Ahh, such a lovely evening! The solstice super moon was rising, the bay view was gorgeous, and the beers were fresh and cold. Pink Cherry Licker saved the day by running to  Sev-o for more beer when we saw that Hugh Heifer’s trough had run low. Hares Timmy!!! and Puff the Magic Drag Queen gathered us up at UCSC’s West Remote, for the most beautiful view from a school parking lot ever. Not only did we have a great view of the bay, but Rod Lover and Thmp-Thmp also had a great view of the first section of trail for playing reconnaissance. The hare pair dawdled on-on in the direction of the moonrise. Deep Stroke and Pinky swapped a hard lemonade (and herpes) as the pack chugged down their backwash and saddled up.

Rod and Thmp’s un-telligence mission guided us straight into bombing down a hill, crossing Empire Grade and running through a pasture riddled with critter holes, cute cattle and their sloppy ass droppings. We were relieved to blow right by a private property fence, but soon enough had to hop a steel fence onto a trail that looked like fair game. Hugh’s son, Edgar’s Girlfriend, vaulted right over that son of a bitch like it was a pommel horse. He was stuck spending his birthday with his mom, so you can’t blame the kid for wanting to have some fun. The trail got all woodsy as it snaked along parallel to Empire Grade. We came to a creek with only logs to balance beam across. This was totally becoming more of a gymnastics meet than a hash trail.

Deep Stroke and Cumcerto decided the signal for a mountain lion sighting is screams of terror. I was glad I brought my pepper spray for this shit. I asked Deep Stroke to rip it out of my wrist strap and use it if I got attacked. I’m pretty sure she’d actually just stand back and “signal” while I’d get chewed to kitty bits. Trail winded through poison oak. Then through more poison oak and up a steep hill. Just when our radiators were in danger of over heating, we came to liquor check. Fireball whiskey. Just the thing for a pack of panting, red-faced, sweat-stained hounds. Back on trail was more poison oak. Where there wasn’t poison oak, there were mosquitos. Where there weren’t mosquitos, there were ticks.

We finally escaped from the evil oak as trail went through a graffiti-ized storm drain tunnel beneath Empire Grade. It popped out at a concrete box cave entrance, which didn’t look too welcoming. Glad we passed this by, too. Those old hares were really giving us hell. Hills, shiggy, tunnel, p.o., fences, water crossing, caves, cow patties, cows… This trail had every damn thing BUT banana slugs. What is up with that??

Beer check was in a small redwood grove near Porter College. It had twigs and branches woven in a circle around the base of the trees, making a cozy nest. We shot the shit and snacked on a cheese platter courtesy of gentleman hare Puff. Somehow the discussion turned to crime and panty thieves. I nominated Dog Breath most likely to be a panty thief, but Puff quickly confessed to doing that kind of thing in college. Puff: gentleman hare and panty thief. Brokebench Mountain’s dog Porter was weaving through the beer circle like a walking p.o. delivery device. Strong boys rounded up the cooler and the pack headed back to the start location. dBASED reminded us of ranger danger, so we spread out a bit and acted sorta like decent citizens for a change.

Back at the gorgeous view with the bangin’ moon, Accuprick RA’d and Just Trish was beer fairy. dBASED and Occasional Rapist bailed out of religion either to score a free birthday prime rib dinner at Ideal or because they hate us. Whatever. Brokebench was punished for bringing his dog Porter who crapped on a trail that was already covered in crap. Virgin Ciarra (Pinky made her cum) told a joke that was all kinds of WTF?, so she performed a little ditty about birds instead. Virgin Ciarra and Cumz Like a Dog (Sierra) belched in name solidarity. Then Cumz Like a Dog and Dog Breath drank in name solidarity. We celebrated Puff’s 50^th haring, or his “golden shower analversary” as Deep Stroke called it. Timmy!!! drank for missing the Wharf to Barf t-shirt appointment with designer Hogazm and haberdasher Thmp because he was busy beating off at the farmer’s market drum circle downtown.

Suddenly it was down-downus interruptus by real ranger danger. Thmp went off to smooth things over with the po-po and bought us a few more minutes to finish up our wankfest. Accu proclaimed it the Best Trail of the Year and brought the hares up to thank and spank them. Then we got out while the gettin’ was good.  On on on was at burger. I couldn’t make it, but I hope somebody ordered a Luther. It’s a bacon cheeseburger on a donut bun. Did you just drool a li’l bit?

