Rain on our parade,

It would appear the gods of the Hash wished to prevent Dung-Fu Grip from perpetrating his recurring Christmas crime on us as the rare occurrence of water fell from the sky this evening. Sadly, these overseers underestimated Dung-Fu’s dedication to dastardly deeds and we were criminalized again.

Starting from what is arguably Santa Cruz’s most notorious dive bar, the (Nasty) Asti, rivaled only possibly by the Jury Room or the long-gone Lil’s Seaside Tavern, (I will not speak of it) sets the stage for the outrageous act to follow. Admittedly, a mop has finally been dragged across the floor of late and the smoke and blood stains have been painted over. However, the clientele has NOT been replaced so a visit here remains as sketchy as ever. And so, it was here(again) that Dung-Fu began his annual assault on our sensibilities.

The six o’clock hour is somewhat early for the creatures that frequent this establishment so, mercifully, the pack had the majority of this dark cave to ourselves. It gave us hope we would exit the facility prior to the arrival of people even hashers do not wish to associate with. To this end, our hare delivered Instructions of Trail only slightly past the standard 6:33. There was mention of a Liquor Check, a trail both short and flat(proved inaccurate), nice scenery(another fallacy) and one or two excellent photo ops( depended on your definition of ‘excellent’). Hare-away.

The next fifteen minutes was consumed by making our drinks disappear and keeping one eye on the door hoping it remained unused most of the time, at least by anyone other than our fellow kennel mates. For the most part it was too. Like I mentioned, it’s too early for the usual denizens of this den to slither in. Thankfully, before having to fear for our safety, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain wisely called for Circleup for Introductions and heard from the following: Flours For Anal Bum, Clearly Not A Hooker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Steamy Baanorrhea, Hareless, Accuprick, Pink Cherry Licker, TIMMY!!, 2 Dicks Down, Circle Gherkin’, Courtesy Flush, dBASED, Just Kamryn, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, My Sister’s Dildo, Womb With A View, Virgin Slim and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. This week’s canine contingency consisted of only Junk Puncher. Pack out.

It was on-left out the door and across Laurel Street to an on-left onto Birch Lane. There, in the boarded-up doorway formerly giving access to the Poet and Patriot pub, we discovered Liquor Check. Seems appropriate enough.

Note the word ‘cothrom’ on the trim around the former door. That’s Gaelic for ‘opportunity’. In this context, the reference referred to your ability to drink Guinness on tap till 2AM. We soon moved on as this is a highly visible area. We continued to Cedar Street. A solved check pointed the pod on-right and one block later it was on-right again back to Pacific Avenue and on-left there. We fascinated passersby and embarrassed ourselves by traipsing a substantial portion of Pacific until reaching Soquel Avenue where we were led on-right then on-left on Frazier Lewis Lane to Front Street and on-left. At Cooper Street it was on-left and then on-left again to skirt around the edge of Abbott Square and on-right into the arcade back to Pacific. At Pacific it was on-right there and then on-left onto Locust Street. One block later, Cedar Street again, we went on-right and while I have no personal knowledge of such, a Gorilla Beer Check may have been instituted at the Red Room. We proceeded along Cedar to Mission Street and were directed on-left and on-up to Mission Hill.

At Sylvar Street we undertook the dangerous crossing of Mission Street and then on-right onto High Street. This took us within a lightning bolt’s distance from Holy Cross Church where the obligatory gang mug shot was taken.

Moving along before persons of importance noticed us, we proceeded to School Street and then on-down the Anthony steps to North Pacific. Here we were told to proceed on-left along Water Street to River Street and a check was discovered there. There ensued some confusion here and a copious quantity of time was expended. Hounds went in various directions and returned empty-pawed until marker was discovered north on the levee pathway and then on-left down a small hill leading to the path on-right under Water Street. Now it’s common knowledge the levee pathway is a questionable walk during daylight hours and off limits after the sun has vacated the sky. That was of course of no concern to our hare whom can outrun any of the questionable creatures that inhabit the levee in darkness. So, we banded together for safety’s sake and traversed the levee and then made the on-left onto the pedestrian bridge crossing above the mighty San Lorenzo River, through the park, on-right on Dakota Street and then across Soquel Avenue and on-right back onto the levee pathway behind Royal Taj Restaurant.

