on her fifth hash wasn’t so lucky in her naming, or as I see it, she wasn’t a half mind like Courtesy Flush.  Just Lori’s naming had to be tabled.  Hint:  She is a triathlete with shaved pubs, red hair, and likes to be on top.  She also can walk on water and pisses beer.  She promises sex to all hasher – with her husband.  Trust me, I heard her say it.

I would record every crime but I couldn’t hear the hare.  I did see lots of new hashers talking way too much in circle.  Hash disrespect.  Trust me, I saw it.

Next trail announcement was made by Pink Cherry Licker.  She doesn’t know where it will start but Pirate Costumes are a must.  Timmy announced that he is dressing as a Somali Pirate.  Bacon Queef said she is dressing as a Bacon Pirate.  Occasional stated that she will be dressing dBASED as a pretty pretty princess pirate because he loves to wear pink.

Twisted Fister begged hashers to step up to hare.  Sign up today ya bastards!

ON ON ON was at Saturn Café.

Submitted by Banana Basher, Trust me, I saw it.


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