Hash Twelve-44: Red Dress!

Do not dread-the-red,

There’s nothing to fear and everything to love about this annual get-together of ours. The most notable aspect is this is a benefit for WomenCare, an organization that assists women undergoing cancer treatment. As an addition to this, the recommended age for women to begin getting mammograms has been reduced from 50 to 40 and to be performed biannually. Excuse the digression, back to the Hash.

We assembled in the same location as we did for AGM, Vino-by-the-Sea, on the second floor of the wharf. However, in November it was seasonably cool; today it was heavy mist/light drizzle. Quite unusual for May in these here parts. Quite unwelcome too, I might add. It insured everyone would stay crowded in the venue though. Lots of hyper-socializing occupied the eleven o’clock hour. Many of these kennel mates have not been with us since last year’s Red Dress.

Everyone caught up with the events in the lives of others just in time to hear Instructions of Trail from co-hares TIMMY!! and Circle Gherkin’. They were not especially memorable, much as trail would prove to be, so most hounds completely ignored them. That includes your Scribe. Hares away.

The next fifteen minutes or so were spent pouring glasses down our gullets and asking the gods of the Hash to show mercy upon their loyal half-minded minions and cease the water falling from the sky. Our pleas went unanswered. When Circleup for Introductions was requested by co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain, the rain still feel upon the little noggins of the following: Shanghiney, Dung-Fu Grip, Cum,U Will Not!, Banana Basher, Bailas Con Burros, Hareless, Suck Cochran, Worm, Shallow Hole, Chopped Liver, Ramrod, Rubik’s Pube, Steamy Baanorrhea, Pink Cherry Licker, Fap Jack, Baker’s Dozen’t, Stickless, Shit Faced, Just Chip, Missile Anus, Dual Tools Up My Ass, Cumfart Zone, Whorebraham Lincoln, Sperm Donor, Flours For Anal Bum, My Little Bony, Waxi-pad, Automated Penis Mover, Cheese Nips, Apple Bobber, Fuck Cancer, Skid Mark, E=MC Fucked, No Film and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency was (illegally) represented by Shitty Cat, Scratch and Sniff and (cleverly concealed) Bronson. Pack out.

The flock fought wind and rain to make landfall only to find a hare arrow directing us on-right to the opposite side of the wharf and then on-down onto the Main Beach. There’s no more detestable medium for motion than sand. This is even more true when it’s windy and raining. If this is to set the tempo for this trail, it’s a tune I’d rather not play.

Here we see Skid Mark, Ramrod and Automated Penis Mover motivating, best as possible, across the Main Beach

We staggered across the sand, heads bowed, until reaching the game building. Well, except for Skid Mark who went low on the beach to reach hard packed sand then was isolated from the main body of the pack by a small stream which required her going far out of her way to rejoin her kennel mates. Once on the Boardwalk we squinted to find the small marks pointing the pod forward. The Boardwalk security guards frown on marks fearing they may be gang related. Well, the ARE gang related but we are the most innocuous of entities. Eventually we found ourselves at the end of the Boardwalk apparently having missed a mark. We circled back towards the entrance and found chalk directing us on-down to Beach Street and on-right. As Beach Street turns on-left and morph into Third Street, the promised Turkey/Eagle split manifested itself. It’s raining, Scribe will be happy to Turkey trot today.

We transitioned onto Third Street all the way to Riverside where we went on-right and on-over the river. We continued along Riverside, which makes a bizarre ninety degree on-left and then comes to an intersection with Barson Street. Here we were directed on-left and on-up stairs to San Lorenzo Boulevard. Here we made an on-left followed by a quick on-right on-under the Laurel Street Bridge. We loped along the levee as far as Soquel Avenue where it was across the river and on-right along Front Street. At the intersection with Water Street, Mission Street and Pacific Avenue was finally glimpsed the BN mark and everyone rushed on-in to The Rush Inn.

Sperm Donor, Worm, Dung-Fu Grip and Pink Cherry Licker welcome you to The Rush Inn…or as welcome as you CAN be in such a place!

There was quite a bit going on inside the concrete confines of the Rush Inn. There were only two regulars in attendance and they appeared nonplussed at our presence. Steamy Baanorrhea was seen attempting to explain our rather bizarre attire. It appeared to only lead to their drinking more heavily.

In case any of you wondered about the jewelry on the pool table or the glazed pottery gracing the shelf behind such, the owner dabbles in those artistic mediums and upon hearing of our impending invasion, brought them out in hopes of making some coin. I believe some hashers actually did make some purchases too. Upon the completion of our task here, it was on-down the length of Pacific Avenue and back to Point A for Religion. Once reassembled at Vino-by-the-Sea, Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip grabbed the reins and began their reign as RAs. Here’s a sampling of the multitude of down-downs, some justified, others not, that the co-RAs issued this day: No Film was awarded, well, the No Film Award for being the latest to show, some hashers were busted for talking in Circle, those that joined from over-the-hill, those that put not one rear upon trail, Dung-Fu Grip for getting complimented on his legs(by a male!), backsliders were punished, those that were attending their first Surf City Red Dress, those that snared a hare, Shanghiney for never using the raffle gift he won last year which was a free consultation with Suck Cochran(a lawyer), those that managed to spill beer on themselves, Dung-Fu Grip for celebrating his 10th analversary with Surf City, some Silicon Valley H3 analversaries were presented by Stickless and, but of course, the hares. The hares were told the rain was provided by the gods of the Hash to begin the desirable process of removing all evidence of this trail.

Hash business dispensed with, the face feed began. Baked potatoes with (more than) all the fixings were available in addition to the beers and wine we had been sucking up all afternoon. The weather may have been less than perfect but other than that the event most certainly was.

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 is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-45, Red Dress 2023.

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 eleventh day of May in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,



Magic Drag Queen

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