You’ve survived another Monday and are probably feeling pretty good about yourself. Or maybe you’re just good at feeling yourself. Whatever. Even if both the above are true, you still must survive this visitation with Dung-Fu Grip and Trail 1165 one final time. I apologize in advance for the stress this will subject you to but, hey, you knew Hashing was a tough vocation when you applied for the job.
Festivities began pleasant enough at Steel Bonnet Brewing in Scotts Valley just down the hill from Shallow Hole and Waxi-pad’s palace and, oh, sorry, they were kicked out a while back, weren’t they? Must have been due to the raucous parties the neighbors said they hosted, and on a weekday night as well. Well, at least Shallow Hole and Shitty Cat were able to make it over-the-hill for this Hash. Socializing was it’s normal virulent self and regulars huddled together believing in the old adage that there’s safety in numbers. Much to their dismay, WE had more numbers than THEY.
Our announced hair-pair had been cleaved by half. Baker’s Dozen’t, in his infinite masculine arrogance, assumed he could overpower his COVID booster shot and hare tonight. He came up short, so to speak. The sole surviving hare, Dung-Fu Grip, decided his only hope was to make the pack ill with his appearance and consequently attired himself accordingly.
Dung-Fu’s attire proved more of a distraction to the regulars ensconced at their favorite watering hole than it did to the pack though as we’ve grown accustomed to Dung-Fu’s bizarre behavior. As a matter of fact, were he ever to appear dressed like a normal person, THAT is when we would become concerned chicanery was afoot.
Eventually, after being chided for the late hour, Instructions of Trail were delivered from on high and our lone hare outed himself. Seeing him leave was, possibly, the most pleasant aspect of this trail. Socializing returned to it’s previous dull roar, Thmp-Thmp handled the proverbial Chalk Talk for the Virgins and all awaited the passage of the (unnecessary) fifteen minute lead time for our hare.
Fifteen minutes and a few more beers passed and the pack circled-up as per Accuprick’s direction and he heard responding barks from: Cum You Will Not, TIMMY!!, Banana Basher, Pretty Fly for a Pi Guy, Rubik’s Pube, Hugh Heifer, Wicked Retahted, Underwhere?, Dicky Wacker, Steamy Baanorrhea, Thmp-Thmp, Princess Di(arrhea), Cuntjungle, Occasional Rapist, dBASED, Snake Me Anywhere, Just Jennie, Shallow Hole, Just Holly, Accuprick, My Sister’s Dildo, Womb With A View, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Virgin Kamryn, Just Kathleen, Virgin Kristine, Lumber Party, International House of Pussy and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. We then outed through the parking lot and made an on-right to Scotts Valley Drive and an on-left there brought us to Butler Lane where some hashers waited for the safe-to-cross signal while the others made a mad dash for the opposite side of the street. Remarkably, everyone made it across unscathed. After executing an on-left, we were soon directed to on-right onto private property through an apartment complex. Owing to the fact it was a cold Thursday evening, all the residents were safely tucked away in their homes and no one came out to challenge us. After meandering amongst the trees and the cars, we found ourselves making an on-right onto San Augustine Way (who named these streets?!?), an on-right onto Hacienda Way and short-cutting through a gas station and back to Scotts Valley Drive. We were now close enough to Steel Bonnet Brewing again we could hear the party. If we weren’t such half-minds, we’d have returned to Steel Bonnet and let Dung-Fu run willy-nilly through the darkness all alone. But, and precisely because we ARE such half-minds, we didn’t.
By now our course was of course clear; take Granite Creek over Highway 17 and ascend into the darkness contained beyond. And so we did. Once we achieved the intersection with Santa’s Village Road, it being December and all, we crossed over onto Santa’s Village Road, were directed on-left and then soon on-right onto Club Drive.
Not far along Club Drive, we deviated on-left into the parking lot previously home to Borland International, formerly a large producer of PC software, one of which was named dBase. Make of that what you will. Anyway, that folded and the monstrosity building is now home to a number of small businesses. We wove our weary way through the complex layout, past ponds and a recreation of Stonehenge and eventually exited onto a road, of sorts, that dives over a creek and heads into a metropolis of under-construction homes. Formerly, these barely discernible roads were trails known as Orchard Run. I assume the developers will give them labels designed to make home buyers, all of whom will spend seven digits on these econo-boxes, believe they are living in the lap of luxury. As of right now though, they are darkened paths of dirt and rocks, coyote crap and disemboweled bunnies. Eventually we came to the cul-de-sac, soon to be a major thoroughfare, of Sucinto Lane followed by an on-right onto Navarra Drive. Navarra eventually comes back to Granite Creek Road where an on-right was dictated and soon followed by the highly regarded BN mark.
It will cause me compunction but I feel it incumbent upon me to mention Beer Check location was riddled with droppings from some type of beast. I do not wish to believe this was intentional by our hare but it’s impossible to discount that possibility. Upon completing our duty here, we undertook on-in duplicating a portion of trail and assembling for Religion behind the start on Victor Square. Victor Square isn’t really a square but a dead end road, another somewhat misleading Scotts Valley street naming.
Once the gang was supplied with the appropriate drugs, Religious Adviser Accuprick called Religion to order and the following is a sampling of down-downs he deemed necessary: the Virgins were accosted, Analversaries were recognized and, lastly, the hare was honored for harrowing trail.
Upon completion of his charge, Accuprick declared an end to Hash 1165 and by the same token I hereby declared an end to this Trash.
The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to stand in the way of a good story.
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 seventh day of December in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-one.
Submitted with all respect due,
Magic Drag Queen
Surf City H3 Scribe