All posts by dbased

Trail 1031: Blair Witch Trail

I know it’s been a while since the hash trash has been written.  There hasn’t been much to talk about. Until now. Pull up a chair.  This one is worth a read.

Normally when I hare, I set the agenda. I like teaching the new kids how to hare, show them the ropes.  I like to map trail, scout it, plan it out, stay organized. It’s work. Rarely do I get the chance to sit back, just show up, and run around throwing flour on some else’s trail.    So I see Timmy is signed up to hare all by his lonesome. I’m thinking, he’s nothing if not experienced. He’s gotta have his shit together, right? I’ll co-hare with him. It’ll be a good idea, right?

Timmy will be the top.  I’ll be the bottom. I just gotta show up.  It’ll be easy.

Commitments kept me from scouting the trail until the Tuesday before, but hey, not my problem. Timmy is going to scout around in the woods above campus.  Not an area I know, but I figure it’s a good time to learn. I show up at TImmy’s house 10 minutes late feeling quite confident that all will be taken care of.  He’s got a print out of a google map with trail marked out. And another copy for me. Clipboard. Pens. Everything is just reinforcing my preconceived idea that Timmy has his shit together.

Quick aside: I just saw this documentary on Netflix about the Flat Earthers.  They believe the world is flat, and whatever new information or evidence comes their way, they just hammer it into their crazy framework.  They remain confident and secure knowing they are right. Contrary evidence can be blithely swatted out of the way, batted down, and ignored   Denied. Belief overcoming knowledge. And I believed Timmy has his shit together.

Driving up to upper campus, I ask Timmy how many times he’s run trail.

“Three times.  But just in parts.  I haven’t run the whole thing yet.”


He shows me where the split will be where I will run off and he’ll go the other way.  “Maybe let’s just stick together for now?” I say timidly. I’m really unfamiliar with this part of campus.

The sun is shining.  The air is crisp and warm.  It’s a beautiful day in the redwoods.  A reminder why Santa Cruz is amazing. Timmy is silent.  Timmy has stopped. Looking around. Not in a “soaking in the majesty of nature” way.  More puzzled than that.

“We made a wrong turn.”  he says. No matter. It’s a nice day.  A walk in the woods.

“This is really fucked up”  he says.  

“We can’t be here.” he says.

“Where are we?  This can’t be right.  Where are we?” he says.


I suggest we backtrack.  “No, I have no time. Let’s go.  Take the road back to the parking lot.  I’ll scout trail tomorrow.” Timmy quips.  I notice some cracks in the facade of this well-groomed trail.  Wait…is there a facade on this well-groomed trail? Wait…I haven’t run trail yet.  There is no trail.

Timmy drives back to his house in silence, his gaze fixed on something beyond the horizon.  I bounce along in the passenger seat of his pick-up. I’m not sure if I should ask a question to give myself faith this is an aberration, or keep silent to let the few remaining shreds of faith in Timmy hang precariously.

  “I don’t know where trail is supposed to be.” I say plainly.

“Thursday.”  Timmy is formulating a plan.  An evolving plan. “Thursday. Can you show up early.  Maybe 3:30? We’ll run it Thursday.” Timmy’s tone does not instill faith.

I don’t know where trail is going.  But sure. Thursday. I agree.

The next day is Wednesday.

I get a text from Timmy.  “Got trail all set today, good to go.”  I’m not sure I believe it. But moving on.


I blow past the 3:30 arrival, show up closer to 4.  I stopped at Trader Joe’s to pick up snacks for the pack, so I don’t feel bad for being late.  Timmy has the car packed and ready to go.

It is a good omen.

We drive up to campus. “So Timmy, how many times have you run trail now?”

“Ohh…” He pauses thoughtfully.  “Six or seven times.” Seems like enough, right?


We take off for the run a bit after 4 PM.  Plenty of time for a one hour trail run, drop off the BN cooler, and wait down in parking lot before 6 PM.


We run past the spot where I will split up from Timmy to lay a quick YBF.  Down the hill, to the side, you can’t get lost. I’ll dot it later. I keep with TImmy.

He points out some flour.  “I dropped just little patches of flour on the turns yesterday at the turns so we can find them later.  We can fill them in with big patches when we run live.” 