Next hash will be meeting up at Brady’s Yacht Club. Let’s drink a boatload o’ beer! Those are Captain’s orders.

On-on,
Princess Di(arrhea)

Perhaps hare Occasional Rapist wanted some fancy-ass beer for her birthday because we met up at one of the places with those douchey tulip-stemmed beer glasses, Sante Adairius Rustic Ales. However, co-hare Cuff My Muff seemed much more excited about getting to use her can of bright orange CalTrans spray chalk than any of their rusty old ales. A group of four young sporty types joined us, kind of looking like they knew what they were doing. Turned out they were just Cross-Fitters. Word soon got around that they were virgins, so we welcomed Virgins Sheena, Shawn, Carly, and Katie to our little hashapalooza. After an “exquisitely fermented ale that is unabashedly aggressive and yet satisfying” and some chalk talk, the whole gang was ready to roll.

Trail led off with a true trail mark through a trailer park. The pack was dumbfounded for awhile at a check at the top of Hill St. We collectively pulled it together and headed downhill towards Capitola and jumped on the railroad tracks next to Depot Inn. On the cliffs overlooking New Brighton Beach was a liquor check with some crappy whiskey. Since we started off with “a tart, complex and delectable beer,” it was hard to choke down this swill. Trail hopped back on the tracks and then onto the asphalt of Park Ave.

Mini-chaos ensued at the corner of Park Ave. and McGregor. We were now crossing into the territory of dBASED’s trail from 2 weeks ago. Today’s hares had already been using trail markings of orange spray chalk, pink flour, white flour, blue chalk, and purple chalk. Throw in markings from 2 weeks ago on top of that and you get one clusterfuck of a trail. To top it off, when we finally did identify trail 691, we soon looped through two mile-long back-to-back circle jerks.

Circle jerk #1 brought Deep Stroke and me to this guy on the sidewalk.  He caught the attention of everyone passing by and was definitely slowing down traffic because some of cars were stopping in the middle of the road expecting to have to join some random turtle rescue effort. I guess everyone likes turtles. Trail turned right at the corner of Park Ave. and Soquel Dr. Then it quickly turned right again and looped allll the way back to Park Ave.

Circle jerk #2 was a jungle adventure. I headed solo into a culvert with a sandy bottom and poison oak lined sides. There was ivy and hanging vines all over. It was some real Indiana Jones shit–booby traps and all. About a quarter mile into the culvert a skunk was pacing in circles, alternating between showing us her stinkeye and her pinkeye. One end was giving us dirty looks and the other end was threatening to spray. Trying to get by was like playing jump rope and waiting for the right moment to dash across without getting lashed by the rope, or in this case splashed with ass juice. This skunk was super pissed off, probably because the hares had already thrown rocks at it trying to get it off their trail. Accuprick came along a few minutes later and we found a trail bailout. Exit stage left! We’d rather be covered in poison oak than skunk spray. Luckily, the bailout was a shortcut to beer check in the common area of Cuff’s condo complex where we were treated to a snack of tasty garlicy tzatziki and some dippers. Word at beer check was that past the skunk, trail went through a 4’ concrete pipe under Soquel Dr. It was dark, cobwebby and tough to squat through. Thmp-Thmp said he went into the pipe sniffing dBASED’s ass like a Labrador and came out looking like a cat from a crawlspace with webs on its whiskers.

Religion was a mile away, back at the brewery. Some lazy bastards drove back or hitched a ride. Cookies, hash dinner and beers were served upon arrival. Accu RA’d and Virgin Sheena was beer fairy. Dung Fu Grip down-downed for bike hashing. We toasted Hugh’s 275^th hash, a few birthday girls, all wankers who were skunkblocked on trail, and Deep Stroke for finishing the AIDS ride even though she decidedly did not win. Pink Cherry Licker was cheered for snaring Cuff and Occasional. Today is Monday was jeered for being scared in the tunnel. Of course at this point in the proceedings the Capitola po-po did a drive by to make their presence known, so we hustled along and let the virgins show us their stuff. All we got were jokes that sucked.

On on on was at burger. Some of us finally tried the Jello Biafra which comes on a donut bun. I say if you’re gonna get a donut bun on your burger, you might as well throw some bacon on it as well. So next time we gotta try the Luther.

Next trail will be meeting up at UCSC’s West Remote parking lot for a shiggyfest. Bring your mountain lion repellant and spelunking gear. I have a feeling they may come in handy.

On on,
Princess Di(arrhea)

This week we all schlepped it on over to Santa Cruz Mountain Brewing to rev up the old livers. We had a big pack this week, with visitors from overseas, even! Ralph U. Crammed-In somehow returned to show his face which is now blue, green, black, and red. Poor guy. Shiny Snail Trail made a re-appearance after dealing with way too many sober Thursdays. This was a great place to make a comeback because SCMB has a ginormous beer selection now. Our pals from Okinawa–SCOUT (She Cums On Ur Tits) and Fuck My Face, I’m Bored–got sampler platters of beers that practically came with more flavors than Baskin-Robbins. We all hoped hare TIMMY!!! would lay a shorter trail than usual because one of the few things this brewery wasn’t serving tonight was his usual martini go-go juice.

Accuprick busted out a new hashit at the circle-up. It was some kind of floppy foam noodle that was a failed physical therapy device. Looked more like a failed marital aid. Not only did Accuprick bring the flaccid hashit, he also brought his spawn, No Pole. Are we starting to see a pattern of limpness here? Maybe they can have some of TIMMY!!!’s Viagra because he brags that he only uses it to jack up his car. Rod Lover was the lucky wiener who was chosen to fondle the hashit throughout the evening’s trail.

Speaking of trail, Cum Lord was off like a shot, taking us up Swift St. and across Mission. We passed along the border of a little park on Grandview and into a wooded arroyo. Well, we found the first YBF there and then spent a very long time looking for the terribly, horribly, just barely marked trail that led right back to Grandview. The next stretch took us across speeding Hwy. 1 traffic (DANGER!). After we busted ass dodging cars, Deep Stroke said that if she’d seen us get hit by a car, she would’ve been sad…at most for a few minutes. Trail went down Shaffer Rd. then into the land of ankle-wrenching gopher holes around Antonelli Pond. We were all kind of surprised to find a picturesque Fireball liquor check there instead of a heroin check in the bushes.

We kept on heading beach-wards and into the lagoon of Natural Bridges. When we hit the sand, Dung Fu Grip and Virgin Travis took a quick sunset skinny dip in the ocean. Hippies! Have I mentioned yet that Virgin Travis did trail barefoot with a bloody toe? Dirty hippie!! After our moment with nature, trail markings got very sketchy again. We ended up on West Cliff for about a minute and turned down Swanton Blvd. back to the railroad tracks.

Beer check was behind the Santa Cruz Naturals/Threshold building. Way back in the day, it used to be the Lipton building where they packed teabags and those envelope packets of crappy instant chicken noodle soup. Across the tracks was Wrigley’s. Kids used to dumpster dive for the gum rejects. There was always a whole lotta sketchy black market Hubba Bubba getting passed around our schoolyard. Abundance was not happening tonight, though. The beer went fast, leaving Smirnoff Ice consolation prizes for walkers The Human Pube and Just Laura. Cumcerto got the good stuff because she beat Deep Stroke and was being all braggadocious about it. Thmp-Thmp found a piece of cardboard that was once a sheath for a saw and stuck it on Rod Lover’s hashit dong like a boner cozy. As Ghetto Man was attending to his massive sweat situation, I attended to my massive wedgie situation. I think I may be due for a re-naming because Ghetto Man called my ass a lablancadonk.

We went back to trail’s start behind the brewery for religion. Accu RA’d and Shiny Snail Trail was beer fairy. Backsliders stepped up with their excuses: Just Sara was busy fucking, No Pole was busy taking over the world and Just Laura was in China eating pizza (true story). We all hailed and flailed our visitors from CAN’d and Okinawa. I was very distracted at this time because I was swatting 6 mosquitoes off my red ON-ON sox. Those bastards were biting right through our clothes. They did not give a fuck whatsoever. Virgin Travis exposed his bunz and I was hoping the mosquitoes would take to his tender virgin butt bait and leave us alone. There was a special down-down for the stoners. Reefer and beer, man! I swatted some XL mosquitoes off TIMMY!!!’s back. Just Jane told a joke that almost got her named Ass Rammer right on the spot. Cumcerto was blown away by the fact that Wicked Retahted passed her on trail. He was indeed hauling tonight. I thought I saw a light blood stain from mosquito squashing on the page of my Princess Diarrhea, but thankfully it was just a smudge of cheesy poof dust. Cuff My Muff claimed she “won the hash”, but Deep Stroke protested that we’re all wieners. Speaking of wieners, we all realized that Rod Lover bailed out of religion. I was awarded a 75 r*ns patch AND 15 mosquito bites! SCOUT and Fuck Face showed some real class by bringing some hash swag to share. The guys had to race for it. No Pole came up the rear to win it! Harriettes had to show skin to win. Yes, we saw Hugh Heifer’s ta-ta tattoo AGAIN.

On on on was at burger. where Deep Stroke tried the Marky Mark–a hot dog with strawberry jam and swiss cheese. Not too bad. Hey, pretty much anything will do after a hash, am I right? Rod Lover came back for on on on after getting busted for sneaking out of religion. We dedicate this song from Okinawa to Rod Lover because, “Rod Lover is a fucking wanker because he snuck back like a back door bitch.”

This is my hashit
My only hashit
For being stupid
On trail today
I will hold it
Until I pass it
Someone take my hashit away…

Who will take the hashit this week? Cum to dBASED’s house on Lindsay Lane in Soquel to find out!

On on,
Princess Di(arrhea)

The Rush Inn let us lowlifes back into their joint his year. They even fed us and kept our glasses full. Thank you, Rush Inn! The red pack was large. About half were visiting from CAN’d, SVH3 and beyond. Surprising that so many hashers came together for a good cause, considering we’re never up to any good at all otherwise. All proceeds went to WomenCARE. We hope the Lady in Red was smiling down on us that day.

While we debated whether Bloody Wanker (in a lovely red cheetah print) had the tightest ass, Cuff My Muff’s car was getting a ticket from a meter maid outside. Cuff has connections to the law, so she may be able to charm her way out of it. Yes, she has exactly one ounce of charm and saves it only for these kinds of occasions. The crimson pack grew to around 50 and gathered outside. Boner Malfunction lived up to his name while he flashed the circle. I offered up a stick of anti-chafe for nipples and naughty bits because last time I red dressed with CAN’d there was some serious chafing going on.

Occasional Rapist and Shallow Hole hared a trail for r*nners and Hugh Heifer hared a bar crawl trail for walkers. I followed the r*nners down River St., where a left turn took us up to Holy Cross. We crossed over Hwy. 1 and found liquor check #1 near Mission Hill Middle School at Dirty Dolmas’s place. It was a fruity and tasty selection of jello shots and peach chardonnay (labeled “A Fine Wine Product”. Ha!). We were all fooled by the green shots. They were MINT, which kinda brought back sad memories trying to drink mouthwash for a buzz. Trail headed across Mission St. and took a looong haul down California St. Deep Stroke did some garage sale shopping along the way and bought Hashy Smurf, a virgin to join her on trail as she blew by all the other hounds on her endless quest to WIN.

The day was getting too damn hot for synthetics. We were all wearing different styles of the same ol’ polyester red dress from The Goodwill. Trail cut through the circles and through Lighthouse Field. We found liquor check #2 at Its Beach near the lighthouse. The ocean breeze was nice and sweet, just like the sex on the beach that Waxi Pad was serving up. He also had sangria and cold water on hand. Ahhh…refreshments…

The rest of trail gave our visitors an eyeful of SC beauty as we strolled along West Cliff. Puff the Magic Drag Queen was wishing he’d brought an extra pair of red OPs to put on the surfer statue as we passed. There’s always next year! The last booze stop on our journey was beer check at Ideal Bar & Grill for margaritas, mai tais and beers.

We were still ¾ of a mile away from the religion spot. Here is where my trail notes simply say, “Oh shit. The trolley ride.” We stuffed the trolley with red dresses and booze-itude. Luckily, the driver loved us and wished he could join us! Not so much for the other passengers. Minors and tourists be damned as Arabian Goggler led us in Today is Monday, followed by Free Beer for All the Hashers. Now I understand why Goggler’s Liver is his own hasher. He’s a stuffed critter, just like Hashy Smurf. Goggler’s liver has definitely earned its own mascot.

Religion was held at the Silver Bullet (Oswald) garage. News was traveling fast that Ralph U. Crammed-In had an accident. Not the wet himself kind, but the trip-and-full-on-faceplant kind. Man down! We heard he was bleeding from the face area but refused medical treatment and headed back to Rush Inn instead.

Accuprick and dBASED co-RA’d and Tonya Hardon was beer fairy. We cele-berated the analversaries of Occasional Rapist: 100! and Hugh Heifer: 269! The virgins were also given their moment of glory. Deep Stroke made Hashy Smurf come, but he had absolutely no joke nor junk to offer. Just some crappy lalalalalala song. Shallow Hole made Ann come. She told that stale old fucking goofy joke. My Little Bony enlisted some random couple from the parking lot to join our red shit show. After getting a good guzzle of warm Hamm’s, Aaron and Megan wisely backed away slowly then ran. Just Sierra was named Cumz Like a Dog. Bestiality’s best, boy! Dirty Dolmas hosted a liquor check but didn’t do any trail. That’s fine for our drinking club, but we’re beginning to suspect she does not have a running problem. The lovely harriette trio was revered but mostly reviled.

On on on was back at the Rush Inn. There was a ‘sketti feed for our bellies and more booze to fuel our hangovers. Ralphie’s face had been patched up someone at the bar but he was still looking tore up from the neck up. Ouch!

We all agreed that a doing our Red Dress R*n on a Saturday is the way to go. Debauchery galore! It was redder and better than ever! Let’s hope the Rush Inn will be foolish enough to have us back again next year.

 On on,

Princess Di(arrhea)

And now for something completely different…an UNhash! Hugh Heifer chose us, her closest (actually, just most degenerate) friends, to spend her 50^th birthday with. There was no trail to be found–this was strictly a booze cruz. Every lazy bastard hasher who caught wind of this week’s unhash hopped off their dive bar stool or couch and got gussied up to kick-off Hugh’s 50th at The Red.  I could almost say that everybody cleaned up real nice and purty. The charming bartender, Aaron, offered Hugh a birthday blow job but she opted for some D.P. instead (a flaming Dr. Pepper).

Next stop was down on the first floor at the Red Room. All this red was getting us fired up for Saturday’s Red Dress R*n. Speaking of fired up, in the back of the bar Hairy Fuck 2.5 and I hotly debated whether it’s called a Dutch “rudder” or a Dutch “runner”. I submit my evidence here.  I’ll bet Dog Breath totally knows for sure. I think he’s a Dutch boy since his home hash is The Hague, but he denies it and claims to be totally from Hawaii, brah. Until we see that birth certificate, let’s just call him an Interhashional Man of Mystery.

After Red Room, we headed down to Rosie McCann’s. I can’t believe they let us back in after Green Dress! The Guinness Girls were there to pass out some swag. No hasher can resist blinky beer swag, right? When all of Rosie’s was happy to see us finally go out the door, we moooved along to Motiv. We all grabbed a round and headed up the back stairs to our own little private ultralounge. VIP, bitches!!

The time had come to sop up the booze with some food, so the gang split for Tampico. Thmp-Thmp and I split for home because we have dumb jobs and a stupid alarm that goes off at 5:30am. You’ll have to get the rest of the story from Puff’s flash, but I’m pretty sure it ended a little something like this:

Happy Birthday to Hugh!!! Cheers to 50 more years and 50 more beers!

On out,

Princess Di(arrhea)

Salutations,

Welcome to the six-hundred and eighty-third edition of the Surf City Hash Trash. Puff the Magic Drag Queen here. I’m standing in for Princess Di(arrhea) who was on loan to the FHAC-U H3 Thursday the 26th. Good thing too, she missed a lousy trail. While I have made it a rule, whenever in my power, to avoid becoming a draftsman of papers that are to be reviewed by hashers, I made an exception in this case owing to Princess being rather attractive and I figure she won’t be married forever.

Let’s get right to it, the quicker I fulfill my duty here I can get (back) to the bar and forget I’ve wasted another Sunday afternoon telling you things those that attended already know and those that didn’t join us couldn’t care less about.

We started our latest fiasco at the Over The Hill Gang Saloon on Portola Drive. Bar owner Mitzi, knowing we’re bad people, handed off a usually financially-lucrative Thursday shift to Joanne. Many of you may remember Joanne from a Friday after Thanksgiving Turkey Trot hash. We serenaded her with a verse of Why was she born so beautiful? and when we got to the ‘She’s no fucking use at all’ line an inebriated female patron jumped up and attacked the nearest male hasher. Poor old dBASED crawled away pretty bruised before Joanne pulled her off him.

We had no where near that much fin this visit though. The hare-pair, Occasional Rapist and Wicked Retahted, handed out costume cowboy hats to everyone. Too bad they were child-size and fit almost no one. (Mistake number one) The hares left just slightly after the appointed time. Cuff My Muff was walking from her car and when she ambled through the swinging doors of the saloon, said she’d seen marker leading down 36th Avenue towards the bay.

As soon as circleup duties were completed, many in the pack headed down 36th, completely ignoring flour directly across Portola from the Saloon.  Those that took the obvious trail, that being 36th, were eventually treated to a viewing of the hated YBF mark. And it was a l…o…n…g time in coming too, just ask FRB’s Cum Rash and Just Sierra!

Meanwhile, back on true trail… Hounds such as TIMMY were laughing loud and long. By the time the lost children returned from the YBF, those lucky dogs that sniffed out true trail were far, FAR down 35th Avenue preparing to on-left onto Roland Drive.  Mercifully, a check at Roland and 32nd gave much of the pack an opportunity to catch up. Our chosen path was 32nd which brought us right back to Portola, almost withing sight of the Saloon. Yes, a three block/half-mile circle jerk.

Marker pointed the pod on-right onto Portola and then on-left across Portola onto 26th Avenue. An on-right onto Friesland Court turned into Hampstead Way which eventually brought the bevy back to 26th. Yep, another pointless circle jerk. An on-right back onto 26th brought us to…

Well, no one stopped in for a burger even though
the guy behind the counter yelled, Yo! Come on in! A check at Kong’s on the corner of 26th and 24th was soon dispatched
with and the mongrels made an on-right onto 24th. Twenty-fourth eventually curves on-left and brings one to East Cliff Drive. Here a hare-arrow led the litter on-left and, yes, soon to pass 26th.  Correct, yet another pointless circle jerk. As an quick aside, a  hare arrow also turned the troops on-right onto 25th only to find an ‘Admire the view’ note at the end of this dead end street.  Gee, thanks. This is even WORSE than a pointless circle jerk. The  pride plodded back to East Cliff and headed on-right towards Moran Lake. Just before the lake, flour  crossed the street and led us into the parking lot and then up the path beside this so-called lake. Marker soon led the litter on-left to the end of Fresno Street where  we finally found our hares complacently slurping Beer Check beer.
Our business concluded here, dBASED laid a circuitous route on-in to Wicked Retahted’s abode for  Religion. dBASED, believing he can handle all aspects of Religion, appointed
himself as Beer Fairy. That’s sort of like being judge, jury AND  executioner in my opinion. Be that as it may, here how things went. Wicked beat out Hugh Heifer  and Occasional Rapist for Best Dressed Cowgirl. Well, maybe I  should say ‘cowpoke’ instead. Cumerto was punished for standing on a hare arrow and asking, Should  I mark trail? Cumerto, Pink Cherry Licker and Dog Breath were awarded patches for haring their first trail for us. Yes, I know it’s been a long time, it took  a while to get patches. Sierra was awarded a down-down for setting  off an entire neighborhood of dogs when she and her dog Sly passed by. Sierra stayed at the  altar and was joined by Dog Breath for a down-down celebrating  their DFL status for this trail. The hares, needless to say were chastised for their trail.
Then it was off to Cole’s bar-b-q for vittles. We had a good time as  soon as we completed running off the few mortals that were eating. But no, that isn’t all the stupidity that transpired. Photographic  proof exists that Just Sierra and Dog Breath returned to the Saloon  for a nightcap and to perform cheap barroom tricks with Joanne the beertendress.
Next week will have us assembling our traveling kennel way-the-hell  out in Seascape Village at Palapas Restaurant y Cantina. After  getting our fill of chips and salsa , we will pursue Princess Di(arrhea) and Thmp-thmp through the wilds of this untamed section of Santa Cruz County.
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-eighth day of April in the year of our Hash  two-thousand thirteen.
On-out,
Puff the Magic Drag Queen
Surf City H3
Acting Scribe