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.”

Huh.

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.

Huh.

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.

Thursday.

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?

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.

Right?

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.” 

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

The first was my 40^th 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).

April Showers are supposed to bring May flowers. However, I contend we’ve already got Flowers, so what did April showers bring us this week? I think just cold and wet Hashers. I always like my Harriets wet, so that is not a bad thing.

Junk Puncher and I left the house at 4:30 before the hash with pre-hash business to attend to. I had not been paying too much attention to the weather and the last thing I heard was Thursday night showers. Doesn’t that mean after the sun goes down? So, I prepared for a coolish weather, but not wet weather. When Junk Puncher and I finally headed to the hash start it was full on raining. I figured, well at least hopefully this is the last wet hash for some time. I had not had the opportunity to check on final hash business and it seemed unlikely the end to remain at Seabright beach, but without intel otherwise I parked there anyway. Junk Puncher and I arrived at the Hash start, Johnny’s Harborside, moments before circle up. I have yet to be inside this establishment and the trend continues.

When circle up commenced I saw Deep Stroke wave good bye for her car. As we departed

I saw Twat did you say wave goodbye too as she stayed at the bar. I imagine Wicked Retahted did the same. Circle up was largely up against the side of the building as Hashers attempted to remain dry as long as possible.

There was a barely recognizable check right by circle-up. I figured this was a bad omen. However, it turned out to be the only check that was washed out.

Trail proceeded up the West side of the harbor to a check at the North-West end. Would we take the tree over the creek once again,

or would it be across the pedestrian/bike bridge to Arana Gulch? Bridge it was to another check at the bottom of Arana Gulch. I figured trail had to go one way or another to the outlet at Broadway. So, I ran a giant loop. As I returned from my giant loop I came up the pack still try to solve it. Well, there was only one way remaining – down the other side of the harbor, and so we went.

A check in front of Frederick Street part resulted in an on-up through Frederick Street park, then another other check as we departed the park. I figured down Frederick St and reentering the harbor. Thmp-Thmp had the same idea and I followed him about a 1/2 block behind. However, this direction provided no results and we to had to reverse course.

At this point trail headed towards Windham and past Seabright to Cayuga and another check. Apparently true trail turned left in Cayuga here. However, I proceeded straight, then left on Pine to return back to the trail and another check at the beloved five corners – the site of many checks in the past.

Apparently trail continued on down Cayuga again. However, I went down Buena Vista, cut left on Idaho and once again caught trail on Cayuga. Cayuga ends above the railroad tracks. There was brief trail above the railroad tracks, then down and across to Pilkington. I was impressed with all the fallen trees behind the Natural History Museum.

A final check on East Cliff and I said to myself and Junk Puncher, the beer check has got be at the San Lorenzo river overlook – and so it was.

Our hares, Pink Cherry Licker and Fap Jack said the timing was excellent as they had arrived moment earlier.

After starting to turn into a Popsicle, I was glad to have my car nearby. Hugh Heffer joined me. Religion was to be held under the Glenn E Coolidge Memorial Bridge (aka Murray Street bridge), near the start. We figured it would take Hashers much longer to get back, so waited in warmth in the car for 10 minutes. As Hugh Heffer and I approached religion we saw it was going in full force. I have no idea how Hashers got there so fast!

Religion was cold because it was so windy, but at least it was not wet. I only remember 3 things there.

1. We tried to name Just Wendy, but were too cold to do so.
2. We almost didn’t name Just Chuck, but he got Pansy in the end.
3. Hugh Heffer got a down-down for New Shoes.
   Then it was off to Engfer Pizza so I am told for those that wanted more merriment. I went home to be warm.

   

I know I have the Surf City Hash record for haring the Southern most Hash in La Selva Beach. I’ll contend it was also the coldest Surf City Hash. I contend I also have the record for the warmest Surf City Hash – a fateful date in Scotts Valley that is so long ago only Puff can remember it. Well, the Southern most record is going to be broken this week when Butt Balls and Little Anal Annie subject us to Virgin Hash territory at Manresa Uplands Campground. Official Operating hours there are until Sunset. Let’s hope the rangers do not come for a visit.

I’ve purposely not signed up to be a scribe and probably never will, and here’s why. I know I’ll pick up the slop. On the way home from this weeks Hash Occasional Rapist and I discussed whether there was a scribe or not, and that I’d be willing to do it if no one else signed up. So, there you go.

In my last write-up, 2 weeks ago, I was discussing people who were not there and missed discussing two. They were there this week, but that doesn’t change any thing. First, is Dog Breath – international man of mystery. Rumor has it that whenever he is not at the Hash he is starting a war somewhere. All must have been quiet on the Western Front this week, so he made a guest appearance. The last thing I want to say about Dog Breath is that I have heard reports that more than 1 Harriet has discovered some of the Dog Breath’s mystery, including a virgin he appeared to have deflower at my house a few years ago.

Second is Banana Basher. My thoughts on Banana Basher is he flips a two headed coin with Bailas Con Burros each week as to weather can come to the hash and she gets to call the coin. This week Bailas Con Burros must have thought the promise of a FACU style trail was safe for his bulkyness and he was allowed to attend. However, I’ll note she has a very short leash as he left before down-downs.

The next Hasher of honorable mention is Thmp-Thmp. The hares had promised we might see a groundhog, and Thmp-Thmp provided the groundhog as himself in what other weeks would be considered a squirrel costume.

The last Hasher to have honorable mention is Puff The Magic Drag Queen. My last write-up was his last hash to attend. He started a new streak at 1 this week. However, as of this writing, travel outside of Santa Cruz county is perilous. So, if he makes it out on Thursday, who knows if he’ll make it back. For those that want to read about last time Puff missed a hash click here.

This weeks Hash featured one the founders of the FACU hash, Accuprick, as one of our hares. His co-hare was his (very) close friend Butt Balls. We were promised food on trail in a dry location and more food at the end. While the hares provided lies about trail, other Hashers tried to maim each other with giant Jenga blocks.

Trail started into the neighborhood on Seacliff drive.  Now, if you are going to do a short trail, there are two alternatives. The first is go down Beachgate way and take the trail to the beach. However, there is a giant sink hole on that trail right now and the trail is closed. There was a giant false right in front of that trail that somehow Dog Breath missed. He was awarded a down-down at religion for missing it. The second alternative is to double back to State Park Drive somehow, which is exactly what we did. From there it was over Highway 1, and could we be headed any place other than Butt Ball’s garage?  The FRB’s did a little clockwise loop through the cemetery and nearby neighborhood. The rest the pack made a beeline for Butt Balls house.

There we were rewarded with a supposedly vegan Curry soup courtesy of Fap Jack and chicken wings from Lil Anal Annie. The soup was quite spicy, but quite tasty. Occasional Rapist tells me she asked for the recipe, so I am hoping to sample it again soon.

After the food was gone, the hare’s asked if we wanted a trail back, or just a straight on in to religion behind Point A. A straight On-In was universally expressed.

At religion we had one significant back slider. That would be Puff. When you don’t miss a trail for nearly 15 years, 1 is a big deal.

There were also numerous anniversary celebrated. Courtesy Flush and Genital Tongs for 50 and Just Foot Pussy and Bacon Queef for 75.

There was also the lost dog/lost Hasher debacle with Just Alisha and Just Kem. First the dog was missing, but quickly discovered. Finding Just Kem was another matter.

After religion it was back to the Med for more food! This time our chef was Jizziki who provided some sort of Tofu dish and something else I cannot remember. And, the Med also featured more attempts by Hashers to maim each other with falling bricks (Jenga).

My last order of business to discuss this week’s upcoming trail. One of our hares is Dung Fu Grip, or perhaps he should be better know as the bearer of rain. We’ve had two exceptional rainy Hashes this season and Dung Grip was a hare for both. It appears he will be doing it this week. Perhaps all California needed in the past was for Dung Fu Grip to hare more often! Dung Fu’s consort for the evening is Ho To Housewife. We’ve not seen much of her of late and the last was within hoofing distance of her abode. Will she be able escape Scotts Valley on this rainy evening? The last two times these jokesters set trail  from the Boardwalk bowl it was the same trail and no one followed all of it either time. This week they are going for the three-peat.

This hash trash was originally supposed to be written by Occasional Rapist. The day went like this:

1:06 My legs are sore. It’s going to rain. I have to help a friend with a project. Can you write the hash trash?
1:13 Never mind, I am doing the project now.
2:46 Even though my legs are sore, I am going.
5:26 I have too much work to do. I am not going.
9:00 Did you remember you are writing the hash trash?

I should have made Occasional Rapist be the scribe any way. Not attending is no excuse. This reminds me of many moons ago when I was the On-Sec for the Long Beach Hash. Back in those days we had a weekly printed hash trash. The scribe was different every week and back in the those pre-internet days I got the write-up in all sorts of interesting manners. One of my most frequent contributors was Doggy Style. She was quite good and always made her deadline. However, one week she fucked up. I happened to be in Boston the week of that week’s hash. So, I wrote the hash trash and every third sentence was “Fuck you Doggy Style”, in an attempt at humor. Some saw the humor, others did not. I got a Pie in the face from Riff Raff over that Hash trash. We had an “On-Disk” (97-Sex) who was in charge of mailing out the hash trash to members who did not attend. She considered my write-up pornography and tore it off every Hash trash that was mailed. This was later reported back to me and I think I was supposed to be upset, but I just laughed. (BTW, I am hoping Finger Nips reads this and gets it to Doggy Style – whom I am told she and Riff Raff still know).

Hash 893 was the lowest attended hash in years. Because so few of you attended, I’m sure this is likely to be the most read hash trash in years as all those that missed are curious to know what happened.

There there 14 humans and 1 dog (Junk Puncher). There were only 3 humans of the female persuasion, and one of them only made it to the beer check (Ho To Housewife – who walked there from her house and was a pseudo hare).

There was impending rain in the forecast, but we were sparred the rain, which did not cum until a few hours later. I’m sure if this had been a Dung Fu Grip trail the rain would have been upon us. Perhaps we need to have Shallow Hole hare more often as she seemed to be able to fold off flood waters.

The most interesting topic at the start of the hash is why people were not there. Occasional Rapist and Pink Cherry Licker were reported to have work obligations. Timmy was at some fancy smancy concert. New Kids on Cock, who works just up the street from the start, was apparently still recovering from the demolition derby caused by fallen trees at his house earlier that week. Du Fu Grip reported to me a few days something like, he just wasn’t feeling up to it, or he couldn’t get a ride, or something like that. I’m imagining that Deadleast Snatch and Rat Pussy were afraid the THE Scotts Valley would might simply fill up with water and they would either be trapped there or need to swim for safety.

We’ve not seen much of Shallow Hole of recent. She seems to think her elderly dog and sometimes her blind husband (Waxi Pad) have higher priority than us. Even her initial co-hare, Cum Pumper, abandoned her. Last we saw Cum Pumper she reported she had had a date in Scotts Valley and might have reason to see us more often. I’m guessing that didn’t work out, or Cum Pumper would have some how made it to Scotts Valley for her haring obligation. Shallow Hole’s priority to the Hash was on full display tonight as the distance of the hash matched the attendance. I’m guessing she planned it on a small cocktail napkin the night before.

Our special guest star tonight was Deep Stroke. She is a street walker this days. That is, she delivers the mail and says she is on her feet 6 hours a day. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, Deep Stroke claimed injury and was told me at the start she was not doing trail. However, somehow she made it to beer check unscathed to the mortal eye.

Across the street is a newly formed residence of Shallow Hole’s employer – Kaiser Permanente. It is also a residence of my former employer – Embarcadero Technologies. Most of people I used to work with there were laid off in the past year and I wondered if everyone who remained now worked from home. However, as we left the start I saw lights on, so it appeared someone was home. A few minutes into the hash we passed the back side and I saw people inside – so I know it’s not just a facade – people really do still work there.

The start of this hash started with a button hook through a housing complex just behind Kaiser and Embarcadero. We then hit San Augustine Way with a check. Another check was found at San Augustine Way and Hacienda. I figured Shallow Hole had to throw in a hill or two, so I checked left. However, trail continued on straight and through the only bit of shiggy of the night with short trail that connect to Sandrays Heights Rd.

In this brief section of trail I had cause to discuss a notorious Hasher in my past, Fruit of the Loom, with Thmp-Thmp.  Fruit of the Loom is kind of the Puff of the Long Beach Hash with one exception – no one likes him. When I left the Long Beach 25 some years ago, I got reports of him being punched out twice in the first 6 months I was gone. And that was 25 years ago. My children had heard me describe Fruit of Loom for years and the first time they did a Long Beach hash they picked him out of a crowd. Anyhow, somehow the discussion of staying on trail regardless of the conditions come up with Thmp-Thmp and I commented how Fruit does this religiously. His mantra is – “Try Hashing – you might like it”. I heard this a lot from him back in the day. It wasn’t too popular in a Hash were short-cutting was consider an art form.

A final check was encountered at Sandray Heights and Glenwood. Trail turned left on Glenwood, then right at the bridge that connects with Siltanen Park and beer check was found in the parking lot next to Siltanen Park. We were greeted with some sort of warm chocolaty drink that was yummy and found our hostest Ho To Housewife serving the drinks. Urban legend says that Scotts Valley has no regulations against open containers, yet Shallow Hole seemingly found one of the few places in Scotts Valley was alcohol is not allowed – because there is sign saying so as you enter the parking lot.

After all arrived, we departed for a location were alcohol was allowed for religion. That would be Siltanen part across the street. There was even an amphitheater. I recall two significant down downs of the night. First was when Princess Diarrhea led a song she couldn’t sing. I got brought forward as well as I couldn’t sing it either. The second was finally to our sausage fest when both our virgins showed their’s! Ladies – you missed it.

It was cold and the attendance was small, so down-downs were short. Afterward, many had to be directed as to where the start was and most walked back.

It is often said history repeats itself and so I feel the desire the recant the events of exactly 11 years previous to this years hash. That would be 12/8/2005. I checked the historical records (archive.org) and believe I have my date correct. On this night it presented the unique combination of rain, hashing downtown and Snow Night (now called WinterFest), the same as we have this week. As you might guess, religion was held at the Soquel/Front parking garage – just as is scheduled this week. Due to inclement weather, the collective decided to have religion one level down and avoid being wet. This resulted in a large volume of sound being generated. Because it was Snow Night and there were many families to hear it and many nearby police to respond. The police believed it was fight. Religion was held in a corner by the stairs. The cops pinned us in. One cop coming up the stairs on foot and two cop cars were coordinated to arrive all at the same moment.

When the cops arrived, they were kind of dumbfounded – expecting a fight, only to find people drinking. They said, dum-dee-dum-dum – you gotta go. Hashers fled the scene of the crime as quickly as possible and no arrests were made. Banana Basher took one for the team and negotiated with the cops. Perhaps his truck full of toys helped (it was Toys for Tots night). I had no alcoholic beverage in my possession when the coppers arrived, so I stuck around to see if Banana need to be bailed out.

The end of the story is Banana’s vehicle was not parked in a parking spot and the coppers requested it be moved. However, Banana was no condition to operate a moving vehicle, so he requested I do it. It only need to moved around 5 feet. However, Banana had some sort of funky transmission and it took me about 5 minutes to move those 5 feet. Banana knew exactly what was going on and was laughing inside his head the entire time while the police watched.

So, I believe the lesson to be learned for this week’s hash is should conditions occur such as religion is moved down one floor, it is done with contemplation.