Sounds like good plan.  This time. Finally. The familiar parts of the trail go by quickly.  We drop the LC, bury it carefully to keep the mountain bikers away, and proceed down past a cool little structure that is set up like a shinto shrine with a few icons hanging down. 

“Fun little feature, we should draw people’s attention to it.” I suggest quite proud of my contribution to trail.

Timmy says he never noticed it before.  It’s huge and prominent, and completely escaped Timmy’s attention.  But he moves on like it’s no big deal. We pass some Christmas decorations in the trees. Timmy says he never noticed it before.  But he moves on like it’s no big deal.  

We get to the next fork in the trail.  TImmy looks left. Timmy looks right. Timmy looks left.  Timmy looks right. Timmy looks left.

No flour patches.

“No, this is wrong, we missed a turn.”  TImmy announces unnecessarily.

“We can’t be lost.  This shit is really fucked up.  This is really fucked.” Timmy mutters as I nod in agreement.

We start backtracking to the liquor check, stepping off the trail to let two shakey novice mountain bikers pass.

Hitting the liquor check, we retrace our path a bit then take the next left.  I’m not sure the liquor check is even on the trail. We go about one hundred yards when Timmy gets an idea.

“You wait here, I’ll go on ahead.”

Ok.  I stand there.  Timmy goes on ahead.  I remain just standing in the woods.  Alone. Standing in the forest.

I go through my pack to get my phone.  I downloaded the topographic maps to my hiking app to find out where we are.  I discover I left my cell phone in Timmy’s truck. And I’m just standing in the woods.  Alone.

Ignoring Timmy’s advice to stay in one place, I take off running down the trail.  I make a big loop, passing the same two mountain bikers, somewhat less shaky on their bikes.  I don’t know where trail is. I don’t know where Timmy is. I don’t know where I am. I guess at a turn, I run, I guess at a turn.  I run. I run past the shinto shrine. 

“Timmy!” I yell.  Nothing.

“Timmy” I yell.  “Courtesy Flush!”  I get a response. I run in that direction.  I’m breathing hard trying to run quickly to catch up.  My legs are pushing as fast as they can through the rough trail, occasionally stumbling, but pushing more.  Panting hard. I finally come across Timmy.

“I found trail!”  He looks at me, grinning.  He has a funny look on his face that prompts me look around for whatever the joke is.  A glance of my surrounding yields no clues, then my eyes return to TImmy and I scanned him up and down.  His forearm is hanging awkwardly as a trickle of blood ran down from his elbow to his wrist, the skin torn up in several spots indicating more of a skid than just a single point of contact with the earth/rocks/trees or whatever.  I stood silently waiting for him to acknowledge that he was, in fact, bleeding now, but was not when I first left him.

“So, I found trail, let’s go!” He takes off at his TImmy pace, in the same direction we’ve already been, passing the shinto shrine again.  I imagine he’s leaving drops of blood that will be tracked by investigators at some point.

“Timmy, if we get lost again, I think the Blair Witch will be summoned and start taking our teeth.”  I joke, realizing there is a greater probability that we will see the Blair Witch than we will complete the trail without getting lost again.

Passing the spot he was previously lost, with more certainty this time, we come across the same mountain bikers again.  I secretly hope they are lost too. I take notice that they are not bleeding like TImmy.

“Here it is, the Turkey Eagle split!”  It’s now after 5pm, over an hour into the hour long trail and we are just shy of the half-way point.

Timmy points out a few patches of flour as we make way down the trail.  Running late, but back on track, and we come to the road.

Timmy stops.  He looks behind him.

“I’m guessing we are lost.”  I say astutely.

“We missed a turn.”  Timmy says. I am aware that missing turns is what causes us to get lost.

Backtracking, we find the turn we missed.  We hustle along the trail, reach the far end of the Eagle trail, the half way point.  It’s 5:30. Timmy is the beer-meister and needs to be at the trough start at 6:00. It has taken an hour and a half to go halfway down the trail.  And I have very little faith we can do the rest of the trail without getting lost.

Miraculously, we do not get lost, even taking a shortcut back to the car bypassing the Turkey trail.  We haul a cooler for Beer Near into a grove and hide it. We bring the trough into the trough start at 6:15 like nothing ever happened.  A few of the early hashers run over and grab their beers, blissfully unaware that we spent more than two hours without laying a trail that we are about to attempt laying within an hour. 