This would bring us to the Riverside Avenue bridge eventually. Just prior to that, a sharp-eyed Pink Cherry Licker spotted a tall person with horns on his head standing proud at the stairs atop Cliff Street. Either the Prince of Darkness was in town or the hare stood out in bold silhouette at Beer Check. Thankfully, it was the latter. Once across the bridge, trail led the litter into the darkened depths of Beach Flats, on-left onto Leibrandt, past the park to Beach Street and on-right past the Boardwalk. Then Cliff Street was utilized to it’s termination point overlooking the river. It was there the hare staged Beer Check, exactly where Pink Cherry Licker had spied him earlier.

Having completed our business here we proceeded on-down the steps and along Laurel Street Extension to the area behind Wheel Works. It was there Accuprick donned his Religious Adviser attire. Here’s a sampling of down-downs he issued: Courtesy Flush for playing a drinking game at Beer Check, backsliders were chastised and a naming was attempted(tabled for later). Religion was mercifully short as the rain now pelted our pelts mercilessly. This prompted the RA to declare an end to this Hash and I do the same for this Hash Trash.

On-on-on was conducted at Woodstock’s and saw Circle Gherkin’, Courtesy Flush and Pink Cherry Licker in attendance.

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 be 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 is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash twelve-22.

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 thirteenth day of December in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with al respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3

Toying,

And not the pleasurable type either. While the pack kindly donated a multitude of gifts for those children growing up less fortunate than did you or I, hare-pair Occasional Rapist and dBASED availed themselves of our kind-hearted nature to jerk us through Soquel Village, a graveyard both dark and dreary and a muddy field. Details to follow.

This December debacle originated at J. J.’s Saloon and Social Club in the center of Soquel Village. This is a long time watering hole in these here parts, it’s reputation rivaled only by that of Sir Froggy’s Pub across the street. The clan commandeered a considerable quantity of tables, one of which became a storage facility for a growing number of toys which would eventually find their way to the Salvation Army. The first hare appeared around 6:25 dispelling the rumor that trail was so incompetent the hares had opted to not show for this hash. Around 6:40, the second hare having sheepishly appeared, Instructions of Trail were related.

With only a few hounds listening, co-hare dBASED informs us trail will now start from Redz Hair Design on Porter Street. This business was formerly owned by our own Summer’s Yeast. Rumor Central has advanced possible reasons for her selling this fine establishment but since moral issues and sex play a prominent role in these rumors, I will not commit them to the official record. Hares out.

The party resumed with only a slight hiccup. As the seven o’clock hour approached, it dawned on co-GM Cumz Out My Nose, she should consider calling for Circleup for Introductions. Her action resulted in hearing from the following: Snake Me Anywhere, Clearly Not A Hooker, Wicked Retahted, Circle Gherkin’, Virgin Bryan, TIMMY!!, Steamy Baanorrhea, Princess Di(arrhea), Thmp-Thmp, Flours for Anal Bum, Virgin Patricia, Virgin Slim, Rubik’s Pube, Jersey Lunchbox, Just Ning, Cum You Will Not and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. This week’s canine contingency was Swamp Rat, Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. Pack away.

This was the shortest trail in world history. We crossed Porter Street to Redz. Once to Redz, the toys were deposited in the barrel in the narthex, we continued to flood into the interior and met the new owner whom had a large plate of cookies for us to munch. She appreciated the toy delivery which would make her a hero with the Salvation Army and we appreciated being fed delicious homemade cookies. All in all, an equitable trade I believe all would agree. Now, for the second time on this hash, the pack outed again.

A check in front of Redz pointed the pod back across Porter Street and on-right but only for a short distance. We took an on-left onto the Heart of Soquel Parkway which motivates behind Soquel Elementary School, over Soquel Creek to East Walnut Street and a check. Trail was discovered on-up East Walnut and on-left on Center Street which involved the dangerous crossing of Soquel Drive. Hares don’t care.

