Sunday, Funday,

And Wharf to Barf begins to wind down, something many of us have begun personally as well. Three days of hashing can tax even the most vigorous amongst us and when you stack a fourth upon it…well, certainly no good can come of such. There is substantial proof supporting that assertion and, sadly, I find it necessary for me to throw it at you. Here goes…

Festivities began at 7AM at the abode of Bailas Con Burros and Banana Basher. Their driveway filled with staggering zombie hashers questing for doughnuts and other sweets plus, but of course, some hair of the dog to wake them up for the final day of Wharf to Barf. That will soon prove to have not been an especially wise decision for more than a few of them. Around 7:45 those that intended to attend BS H3 #8 departed down Cayuga on a collision course with Brady’s Yacht Club and especially the bar contained therein. Upon our arrival, the bar was utilized as it should be and then the party moved to the outdoor drinkin’ area as time for the racists to appear approached. The eight o’clock hour arrived and phones were viewed for a live video feed of the the FRBs leaving the Boardwalk and powering in our direction.

In a few shakes of a lamb’s tail, the assembled throng farther down Seabright were heard to cheer as the leaders crested the hill on East Cliff Drive and thundered up Seabright at a blistering rate of speed. They passed quickly followed by a smattering of people, cognizant by this point in time they were outgunned by the leaders. There was then a brief lull, an occasional runner, but mostly quiet. A few minutes later a 2.5 on the Richter was felt as a herd of sixteen thousand approached. It was quite a while until they all passed this point, some intermittently walking by now, around the one and three-quarter mile mark. Their passage completed, the pack migrated along behind them to Johnny’s Harborside where we encountered a lonely Fap Jack whom could do nothing more than watch his business pass by. After a brief interlude here(for drinks!) the gang took to the streets again following course. A brief stop at Starbuck’s was followed by more traipsing which eventually brought the brood to the corner of 30th Avenue and Calla Drive. Many of you are now chanting Wicked Retahted, Wicked Retahted! However, we were directly across Calla at the home of Circle Gherkin’ and Just Meghan. Upon our arrival, Just Meghan announced she was going whale watching. (Anything to avoid us, I assume!) Gherkin’ joined us though and we soon exited for Brommer Street Park and the next hash on today’s agenda, Surf City hash Twelve-58.

Once there the BS H3 hashers joined the Surf City hashers and merged into one big kennel. After partaking of some munchies, hare Broke Bench Mountain delivered Instructions of Trail and claimed trail was short, flat and fast. I believe most hounds deemed it otherwise. Hare away.

Fifteen later co-GM Cumz Out My Nose called for Circleup for Introductions resulting hearing from: Hareless, Banana Basher, Bailas Con Burros, Dung-Fu Grip, Circle Gherkin’, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Cum,U Will Not!, dBASED, Steamy Baanorrhea, Shallow Hole, Pink Cherry Licker, Princess Di(arrhea), Thmp-Thmp, Carlos Danger, Snake Me Anywhere, Flours For Anal Bum, Hugh Heifer, Got Wood?, Sperm Donor, Ho to Housewife, Waxi-pad, Pink Cherry Licker, Baker’s Dozen’t, Virgin Mike and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency was ably represented by Scratch and Sniff, Bitey McFuck-You, Spot’d Dick, Esperanza and Shitty Cat. Pack out.

Trail crossed 30th Avenue and trespassed through the private property of an apartment complex. Mercifully, no residents took notice of us. Once to Brommer Street it was on-left to Thompson Avenue and on-right there until Thompson ends at the railroad tracks. There it was on-right back to 30th Avenue. Once back to Brommer it was on-left and then on-left and on-up into an illegal pump track we have visited many times before.

After concluding our business here it was back across Brommer to the Park for a face feed followed by Religion. There was a sufficient quantity of remaining meat and veggie burgers plus munchies to satisfy even the most discriminating pallet amongst us. Then Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip acquired an area to act as their altar and cranked up their Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of the results: Everyone that completed all 4 days of W2B; Baker’s for garnering the Watermelon Head Award, Bacon Queef and Puff for helping Baker’s transport the Award to the park today; Virgin Mike was welcomed; racists were punished, those that were attending their first W2B; Broke Bench auctioned off his nipple tape; Flours for unintentionally meeting the pack on trail at last year’s W2B for her first Hash, backsliders were punished. It was then Dung-Fu asked if there was any other Hash business to attend to. ( I suggest fastening your seat belt and using both hands on your drink, the ride gets a little dicey now!) Hareless said, Yes, she believed it should be known Dung-Fu dipped his dick in glitter!My first thought was that I didn’t care in the least where Dung-Fu dips his dick. Please keep the details of the wanderings of your massive member within the confines of your clothing. This sentiment was immediately followed by the rhetorical query as to how Hareless would be in possession of such knowledge, seemingly highly private and personal. I then began to wonder what other perversities these two deviates commonly engage in. I became fearful of even fantasizing about such though. Such thoughts were curtailed by watching as Dung-Fu, eyes locked on Hareless and hers staring somewhat lower, slowly dropped trou to verify his nether region did indeed sparkle with glitter. Was this dousing of the dick, Dung-Fu’s divining rod, a post-coitus ritual these two libertines routinely observe? While I do not wish to attain the answer, I must say I find the possible permutations truly intriguing! (Stop holding your breath now and remove your hand from between your legs!) Next on the agenda was thanks being conveyed to all those that made W2B so a raging success and then lastly was the condemnation of the hare for a trail far too long for the Hangover Hash. This Hash is over. (Except for your expanding fantasies)

(Ed. note: Dung-Fu was the first to leave, some clean-up to be performed prior to reporting for work at Steel Bonnet? Where’s Hareless?!?)

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 allowing me to extract almost ant end I desired. It was with this motive in mine I recounted the events that comprised Breakfast Shots H3 Hash Eight and Surf City H3 Hash Twelve-58.

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 thirty-first 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