“Hey Timmy are you bleeding?”  a particularly observant half-mind asks.

Timmy lifts up his elbow, for the first time acknowledging the obvious, grabs a napkin to wipe down his arm to make it somewhat more presentable.

Timmy gives trail instruction to the assembled pack without hinting that we’ve spent more time on trail lost than actually knowing where we.

“Please charge your phone”  I say waving a battery pack to the crowd.  “Please download the offline google maps, there is no reception.” I beseech the assembled mass of hashers who still have the misplaced faith that the hares can lay a trail to bring them safely out of the forest.

We head with our bags of flour to lay a trail we have not done yet sucessfully, Timmy and I split up for me to leave the initial YBF onto portion of the trail I have not yet seen.  I bound down the trail and come to a split, that I did not expect. Shit. Left probably. Meeting back up with Timmy, I leave extraordinary amounts of flour at every turn. On the Eagle split, I consult with the maps on my phone three different time to make sure I am not leading the pack astray.  I run short on flour as I arrange sticks scavenged from the forest floor into arrows. At Turkey-Eagle rejoin, I have the opportunity to shortcut, but instead I make a giant wooden arrow just to make sure the pack does not get lost. Of course, the Eagles catch me while I’m working.

Bounding off down the trail, I run into the middle of the Turkey pack at a check.  They ask me which way trial go.

“I have no fucking clue which way trail goes.  I have no fucking clue if Timmy is lost. I have no fucking clue where the pack is.  I have no fucking clue how many hashers are lost in woods. I have no fucking clue how many organs the police are going to find in the trees when the Blair Witch devours them.” 

None of the turkeys are listening to me.  Someone calls “on-on”, and I take off jogging in the middle of the pack I’m supposed to be leading.  

At liquor check at the barrels, I wait for the DFLs, assuming at a minimum I’ll be able to hear their screams as the Blair Witch devours their souls. up

Finally heading back in with the last of the walkers, we stagger into the grove where Beer Near is.  Timmy hands me beer.

“Anyone lost?”  I ask not really wanting to know the answer.

“Everyone is here except Puff.  He’ll be in whenever.” Timmy grins.   “We finally got the trail right. See, I told you everything was gonna work out just fine.” 

My unique memories of Pearl Necklace

I have two small semi-unique memories of Pearl Necklace.

The first was my 40th birthday party in 2001 where he appeared as couple for the first time (to me) with Last Call Norm.

The second was a story of him haring with Banana Basher. Banana told him to set a false up some street – which would typically be around a block. Instead, he went many, many blocks. And, as they say, that’s when the trouble started (that day).

938: Why are we so stupid?

Why are we so stupid?
Why do we believe the crap that Twisted Fister spews?
Why were we lulled into a false sense of security with his promise of NO WATER CROSSING for his annual Beerthday hash.
Why are my $200 barely used, almost new trail shoes soaking wet and stinking up my car?
Good question.
We were all taken for a ride yet once again by this scoundrel.
He marched us along a dangerously dark and winding road only to find a huge FALSE. A big FU.  A bold face LIE. He is one devious MoFo.
And to make matters worse….he laid the same trail last year and had us fall for it again. Well, let me back up…..we actually had 2 brilliant hashers who deviated from the pack and ended up at Burger!! A place known for a plethora of beers on tap. Banana Basher and Princess Di made a hasty retreat away from the trail and right into a warm and toasty pub. As they were slinking away we were trying not to get run over by cars whizzing by as if they were at Laguna Seca. Thanks for looking out for our safety.
The mangled pack soldiered on and descended into the depths of the dark forest.
Yet once again we lost 2 hashers who are afraid of the dark. Waxi Pad and Occasional Rapist bailed at the entrance of Nisene Marks. They said a prayer for our safety, burned some sage and hoped that the mountain lions already had an early dinner. Not wanting to show any fear, we marched on with our trusty flashlights and headlamps ablaze. Remarkably it was a rather pleasant evening, with the cotton balls clouds playing hide and seek with the almost full moon. The trail was very straightforward….meaning we went directly into the stream, no get out of jail free card. No way out except to get WET. 
A few souls miscalculated the route and ended up rather moist….CumYouWillNot fessed up to being slightly impaired and thus took her water route on the cuff.  Which means she got completely soaked. Others slithered along a log in order to avoid damp tootsies. And the rest bravely walked right into the cold stream and crossed without incident. There was a good deal of chivalry on trail as the ever helpful Just Foot Pussy took his post as a crossing guard very seriously. TestaCoil was also the perfect gentleman in guiding CumFartZone over the slippery bits and offering to hold her backpack. Bakers also offered his chivalry to Jizziki, who simply can’t see shit anymore due to an eye condition and to the blazing fast Virgin Sean who initially was a FRB at the YBF but got knocked off his butt on Knob Creek.
And since we are talking about shit, we had to endure hearing about Waxi Pad’s sudden and urgent need to defecate on trail. WTF, is nothing sacred in this group? Folks here continue to wax poetic about menstrual cycles, semen, piss, sex toys, infectious hashing crud and now the dreaded #2. Well poo poo to you all. Carry some TP with ya on trail and zip it.
Moving on we also admonished Jizz for losing his light saber with all it’s fancy features. It telescopes in and out…a shower not a grower. It has many setting including a hallucinogenic strobe light that will make you throw up.  Thankfully CuntJungle found it and returned it to its rightful owner.  
Pinky had blood on trail after a run in with a mailbox. Next time she should try UPS….they are kinder and gentler.
There was talk of the old man log and thus Timmy!!! and Banana had to do a down down. I think it is an inside joke.
Puff got a down down for being the Dog Whisperer and always having enough “Pupperoni/Pufferoni” to go around.
Cheek and Dong was our lone visitor from the frigid north land of CA and pitched an upcoming Spring 2018 snowshoe event. Sounds like fun….especially the naked hot tub apple bobbing contest.
More down downs for the guys who missed the package checks. TestaCoil and Jizziki complained that is was too cold to bare the balls and uncoil the snakes. Thankfully our resident stunt dick, JFP, took one for the team.
Wish our Virgin(Sean) would have taken the hint but he choose to tell us a crappy joke about an 80 yr old pirate. Lame to say the least. But at least he paid attention to chalk talk. 
Our analversares go to JFP/JustFootPussy and Bacon Queef for 100 hashes each. 
And Thump Thump really needs to get a life after logging in a staggering 300 hashes! Talk about commitment.
Accuprick presided as RA  and we are hoping he will continue providing quips, punishments and terse Boston admonishments for the upcoming new hashing year. 
Next week is AGM. 
Get out and vote.
And step up to the plate and volunteer for a position in this zany club.
It’s been a fun year….well at least I thought it was fun. Perhaps I already have early Alzheimers and I’m forgetting most of the hashes that included dastardly uphill routes and dangerously steep downhills through poison oak infested woodlands.
So in true Academy Award Style I have to mention a few “thank yous”.
Thank you for allowing me to do some of this past years scribing. 
I really do enjoy the creative challenge of attempting to document some of our most poignant and intimate moments each and every week.
Thanks to Pussy Wood for her support and maintenance of the hash trash journals and for pushing me into this perfunctory and perilous position.
Thanks to Puff for his additional reports and incredibly damming hash Flash. I can no longer pass a background check and my security clearance has been revoked.
Thank for for helping me overcome my shyness by encouraging me to show my boobs to complete strangers and dress up in ridiculous costumes. I suppose I can  no longer label myself a wallflower.
Thank you for allowing me to become more comfortable taking a wizz in public.
I paid close attention to Occasional. She is a wonderful mentor.
Thank you for increasing my alcohol tolerance. I can now manage 3 or 4 beers an evening verses the measly one beer a night when I started. This is not including  the special jello shots or the nasty LC checks I have learned to tolerate.
And thank you for allowing me to make jello shots for the Hawaiian themed party. 
58 years old and I finally concocted my first ever jello shot. Resume worthy.
Thank you all for pushing me out of my “comfort zone” and into the wilds of hashing.
Thank you to Vaginal Repair Kit for putting up with my antics and showing up on nights even when you were pooped and not in the mood. And for finally putting on that red dress!
Thank you to all our officers past and present for their faithful and zealous adherence to hashings great traditions and rules.  Thanks for being pillars of this community….the community with no standards. Role models for the forlorn, misfits and disenfranchised…oh wait…that’s a different group. (Not!)
Thanks to everyone who shows up every week looking forward to spending a couple of hours with friends, getting some fresh air and exercise, being silly, being themselves, being authentic and being part of the fabric of life.  We’ve certainly gotten to know each other – the good – the bad – and the ugly.  And we continue to love and accept each other. We all come from different lifestyles and yet what I have noticed is that we all get along. And some of you have formed very close friendships and consider your hashing friends as family. Others are simply weekly acquaintances with whom you share a brew and few laughs. 
 As we say in Santa Cruz. “It’s all good”.
And it is good indeed.
It has been good for me to be a part of this group/this family/this zany club.
Thank you again for accepting me and it has been a pleasure getting to know all of you. 
On On On

937: Helloween

Hash Trail 937
Another beerthday hash and another pathetic excuse to dress up and scare the locals. Six days before Halloween but no one blinked an eye. This is normal for Santa Cruz….where you can be a weirdo 365 days a year.24170649068_f9dc6c726c_o
This extravaganza started with the blaring trail announcement from Just Foot Pussy who could not contain his excitement at his impending monumental birthday event. To make matters worse he drags poor Tits and Game out of retirement and out of her comfy temperpedic bed to assist him. She should have stayed home in her PJ’s and slippers. But then we would have been deprived of her luscious boobies and mischievous and devious trail. 37991798172_f41601b5a4_o
So with all the hoopla and hype we gathered at the Red Room….perfect venue for start of a Halloween hash with its clandestine lighting and regular odd characters. We blended right in like Navy Seals in full camo on a stealthy mission.
Well most of us blended in except for some huge pimple like creature with probing tentacles. Not really sure what that thing was but it certainly was the most creative costume I’ve seen in a long time. The “thing” as I will call it from now on made a valiant effort to keep up with the pack. It’s handler, a gregarious yet firm German lad who seems to have wandered away from the Beer Garten, barked out instructions like a drill Sargent each time a menacing curb loomed ahead….or a nasty maze of train tracks, trash and jagged fence holes presented a violent trip hazard.
The “thing” turned out to be very adept at navigating the city streets and the off trail detours, swigging copious amounts of brown liquid along the way. It remained upright the entire trail.
We encountered many checks….which confounded a few. Some got hopelessly lost but thankfully found refuge at Boccis Cellar. Once they recovered from their ordeal and replenished their “electrolytes” they managed to reunite with the rest of the pack at Religion.
They missed an awesome Liquor Check of festive jello shots in the cemetery. They missed beer check at the top of a lovely knoll. They missed snacks and chips and dip. They missed the giant dildo!!
And they missed us enough to venture out again just to be given a down down. Those rascals may have been Taco Tramp, Summers Yeast and possible Wicked, before he Ubered home to avoid prosecution.
38022522621_e658353c9f_oMaybe he, Wicked, kidnapped Cunt Jungle and violated her in the cemetery. You never know what really goes on underneath that Darth Vadar cape and mask. And no one is ever safe from his tongue!
We had an emergency rescue on trail. Bakers took a nasty fall on a slick slice of sidewalk and luckily the ski patrol was nearby and able to revive him with a generous glug of hot amber swill. No stitches, no crutches needed. Thanks Thump Thump and Princess. Gotta love those Saint Bernards.
As all of our festive participants gathered for the Halloween costume contest, also known as Religion, we noticed that the lovely 99 cent plastic glasses had morphed into unrecognizable shapes. Apparently DBased put said party glasses into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. We will probably need to raise your hash cash next week to cover the cost of replacing our expensive stemware. Blame him.
Speaking of blame and shame we now have a true defector in our midst. Cunt Jungle escaped from her over the hill captors and has been brainwashed into thinking SCH3 now her mother kennel. She is keeping her name to protect the guilty.
Our analversaries were BakersDoesn’t and Curtesy Flush each at 69. Kinda weird eh? We all got treated to an interactive 69 demo. Another Halloween treat I suppose?!
We had some backsliders…..Taco Tramp, Tits and Game, and JFP who was traveling to satisfy insatiable needs.
And finally we had the much touted costume contest…..all who turned up were worthy of a prize, including Hugh as the Queen of Hearts, JFP as the raunchy cowboy, Timmy and his best friend Psycho Baby minus some important limbs, along with a sexy giraffe, Gorilla with a huge hat ( perhaps making up for other lack) Taco as an American Horror Story persona and CumYouWillNot in a festive Hawaiian themed dress. Steamy was styling in his matching paisley 60’s era attire. Dual Tools borrowed a banana that looked more like a giant yellow condom. We had bunnies, supermen and superwomen, skeletons, chicks with dicks and dogs with tutus. Meanwhile Puff went all out and rocked the orange OP shorts. Also Bakers dressed as a chef… which was a stretch and his dog morphed into a lobster dinner.
Obviously the strange vagina creature, the giant bed bug, the 8th grade gonorrhea scare tactic or simply the “Thing” won the coveted t-shirt prize. Well deserved. The grand prize goes to BareBackUniCrack!!!
Overall it was a fun night of costumes, birthdays and creepy crawlies.
Thanks to all who came out to celebrate Halloween almost one week early….but who cares? Any excuse for a party.
And don’t forget the party of the year will be an awesome AGM on Nov 9th.
Be there or be square.
On On On,
VOTE FOR ME………..for something, anything!!!

Hash 935: The adventures of Burrito Boy

OK people…you read the invite to the hash….the cum on lines and the illusion that it will be a cake walk trail. After all, Burrito Boy aka Courtesy Flush is telling you he blew out his ankle running after a roach coach taco truck. He is daring you to catch him as he hobbles around downtown Santa Cruz trying to avoid Hepatitis A infected sidewalks. He baits us with this… “Maybe it’ll be some super secret abandoned industrial site or some magical offshore islands where it rains beer and the free-range unicorns fart lavender and poop cheesecake. ” 

Put a burrito in that boys mouth
Put a burrito in that boys mouth

Let me set the record straight……….we ran about 3 miles…..not really straight as this is a progressive town and there were unicorns as predicted.  I kid you not. 3 magical unicorns….well 2 really special magical unicorns with nice boobs and 1 lame unicorn with a semi. You just had to be there.
In addition to the festive costumes, we were treated to Unicracks Picasso inspired street drawings. Lots of circle jerks, a bazillion true trail arrows, T/E splits, and then the dreaded DETOUR signs. WTF??
The hares really had a hell of a night trying to keep their plan. We were SUPPOSED to start at the Saturn Cafe but some asshate employee and his inept manager decided that we couldn’t order JUST BEER….God forgive…..We had to order BEER and FOOD. Well you can see where this is going. So new plan….go across the street to the Nasti Asti…for BEER and cigs. Mo Better.
Beer Check and Religion were SUPPOSED to be at the Oswald garage….but yet again the hares were thwarted by some thugs in uniform who correctly guessed that the white rectangular box might be a cooler filled with BEER. 
BRRRRILLIANT observation Dr Watson/Mr Park Ranger Person. 
So hence the “DETOUR” signs and the “ALMOST THERE” signs……… thighs are burning and my throat is parched after our gruesome trek around the city. To make matters worse there are weird smiley faces grinning back at me as I ascend yet another set of garage stairs.
Finally………we find the mother lode of beers….and those laughable hares. It’s hard to stay mad at them when they are so adorable.
At Religion it was nice to see the InterAm folks back safe and sound even if they all still looked a little greenish.
Cums out my nose demonstrated a proper Down Down.  She was guilty of being on her cell phone…what else is new? And not listening, hmmm…..and there was no drink in her hand. Horrors and it isn’t even Halloween.
Speaking of horrors the non runners were represented by Broke Bench, Cums out my nose and Wicked. Too bad cause they missed a great LC. The mysterious grey bong water in the old plastic water bottles was a gruesome mixture of either cider and tequila or cider and whiskey. Seems most of it made its way back to Religion…not too many takers for that swill.
Our backslider, Sharticle Physics, has been MIA for at least a year and blames it on “travel”. Must be nice. In reality he has been chasing unicorns and he brought a few to the hash as proof. Just April made her second appearance and Virgin Jennifer did not disappoint when she unzipped her costume.
We also celebrated Wicked’s 169th hash, along with 300 impressive hashes for Broke Bench and a whopping 769 hashes for DBased. Get a Life!
Wicked got another DD for singing out of turn, CumFartZone got a DD for hell if I know but there was some crazy nipple pinching story.
Virgin Jennifer did some lame striptease trying to get out of the Unicorn pajama disguise and in her zeal to show off her hot pink panties she almost got the prize for creative self bondage. 
 The hares had to move it along so they could make the Dick Dale show so we hastily sang them their song and sent them packing.
All in all it was a lovely fall evening in santa cruz with my favorite peeps. And I got some nice swag…thank you Occasional and Shallow!
On On On,

Hash 934: Last Minute Lazy hash

Since most of the pack is away…..the mice will play! Come to Capitola to see the full moon rise….and I don’t mean we will be dropping trou…..well maybe we will….cause you never know around here. We will scamper around this quaint and colorful village by the sea, leave our droppings and annoy my neighbors! I might even have some tasty snacks to entice you to cum out and play.
That was the hash invite. I guess all that electrical stim did something to my naughty bits and made me sign up to be a last minute co-hare with Pinky.  Why do I get myself in these predicaments? I just can’t say no…especially if they beg!
So a few of us outcasts showed up at the Brit. Wicked rode his bike over from the Point but forgot his bike lock….so I climbed the dreaded Capitola stairs yet again to bring him a bike lock. He is forever indebted to me. My thighs were throbbing from those stairs. Maybe a massage is in order rather than a lame thank you note.
Two lonely FACU members showed up as their pack also abandoned them for some stupid event called InterAm in Phoenix. Dual Tools and Shanhainey quickly bonded with their orphaned Surf City brothers and sisters. Somehow we managed to assemble a small pack for the evenings festivities.  Cum You Will Not and Jizz were also happy for the company from over the hill.
Steamy Baanorrhea rose to the occasion and offered to hare the Eagle trail. He even had his emergency kit of flour in the car which made him the official 3rd co-hare.
For a last minute hash we assembled about 18 half minds to play hide and seek.
Pink and CumFartZone quickly mapped out a route….and Steamy ran off on his own and almost got arrested at the Capitola Police Station with his 2 overflowing water bottles filled with a mysterious white powder. He also just escaped a hare snare as well at that location. He diverted his path and went on his merry way. Lucky guy.
Meanwhile Pinky did some sort of a loop around the village hoping to reconnect the second part of the trail with CumFartZone’s trail. She got a little sideways but reconnected at the entrance to Depot Hill where all three trails finally converged. Talk about a cluster fuck!  CFZ got hopelessly lost in her own hood as she attempted to point out all the charming features such as the rising moon and the large bird sculptures made out of shells. While she was flailing around several hashers snared her but she went giggling off into the darkness once again.
At beer check we were joined by three foreigners who quickly discovered that they could score free beer by just merely practicing their strange accents. I think Real Boring Bitch had something to do with their appearance. If nothing else they provided us some great entertainment at Religion.
Poolside religion is always interesting and Dog Breath always manages to get wet. Thankfully he left his undies on as to keep my neighbors from calling the cops….again!!
The virgins were visiting from Sweden. One told a terrible joke about ribbon benches ( I think he meant benches with wooden slates) in which a naked guys penis and balls are pulled through the ribbons/slates. I can say no more, as the joke was really gross.
The second bloke sang The Saints Come Marching In in Swedish, and the third dude sang a Swedish military song about keeping Sweden white. Hmmm how timely and racist! Perfect for Santa Cruz. We just laughed and smiled politely as they swigged more of our beer.
On to our official business….Bakers Dozen’t had 25 CONSECUTIVE hashes and he got Pinky’s “Toser” necklace. That’s another story for another day. I am not really sure what that necklace is all about. Maybe she will tell you next time.
Real Boring Bitch was on his phone trying to show the Swedish guys a picture of IHOP – the visiting hasher with the artificial leg.
There was talk about nominating some new folks for some old jobs….we need a Beer Meister or two. 
Step up to the plate and volunteer for a good cause.
Elections aka erections will be NOV 9 at El Palomar.
The party continued at the Brit for more food and more beer and laughs.
All in all a good shitty last minute lost in Capitola Hash.
On On On,