First Night Wharf to Barf,

It was almost the LAST for a few of us. Original hare Clearly Not A Hooker, sensing how horrific events could be, plead(feigned?) COVID and handed haring to Steamy Baanorrhea. Steamy claims he retained Hooker’s original battle plan. If that is true, there’s another good reason for the Hooker not to hare, it was a convoluted trail! How perplexing was it? Read on.

Steamy assembled the mob at Abbott Square. A few met beside the Octagon Building as we always have previously. They were then informed the majority of the pack was outside the Cooper bar. As soon as they arrived, the pack AGAIN moved to the alleyway leading to the Secret Garden behind the Museum. Well, I guess we were always destined to end up in a damn alley anyway.

Drinking here was staggered between the arrival of different hounds but eventually Steamy set out on the next leg of trail. This would take us through the arcade to Pacific Avenue and on-left. At Cathcart it was on-left and at Front Street it was on-right. Hmmm…there aren’t really any bars in this direction, maybe Hooker’s home? Possibly, but this damn hare is walkin’ us all over the damn place. Down Front, on-left on Laurel Street and over the river(and through the woods to Hooker’s house we go?) On-right on San Lorenzo Boulevard and an immediate on-left and on-down the steps to Barson Street. Just past Riverside Avenue, we came to determine, a car had parked since the hare’s passing and the pack consequently missed a mark. Backtracking, the flour was spied and the troops turned onto Riverside and DID go to Hooker’s home. She was home too, sitting in the backyard with her PPE mask on. We thanked her for loaning us her yard then proceeded to mess it up.

Eventually it was on-out time. We continued along Riverside across Broadway and then Soquel Avenue to the Hindquarter. Here the patio area was completely commandeered. This appeared to be a standard stop until Pink Cherry Licker pulled out the components necessary to manufacture a penis. Yes, it was build-your-own time. I fear we may have some bizarrely constructed kennel mates if the organs configured by some of our harriers were patterned after their own members! I’ll let their partners deal with that though.

Upon our exit from this establishment we traveled on-right on Dakota Avenue where the Hooker made sure Puff’s hovel was pointed out. Luckily for me, it is gated and I am on an upper floor. Then it was through San Lorenzo Park and over the River and on-right on the levee. Any chance the intent is to invade the Rush Inn? Yes, of COURSE it was. And we did. And there was much rejoicing. There were but few regulars in attendance at this early hour so the pack could raise a ruckus and not cause too much consternation among common clientele. After securing sufficient pitchers, the party moved to the outdoor drinkin’ area where the party burst into full swing.

We raged for quite a while here until Steamy decided it was time for the next venue. This required us to cross Mission Street, always a sketchy undertaking, and on-right to Cedar Street and on-left to the Red Room. It was not full-on dark and the animals began to emerge from beneath their rocks. A large area was mandated to house the hounds. It was here demon rum began to exact it’s toll. A considerable amount of singing and dancing was perpetrated. The Flash will contain evidence thereof. However, it was soon decided one more stop was in order.

I’ll bet you know where it was as well, none other than The Jury Room. Once there, the deterioration of sanity and sobriety manifested itself in most unpleasant methods. Baker’s Dozen’t, or what small amount of humanity that remained within his shell, put the moves on 32 Ring Circus. She, however, wanted more than a cheek kissing and soon abandoned him in search of more worthwhile prey. Pink Cherry Licker floated a dollar bill, possibly counterfeit, for those still capable of making their ‘X’ and stuck it to the wall.

Upon returning from the bathroom, Scribe found Baker’s Dozen’t joyfully sucking away on my beer. I am done for the night!!

The preceding was a (alcohol-clouded) 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 allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mine I recounted the (sad) events that comprised Hash Twelve-56.

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-sixth day of July in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe