Hash Twelve-40: Four-20 Fiasco


The buds on the boughs surrounding my abode blossom with abandon. Such an event reminds me (somewhat) of one developed by Dung-Fu Grip and his crime mate Pink Cherry Licker. Sending the group to the cliffs along (the remainder) of West Cliff Drive illustrates 1) Their level of chemical incapacitation, 2) Their total disregard for the welfare of their kennel mates or 3) An alarming blending of the above offenses. Allow me to present evidence to support my assertions.

Their usual ploy, as it is with many horrible hare-pairs, is to start at a well liked location to beguile the brood into bliss. Being half-minds one and all, this is a tried and true method of getting the gang to ignore the potential problems that await us on trail. It worked again.

Prelube was at the overlook near the intersection of West Cliff Drive and Almar Avenue. In this particular context, the ‘lube’ consisted of smoke rather than liquid lubrication. This is the type of ‘bud’ I referred to earlier.

Santa Cruz version of prelube for 420

As you can see, the majority of we mongrels avoided this particular section of trail.

Possibly the only wise decision many of us would make this evening.

After this drug-inducement was discontinued, the group seen here: Fap Jack, Pink Cherry Licker, Shanghiney, Dung-Fu Grip and Circle Gherkin’, staggered their way to Santa Cruz Mountain Brewery to join their kennel mates that opted to not attend the smoke-out. It was a stellar day, possibly the all-around best one we’ve experienced since October. Sad we allowed it to be ruined by the hares.

There were a number of fun activities transpiring at Mountain Brewery. Owner Emily was even working the bar awhile. Dung-Fu and Shanghiney tried their hand at Jenga. Luckily, it was the small block version so when the 54 of them came tumbling down no one was injured. A number of hashers toyed with what is arguably the world’s largest incarnation of Beer Pong.

Giant size Beer Pong!

This version of Beer Pong was created for persons too intoxicated to engage in the standard size edition. It is also useful for immersing one even deeper into a state of intoxication. In other words, perfect for hashers I dare say!

Moving along…

The food truck, colloquially called a Roach Coach or Maggot Wagon, was operating a brisk business behind the brewery. Food was floating around and was being washed down with one of the EIGHTEEN beers Emily has concocted. Oh, yeah. One root beer available for you teetotalers. Games, drinks, food. Most hashers would be happy with any one of the three but to have all at your fingertips could possibly drive more than a few of us to orgasmic ecstasy.

While none of us wished this to come to an end, much less contemplate what awaited us on trail, the time actually did roll around when Instructions of Trail were delivered. I would regale you with the pack of lies Dung-Fu Grip and Pink Cherry Licker threw at us but I have more respect for you than that, dear kennel mate. Hares-out.

The ensuing fifteen minutes were spent much as the previous fifteen: drinkin’ and partyin’. However, as the old cliche goes: All good things must come to an end and so it was with this escapade as well. Co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Cicrleup for Introductions and as a result heard from: Steamy Baanorrhea, Just Katie, Circle Gherkin’, Shanghiney, Hareless, Flours For Anal Bum, dBASED, TIMMY!!, Cum You Will Not, Jersey Lunchbox and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency consisted of Scratch and Sniff, Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. Pack away.

The first check would prove to be all the lead time the hare-pair would require though they were not aware of such. This check was located on Swift Street and the railroad tracks/bike trail. Gherkin’ sounded on-on on-right and the pack took off. We motivated across Fair Avenue and just prior to Almar Avenue the YBF was observed. Incredible! A YBF of over a quarter mile is unacceptable by any Surf City tradition of which I am aware. However, it existed so back to the start we went. Hounds hurried in all dire-erections on a quest for true trail. dBASED was all the way up to Mission Street, Gherkin’ and Jersey Lunchbox went south on Swift a number of blocks. Finally, and I do mean FINALLY, flour was found west along the bike path. Pack away, again, finally.

We went a really long way along the bike path. Mercifully, it’s well maintained so the miles passed easily beneath our rear paws. Just as we neared the (ramshackle) trestle above Antonelli Pond, trail veered off on-left onto the grounds of what was originally a Texas Instruments building. They vacated for more business friendly environs and the building was eventually confiscated by UC. This trail skirts the edge of the pond and ejects you onto Delaware Avenue squarely in the middle of an RV camp. Well, an unauthorized one but a RV camp nonetheless. Here we discovered the promised Turkey/Eagle split. It’s a beautiful day, Scribe will fly with the Eagles this day. On-right we went.

Trail continued along Delaware until it enters the grounds of Long Marine Lab and morphs into Mcallister Way. This road curves on-left and passes a number of government agencies, NOAA amongst them. Eventually we came to UC property, past a whale skeleton and on-left along the cliff towering above the Pacific Ocean. After the jaunt on the cliff top, a gate to enter De Anza Mobile Home Park was reached. This gate never appears to be latched so in we went.

Steamy Baanorrhea nears De Anza Mobile Home Park and hot enough to remove his hat

We followed a rather circuitous path through the park and eventually came to the front gate which is on Delaware where a hare arrow turned the troops on-right directly back from whence we had come. This turned out to be a circle jerk of a mile and a quarter. Thanks, Dung-Fu! Emphasis on F-U, Dung-Fu. Opposite where we exited the path beside the pond, an arrow led the litter, now rejoined with the Turkeys, on-right into Natural Bridges State Park. A quick on-left brought us into the parking lot and then on-down into the Monarch butterfly preserve mercifully abandoned as this time of the year. A seldom used path, mainly because it’s so damn treacherous, took us through a field and then onto the road leading out of the park to the intersection of West Cliff Drive and Swanton Boulevard. Swanton was chosen for us but soon an on-right was dictated which evolved into a now closed alley confiscated by local residents and transformed into beautiful excursion through a plant and flower inhabited walkway.

This alley ends at Modesto Avenue where we went on-right and a block later we encountered the wide intersection of Modesto, Chico and Auburn avenues. We were directed across Modesto just for the sheer pleasure of turning us on-right a hundred feet later and down the dank, unkempt Alley 2978. Yes, that’s it’s official name. I certainly agree with the ‘Alley’ part. This…uh…path brought us to West Cliff Drive where we were directed on-right to begin an extended curvy traipse along trail all the way to the scene of the earlier 420 Smokeout Prelube. It was here we discovered the hares awaiting our arrival at Beer Check.

Here we are at Beer Check . Yes, it’s dark. That is indicative that trail was of excessive length. We were all happy to be here, we just wish we’d gotten here sooner. Or easier.

Business concluded here, it was an extended jaunt on-up Almar to Garfield Park where Religion would be staged on the side opposite from Almar as our normal altar was being utilized by people sleeping outdoors these days. As both duly elected Religious Advisers were our hare-pair and we did not wish to hear them expound on their excellent trail, dBASED assumed the reign and took the reins. Here’s a listing of some of the down-downs issued this night: Scratch and Sniff for taking a dump in Circleup for Introductions, Broke Bench acted as proxy; Analversaries were celebrated, visitors were welcomed. It was a short Religion and…oh. Hares. I heard some Thanks for some of the scenery but between the first check and trail length, little else good was said about those two jokers. On-on-on was conducted at Parish Publick House. This Hash is over.

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. Do not allow the profound to become the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor remains a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allow me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-40.

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 twenty-third day of April in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,



Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

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