Center Street eventually makes an on-left and morphs into Bridge Street. Why Bridge Street? Well, there’s a bridge imminently in your future. Once across said bridge, we were directed on-right on Paper Mill Road and then on-left on O’Neill Lane and then to undertake the dangerous crossing of Old San Jose Road. Hares don’t care. Safely across, we were pointed on-right but again, only for a short distance. Soon we were coerced into crossing Old San Jose Road again and into…a cemetery! We entered Soquel Cemetery on the south side and proceeded north through Beit Olam Cemetery, the Jewish section, also known as Eternal Home Cemetery. Mercifully not too muddy but this grace was compensated for by creepy shadows and a lessening of marker the deeper we dug. So to speak. Eventually as headstones gave way to trees, we were pointed back to Old San Jose Road and forced into another dangerous crossing thereof. Hares don’t care.

Once across Old San Jose Road intact, it was on-right, again for a short distance, before being directed on-left onto Hilltop Road. The very first on-left, Cindy Lane, is a Christmas light-lovers dream. Every house on the street is as brightly lit as Broadway on opening night of a hit play. And we know this because? Because we could see it as trail callously passed it by continuing on-up Hilltop Road. However, like moth to a flame, the walker contingency including Thmp-Thmp, Princess Di(arrhea), Rubik’s Pube, Flours, Circle Gherkin’ and Just Ning were suckered into walking the street to take in the sights and hoping for a way out. Wrong! They had to reverse course and rejoin true trail. This threw them far behind the pack and made many think they were completely lost. They DID manage to find Beer Check though.

Back to trail.

Two street past Cindy Lane, Valera Drive, we were directed on-left. At the end of this street, we transitioned into Anna Jean Cummings Park, AKA Blue Balls Park, and on-right onto a track surrounding the football field. Then it was across the parking lot onto a muddy patch leading onto Soquel High School, past the baseball field and past a huge pile of discarded outdoor flood lights. What was THAT all about?!? Trail continued along a dirt road past the swimming pool where training activities were still taking place. We then wove our way around and through a huge garden and flower plot the kids are tending. Then it was on-right and on-down to merge with a paved path leading into the backside of the parking lot for Hope Church. (Trivia: this building was the original home of Frenchy’s) It was here the hares staged Beer Check.

After the Christmas light-viewing lost dogs stumbled in and partook, the pack migrated back to Heart of Soquel Park, usual location, for Religion. dBASED assumed the reins and here’s a sampling of down-downs issued: Puff for not giving a Chalk Talk to the Virgin, Jersey Lunchbox for missing a back check mark the size of a manhole cover, Clearly Not A Hooker who said she’d do Eagle trail them wimped out, backslider down-downs for Princess Di(arrhea) and (current) husband Thmp-Thmp. Oh, the hare-pair. We thanked them for arranging for the cookies but could find little else we liked about trail. We then persuaded co-hare and RA dBASED to let his people go! And he did. And there was much rejoicing. I, too, hereby release you from this week’s Trash.

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 let the profound be 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 is still a subject open to debate.

I chose to not complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-21.

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 seventh day of December in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Turkey Day plus one,

While today IS one day past Thanksgiving, the ‘plus one’ refers to the hare we were burdened with this week. Steamy Baanorrhea, our long-lived Beermeister, should stick to supplying us with libation and leave the haring to others.

Let’s give a little background on Point A, The Mediterranean. In May of 1978 a ’74 graduate of UCSC was in the Med having a drink, or five. Someone made a disparaging remark about him and one of his friends took umbrage and decided to take it out of the man’s hide. This man was armed but handed the gun to our protagonist and the fight proceeded. The man now holding the .45 caliber pistol fired it once in the air. The bullet hole is probably still there. The man that leveled the insult was coming out on the short end of the stick and left the barroom in a hurry. Someone had called the cops and just as the patrons ran out the front door, a sheriff’s deputy pulled up as they yelled, He’s got a gun! The three men were just pulling away and were pointed out and arrested a short distance away. The trigger man at the center of this melee was Huey Newton, co-founder of the Black Panther Party. And THIS is the place Steamy decided we should venture into.

I should not fail to mention two visitors, Piss Pyle and his lovely wife BMX. They are Ahoha H3 hashers on Ohau. Their next to last visit with us was in Henry Cowell for Hash 1044 when the rangers busted us for being in the park after dark and consuming alcoholic beverages as well. They have mostly avoided us since.

In other news…dBASED, Occasional Rapist and Junk Puncher miss their second consecutive hash. Scratch and Sniff is as uncontrollable as ever. Circle Gherkin’ approves of his new name and said it drives him to commit frequent pleasurable acts upon himself. Accuprick is hosting a party for son No Poles and has learned guests are coming in from other States!

Eventually, Steamy Baanorrhea delivered a true turkey’s version of Instructions of Trail. Turkey Trail was short and Eagle only a mile more, more or less. There would be a Liquor Check AND a Beer Check. This was the only part of his tale that garnered applause. Hare away.

The next fifteen was it’s usual lackadaisical self, a little bit of talking and a little bit of drinkin’. And a whole lot of nothing. Soon enough though, co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain requested Circleup for Introductions and heard responses from: Cum You Will not, Flours For Anal Bum, Accuprick, BMX, Piss Pyle, Clearly Not A Hooker, Pink Cherry Licker, Circle Gherkin’, Hugh Heifer, Dung-Fu Grip and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Today’s canine contingency was Spot’d Dick and Scratch and Sniff. Pack out.

We traipsed Center Avenue across State Park Drive to make an on-left onto Coates Drive. This took the troops to Beachgate Way where the anticipated on-left on-down to Las Olas Drive and on-left there. A whichy-way at the base of the stairs leading back on-up to the parking lot proved continuing forward on the boardwalk past the Cement Ship was correct. At the intersection with Aptos Beach Drive and Beach Drive, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. It’s too nice a day to not take the Eagle trail. So off we go.

Beach Drive is long and straight but at least it’s scenic. The breakers were breaking hard on the sand, triple sets were overhead as the surfers may have said. As we neared the end of Beach Drive, a pedestrian path turns on-left and on-up to Kenneth Drive and on-right across Cliff Drive to Townsend Drive and on-left there. One block later it was on-left onto Farley Drive and one block later on-right back to Cliff Drive and on-right. A rather pointless circle jerk I must say. Cliff was used until Florence Drive where we were directed on-right and a block later, on-right onto Martin Drive. The next on-left, Kingsbury Drive, was our goal. Then a block later we went on-left onto Townsends Drive, across Rio Del Mar Boulevard and onto Aptos Beach Drive. We would endure a long and steep on-down to transition onto Treasure Island and on-left onto Spreckles Drive followed by an quick on-left onto Moosehead Drive. Well, at least we’re heading in the direction of home.

An on-right onto Winfield Way takes one over Aptos Creek onto Creek Way and there it was on-left until the end of the road. There we entered a field and went on-right and on-up a steep footpath leading on-up to Seacliff Drive. Partway up, arrows pointed on-left and on-up a dangerously steep mountain goat trail precariously perched on a precipice. It was here our hideous hare staged Liquor Check.

The descent proved far more life-threatening than the climb on-up but a count at Beer Check proved every hound survived this idiotic encounter. Once back on the high ground and on-left onto Seacliff Drive, it was a leisurely stroll to on-right onto El Camino Del Mar, on-left onto Santa Clara Avenue and on-right onto Center Avenue and on-in to Beer Check at Accuprick’s abode.

A good time was had by all at the old cliche goes but soon enough it was on-out to begin Religion. This was staged in the usual place on Santa Cruz Avenue behind the Mediterranean. Accuprick assumed the role of Religious Adviser and this is a sampling of down-downs issued: Dung-Fu Grip celebrated his 400th hash with us; our Hawaiian visitors were welcomed; Accuprick punished for hashing a ‘different’ trail; Cumz Out My Nose chided for auto-hashing. that was about it for….oh. That damned hare. Steamy was thanked for the scenery and his extended stint as Beermeister which ended this day. I did not, however, hear any compliments about his trail. After the hare was spanked, Accuprick dismissed the pack and I hereby do the same now for you, faithful reader.

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 be 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 is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash twelve-20.

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 thirtieth day of November in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Old cliche but nonetheless applicable in this situation. The featured picture in this week’s Trash supports the title of this edition. This picture is the ‘Chalk Talk’ Jersey Lunchbox gave the pack prior to on-out. That was considerate, however, there were two caveats. One, only a small percentage of the pack was told they should listen and two, due either to their level of intoxication or innate laziness, the hares altered the meaning of some of these marks without giving advance notice to the pursuing pack. Please observe, if it please ya, two of the marks, top row towards the right side. You will no doubt recognize the hare arrow and the check, minus the ubiquitous flour. Now notice the three marks to the left of the hare arrow. The middle one is a complete arrow while the marks on either side have but one barb on the left side. You are only able to discriminate between them by size. As trail progressed, our standard hare arrow lost one of it’s barbs and morphed into what we generally call a pack arrow. Additionally, the check first lost it’s flour and then eventually progressed to merely an open circle minus the ‘X’, what we had heretofore referred to as a back check mark. We know there are no rules in hashing, merely traditions. However, I believe it incumbent upon the hare(s) that notice be given the pack that traditions may change at any time, even while the trail itself is in progress. More on the tragic consequences of our hares behavior later.

Driving up Mora Street to the start, I followed a very slow moving black-and-white. He pulled to the left side of the road near where Steamy Baanorrhea was holding court. I drove on past and gave no thought whatsoever to parking close by. Words were exchanged and then the constable motored away. Apparently there was a woman of dubious mental faculties walking along the sidewalk whom earlier had caused some concern among local residents. The officer requested Steamy to phone in if any more commotion arose. Not an especially auspicious beginning to the hash.

It was well after 6PM until more hounds began to appear. As a matter of fact even by 6:20 it was looking like a single digit number of hounds. Expectations were apparently very low for this hare-pair. Not long after 6:33, Jersey Lunchbox slithered away to leave Just John to answer the question as to what the hell was going on. His only response was that Jersey had left requiring additional time and he would leave soon. When your hares have no more respect for tradition than this, we should have surmised trail would be equally as insulting. Eventually we noticed Just John had sneaked away and co-GM Broke Bench Mountain placed him on the clock. The next fifteen minutes, or however the hell long it actually was, passed unremarkably and were finished by a call for Circleup for Introductions. This resulted in responding barks from: Clearly Not A Hooker, International House of Pussy, Cunt Double, Cum You Will Not, Snake Me Anywhere, Pink Cherry Licker, 2 Dicks Down, Steamy Baanorrhea, Flours For Anal Bum, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, TIMMY!!, Beequeefer, Courtesy Flush and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canines this week were Scratch and Sniff and Spot’d Dick. Pack out.

The Turkey/Eagle split was right at the start. Eagles on-left on-up towards Holy Cross Church and Turkeys on-right on-up the pedestrian path. We never lost sight of each other!

The gaggle reunited a hundred yards later at the pedestrian bridge crossing over Highway 1. A second Turkey/Eagle split was found just across the bridge. It would appear the Eagles will challenge Wagner Grove, that does not interest me in the dead of night, let’s gobble with the Turkeys. The turkeys continued on High Street and took the first on-left, Highland Avenue, followed by an on-right onto King Street. We ran with the King until Walnut where an on-left was dictated and then the dangerous crossing of Mission Street. TIMMY!! even crossed against the signal. Walnut was taken until the steps on-left that lead on-up to Towne Terrace. This brought the brood back to Mission Street where we went on-right to Chrystal Terrace and on-right. This brought us to an unauthorized walkway past an apartment building to Pine Place where an arrow pointed the pod on-right onto the pedestrian walkway on Locust Street. There, resting on their haunches, we found the hare-pair swilling PBR. This began an extended Beer Check as we could certainly not abandon the beer until at least one Eagle arrived. We were able to get the hares out though. Once a Eagle landed, the Turkeys were out and on-down to Chestnut Street soon followed by the Eagles.

We were able to trace trail on-left on Chestnut, on-right on Union Street and then on-left to violate the grounds of City Hall. When we arrived at Locust Street, we found an open circle marking. The interpretation of such varied from hound to hound. In short, the pack scattered to the four winds. Rumor Control contends trail was later discovered on Cedar Street, on-right at Mission and on-left across to North Pacific. This account, too, varies from hound to hound. We did, however, reunite and cross Mission to North Pacific.

You can probably see what’s on the menu next: the Anthony stairs on-up to School Street. Once we regained our breath, it was a short on-in back to the start on Mora Street behind Holy Cross Church. Once everyone was home, Pink Cherry Licker started her Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued: Beequeefer as an extreme backslider; Broke Bench Mountain for forgetting the words to, My Name Is Jack; Cunt Double and Courtesy Flush as lookalikes; Jersey Lunchbox for flashing at Beer Check(might be a hare-first for Surf City!); Flours for Anal Bum for dropping a beer bottle on trail. We also had a naming. Just John has fulfilled the requisite requirements and has morphed into…Circle Gherking. Welcome. Oh, the hares. Everyone appreciated the scenic trail but no one expressed affection for the morphing marks. This compelled the RA to end this Hash and I hereby do so for this Trash as well.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possible not as they actually happened. 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 is still a subject open to debate.

I chose to not complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this goal in mind I recounted the components that comprised Hash Twelve-19.

By Special appointment of His Royal Majesty ‘G’, the 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-third day of November in the year of our Hash two thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

New year,

Same old… We have now began our twenty-third year of existence and have done so on a rather interesting excursion. Pink Cherry Licker, Dung-Fu Grip and Fap Jack billed this as the Wizard Staff Hash. It took three wizards to pull this thing off but in the end it was the pack that REALLY got the staff. Maybe that should be ‘shaft’.

It is now completely dark when we arrive at the start and this past week the pack remained in the dark when it came to precisely how this outing was to operate. That was not entirely due to our incompetence either, most of the blame goes to the hare trio. They even appeared somewhat confused as to how many Beer Checks there would be. Enough of the preliminaries though, the quicker we wade through this thing, the quicker we can bathe and wash the memory of it away.

Here we are, standing in the dark at the gaping mouth of Arana Gulch dodging maniacal bikers as they careen in and amongst the pack. Our canines are going crazy as they scent coyotes, skunks and cow manure. Our chances of surviving the evening with no casualties is decreasing by the minute. The GMs are the last to arrive and park in a red zone. Most hashers are appropriately attired in their finest(only?) wizard attire and they have all brought their shafts, even the females.

Just as it got dark to the point we needed flashlights to see each other, the hare trio strode to a nearby bench and hopped aboard. Here they delivered disheveled, disjointed Instructions of Trail saying a hare would be found at each of the five Beer Checks. We were told, Don’t spend any time at these interim Beer Checks but make sure to drink your beer and tape it to your growing staff. Sounds difficult to not take any time at a Beer Check but drink a beer nonetheless. There was, reputedly, an ‘official’ Beer Check where we would find all the hares. Just wait till you get an eyeful of where the beer was stashed though. Hares-out.

The next 15 minutes was passed attempting to make sense of what Instructions of Trail REALLY meant. This was done mostly by making jokes of what the hares had said. To clarify, this was not that we found what they had said was funny, this was just an example of how humans frequently joke about things that they either don’t understand or that simply scare them.

Circleup for Introductions was called for by co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain resulting in responding barks from: Flour For Anal Bum, TIMMY!!, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Steamy Baanorrhea, Hareless, dBASED, Occasional Rapist, Rubik’s Pube, Snake Me Anywhere, Just John, Cum You Will Not, International House of Pussy, Clearly Not A Hooker and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our happy canine contingency consisted of Scratch and Sniff, Swamp Rat, Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. Pack out.

Following the hares, we strode deeper into Arana Gulch, took the bridge towering over Hageman Gulch and took an on-left onto Harbor Drive. Harbor appears to have no outlet as it ends at a dual home driveway. As I approached I saw TIMMY!! wandering aimlessly wondering how he’d lost trail. Eventually he saw the hare arrow pointing him on-up the driveway to a narrow easement kindly provided by the homeowners allowing access to Fredrick Street Park. In we went.

We went on-left in the park and on-down to the Upper Harbor. Did anyone notice the person to the right using one of the outdoor barbecue grilles? A warming fire maybe? Once in the harbor, it was on-right and on-in to our first Beer Check manned by Fap Jack.

From there trail continued south and made an on-right onto the accursed railroad tracks and then on-left onto Seabright Avenue. No Beer Check at Brady’s Yacht Club though, we passed right by and when Seabright ends the pod was pointed on-left onto the remnants of East Cliff Drive. This treacherous traipse was traipsed until the Third Avenue stairs. Here was written: To the lighthouse. Many of us, however, myself included, took the cowards way out and took Atlantic Avenue to the jetty avoiding sinking in the sand. Once at Walton Lighthouse, we observed Dung-Fu Grip looking over his kingdom from on high. Or is that WHILE high?

The pack reassembled here on a mercifully windless night and added to the height of their staff. Amazingly, the water hazard on the jetty entrapped almost no one. The braver (drunker?) amongst us felt compelled to clamber over the tetrapods comprising the breakwater. Through sheer dumb luck, no hasher slipped down in between them to take an inadvisable dip in Monterey Bay. When our business was concluded here, it was back along the jetty past the original location of Aldo’s and continuing to the stairs on-left leading on-up to the Murray Street bridge and on-right over the harbor. Once across, it was a 270 degree turn taking us under the bridge we just used and into the Upper Harbor area, again, but on the opposite side from our first visit this night. Fast forward to just past the steps leading on-up to Mello Lane. Here we would find Fap Jack again manning another Beer Check.

Staffs again grew longer here. On-out was continuing through the harbor past the palatial yacht belong to Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain. No visits there this time though, we continued along. Just as we began the on-up on-out of the harbor area, marker made the merry members of this madness on-left onto the elevated walkway over Arana Creek but then an on-right into an area closed for habitat rehabilitation. I know some PEOPLE that need rehab too! Apologies for the digression. And so we stumbled along and then onto a narrow ledge above what is laughingly called Arana Creek. When the tide is out as it was at this time, it’s little more than a mud bog. While you may consider this a scenic side trip, reserve your compliments for the hares until you learn where the libations were stashed at this Beer Check.

Yes, friends and non-friends, the beer was across Arana Creek from our current location and accessible only by risking life and limb by utilizing a fallen tree as you see Snake Me Anywhere attempting in the picture above. This was incredibly dangerous yet all that undertook the undertaking succeeded and without taking a mud bath in Arana Creek. An extended period of our lives was wasted here and we waited until all hounds were found. Once all put back together, we continued along the same path, after correcting a misstep by co-hare Pink Cherry Licker onto a dead end trail that is. After scaling a slick boulder, we on-upped into a more or less civilized trail that deposited us back where we began this fiasco. Owing to the close proximity of inhabited houses, we move a little deeper into the park and assembled our religion machine with dBASED at the helm. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this evening: the person with the longest shaft was rewarded; a Best Wizard award was issued; the GMs for planning an excelent AGM; those that dropped their staff were punished; those that did all the Eagle trails were mocked and Cumz Out My Nose for completing her 400th hash with us. Oh. I damn near forgot. The hares. Many multiple Beer Checks almost, ALMOST made us forget what a hideous trail it was. But not quite.

On-on-on was staged, and rather successfully I might add, at Taqueria Santa Cruz conveniently located directly across Soquel Avenue from One-Double-Oh-Seven Club. I have no personal knowledge of anyone actually crossing the street to enter though. That puts the frosting in this Hash and on this Trash.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never let the facts stand in the way of a good story. Do not allow the profound to be 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 is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash twelve-18.

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 fifteenth day of November in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Another successful year,

Where was the success, you may ask? Well, no one died on trail or was even incarcerated this year and in hashing terms, that’s damned successful! I say that even though some of you may think(or wish) that one or more of your kennel mates had been locked away for an extended stay at the Gray Bar Motel. Better luck next year. Unless it’s ME you wish to send up the river, that is.

As you know, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to find an affordable, quality facility that accepts hashers. Our Never-Say-Die co-GM’s were able to find such an establishment, and a quality one as well I might add. Vino by the Sea was our intended target this year, a place with a stellar view and a more than adequate beer and wine selection. So, there we were(there we were) up on the second floor of the wharf gathering for our annual meeting, cleverly disguised as a party, watching the world turn and send the sun sinking into the Bay.

Both rooms here at Vino were filled by hashers. A few regulars braved the tumult and retained their usual places at the bar but soon thought better of it and migrated to a different venue. All the usual troublemakers were in attendance except for our GM’s whom decided a certain illness would not render them suitable candidates for a large gathering in an enclosed space.

In lieu of their smiling faces, Dung-Fu Grip received a map of their intended trail and stepped up to hare it for them. That being said, when trail length is mentioned later in this Trash, you’ll see that Swamp Rat could have hared THIS trail…alone! Let’s move along. Hare-out.

Ballots were distributed by Pink Cherry Licker who promised the results would be announced…assuming she certified the election as fair and equitable and had not been stolen.

After all that official stuff was handled, the party was moved to the lower level of the wharf for Circleup for Introductions. Responding howls were heard from: Hareless, dBASED, Pink Cherry Licker, Cum You Will Not, Occasional Rapist Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Little Anal Annie, Butt Balls, TIMMY!!, Clearly Not A Hooker, Dung-Fu Grip, Today Is Monday, Apple Bobber, Jersey Lunchbox, Steamy Baanorrhea, Just Danielle(soon to change), 2 Dicks Down, Just John, The Arabian Goggler and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. No canine contingency this week, our four-legged companions are not a welcome commodity on the wharf. Pack out.

Butt Balls led the litter along the darkened wharf railing looking as much for tripping hazards as trail marker. Trail crossed to the opposite side of the wharf and proceeded all of two-tenths of a mile to stairs leading on-down to the dock used by Stagnaro’s Whale Watching Excursions. That may sound romantic but try it in the dark sometime! The underbelly of the wharf is not an especially inviting sight and you soon learn where everything goes when you flush the toilet in your favorite wharf restaurant. It was so dark and dismal it’s not possible to estimate what percentage of the pack actually made Beer Check but it was far less than 100, that’s for damn sure. After taking the steps down from the second floor where Vino was located, Just Foot Pussy and Bacon Queef were seen walking 20 feet to the next bar. I’m surprised the lazy bastards didn’t use the elevator and save some energy for more drinkin’. I imagine they are indicative of a larger group of ne’er-do-wells that did not stray far from the free drinks at the venue. They got their 20 bucks worth even before dinner was served.

After depleting the libations at Beer Check, the strenuous on-in was undertaken. It was quite an on-up from the dock, damnit.

On-in was so short many did not even finish their Beer Check beer by the time they arrived back at Vino. Once there, it was face feed time. We were provided with a taco bar that was more than ample. Even His Bulkiness, Banana Basher, was able to placate his burgeoning belly. After our meal, Banana Basher exposed his annual video recap of the past year. It was, as it always is, well produced and hilarious. You can find it on our Facebook page, YouTube and in the weekly press release from the Santa Cruz Police Department. After this was accomplished, co-Religious Adviser’s Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip started up the insult machine. A sampling of down-downs issued are: those that did not make Beer Check, the morphing of Just Danielle into Flour For Anal Bum, Just John and Jersey Lunchbox who felt compelled to actually run this abbreviated trail. Then it was time for ‘awards’, as they are sarcastically called, to be issued. Here’s what transpired for next year’s Mismanagement Team: Occasional Rapist is Hare Raiser; On Sec dBASED; Social Sec Cum You Will Not; Haberdasher is Fap Jack, Scribe, Hash Cash, Hash Flash Puff the Magic Drag Queen; Religious Advisers: Accuprick, Dung-Fu Grip, dBASED, Baker’s Dozen’t, Pink Cherry Licker; GMs Cumz Out My Nose, Broke Bench Mountain; Treasurer, Dung-Fu Grip. Okay, with those wankers out of the way, now the fun stuff. Best Trail, #1172, Princess Di(arrhea) 50th haring; Worst Trail, #1185 Courtesy Flush and Occasional Rapist; Best Theme #1215 Bye-Bye Boobies, Clearly Not A Hooker and Baker’s Dozen’t; Biggest Wanker, Broke Bench Mountain; Stupidest Act on Trail was perpetrated by Cum You Will Not, she asked someone: Hi, I’m Cum You Will Not, are you a Virgin? He was NOT there to Hash with us!

Socializing and drinking to excess became the modus operandi for the remainder of the evening. Eventually the wait staff had become saturated with our presence and asked us to take the party elsewhere. Kudos to them for providing an excellent experience for us and for tolerating our rudeness as long as they did.

That’s pretty much wraps up our twenty-second year of existence and it appears we still have shelf life remaining. I feel capable of speaking for all the harriettes(the women should always come first) and harriers out there in thanking all our Mismanagers, hares and everyone else that made this another successful year for the mighty Surf City H3. On-on to our twenty-third year.

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 is still a subject open to debate.

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 eighth day of November in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe(again)