Welcome to the innermost Circle of Hades…

A Steamy Baanorrhea and Dung-Fu Grip trail of torture and terror. Both of whom are notorious long runners and, as any qualified psychologist will confirm, persons that run for extended periods(without being chased) are symbolically attempting to outrun the multitude of problems they face in their personal lives. THEIR problems have now become OUR problems.

Speaking for myself, I do not really care about the poor personal choices these two clowns have made in their wasted time on this earth. I DO, however, care about their pathetic attempt to shift the blame onto the gentle people of the Surf City H3 kennel. We have supported these two jokers through over a combined five-hundred-plus hashes and how are we repaid, what are the thanks we receive? A trail of Draconian proportions, that’s how.

Our hare-pair labeled their trail Steaming Dung Hill. I now believe this to be a typographical error on their part, Steamy Dung Hell is what I believe they intended to call this outing but, most likely due to their level of intoxication, they fat-fingered incorrectly. This, incidentally, is most likely the same stage of incapacitation they were in when they planned this trail. And, in retrospect, probably when they laid it as well.

The hares inserted a rather disjointed stab of dire-erections into us about trail and it’s myriad of incarnations. As of yet, I have been unable to ascertain if this was a ploy on their part to confuse the pack or whether the hares themselves were just actually that friggin’ confused. Sadly, the bottom line here is that the hares hopped on-out not exactly sure how events would unfold and the pack outed certain they would not LIKE how events would unfold.

Once resigned to our fate, co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for our perfunctory Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from: Just Holly, Dicky Wacker, Courtesy  Flush, TIMMY!!, Wicked Retahted, Leaky Rubber, Pink Cherry Licker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Occasional Rapist, Cum You Will not, Clearly Not A Hooker, Ska-Skank Redemption, dBASED, Rubik’s Pube, Hugh Heifer, Virgin Alexandria, a passel of four-legged hounds and Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

I admit I’m jumping to a conclusion with no basis in fact to substantiate it, but I believe most hounds that hashed this trail will aspire to forgetting it in record time so the recap thereof will be mercifully brief. Trail description would be quite succinct but there was a major cock-up right at the start. 

Trail led the litter to the intersection of Commercial Way and Mission Drive. Here’s where the pack erred. Trail was located on Commercial Way towards Soquel Drive and Broke Bench Mountain sounded the on-on. The packs response?  Follow Cold Smegma Kamikaze onto Mission Drive towards Soquel Drive to allow us the opportunity to 1) Be way-the-hell off trail and 2) To add more distance to a trail that would eventually prove to be too damn long anyway. And it was so done which only goes to prove the old Hash adage: Never underestimate the stupidity of the pack.

Once the (less) stupid hounds were reunited with the (exceptionally) stupid ones at the intersection of Soquel Drive and Paul Sweet Road, a check had to be dealt with. After unsuccessful sniffing of Paul Sweet(the ROAD, not the PERSON), true trail forced the flock to undertake the dangerous crossing of the on-ramp to Highway 1. When the green light signals the traffic on Soquel Drive can enter the highway, these speedsters put the pedal-to-the-metal and balls-to-the-wall head(who said head?) for the on-ramp as would a NASCAR driver exiting the pits. If you’re the poor bastard crossing at that point in time, you’re destined to become someone’s hood ornament.

 

Fortunately, no one was lost and all completed the crossing of the Highway 1 bridge and transitioned onto Soquel Avenue. A check at the Soquel Avenue crossing was sniffed unsuccessfully. The was not an error on the part of these hounds but rather the fact they recoiled upon seeing dBASED had continued along Soquel Avenue rather than crossing. We are all cognizant of the closest admonishment to a maxim in Surf City: Never follow dBASED! Consequentially, most of the herd migrated across Soquel Avenue to find true trail actually DID continue on Soquel Avenue exactly as had dBASED. We crossed back over.

Another check was encountered at Seventh Avenue. This check was easily solved but mainly due to the fact no one wished to cross Soquel and takeoff down Seventh Avenue.

Trail continued along the crumbling cliff towering over Arana Creek and overlooking Harbor High School athletic field. At La Fonda Avenue, the drove was directed on-right, back over Highway 1 and on-left onto Holway Drive. Not far along Holway, a rousing chorus of El Camino, El, El Camino was crooned as the pack passed an El Camino in a driveway. This fun ended as we reached Morrissey Boulevard and were pointed on-right to begin a gradual on-up.  

At the intersection with Prospect Heights, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. I contemplated my options. The next section of trail was obvious; Eagles would employ Old Vineyard Trail on the southern boundary of DeLaveaga Park and Turkey’s would trot Prospect Heights to Brookwood Drive to rejoin with the Eagles. As I consider DeLaveaga prime puma hunting territory, I opted to turkey trot. After making the on-right onto Brookwood Drive, I was passed by Leaky Rubber for the second(third?) time this evening. I asked him how the Eagle trail was and he said, The dark was comprehensive, all encompassing. He shuddered and took off.

A hare arrow at Brookwood and Paul Sweet Road(yes, we’re back there) turned the troops on-left. A distance along Paul Sweet maker made us on-right onto Dominican Way, one of the many roads through the Dominican Hospital complex. We trotted the complete length of Dominican Way to Mission Drive. I took a brief excursion as we passed the Emergency entrance to see if any of us had landed there yet. Lots of COVID protocols in effect but mercifully no hashers. At Mission Drive we were turned on-right and then across Soquel Drive. We continued on Mission Drive to Commercial Way. Incidentally, along this stretch of macadam, I witnessed Courtesy Flush on his mobile. He claimed he was on a Zoom meeting. That does not explain why he had his hand in his pants though. That being said, he did NOT divulge with whom he was on the phone.

Once we reached Commercial Way, a slight on-right was immediately followed by an on-left onto 17th Avenue which was followed by the highly sought after BN mark. We survived!

And it was there, in the parking lot of B&B Small Engine Repair(Trivia: formerly co-owned by Slonad) that Beer Check was staged in a public place. 

The gang soon migrated back to the start where Dung-Fu Grip assumed the role of Religious Adviser. Here’s a partial listing of down-downs he unjustifiably issued: dBASED for being correct in his trail choices multiple time this night, definitely a Surf City first; Broke Bench Mountain over his confusion about trail marks during the Chalk Talk he delivered; Leaky Rubber for not being able to come up with a song for the above crime, Virgin Alexandria was welcomed, Steamy Baanorrhea for (more or less) completing his tenth haring for us. Oh, yeah. The accursed hares were roundly reamed as well. After the hares were sent away, the RA declared an end to this Hash and I hereby do the same for this 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.

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 February in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

 

Welcome to the Trash for Trail 1173,

It’s the only welcoming you will receive.

Ever witnessed a pack of foxes conspire to take down a gopher or a rabbit? No. However, how about a pack of wolves band together to snare a deer? Yes. Such is the story of Trail 1173 as wolves in hare’s clothing, Broke Bench Mountain and Pink Cherry Licker, stalked Surf City hounds under cover of black light at night. Extreme dietary flexibility enabled this dastardly duo to devour us. Like the head chef(who said head?) their adaptability allowed them to consume the clan. The level of sophistication they possess to poison the pack is unparalleled.   

Harsh judgment? Undoubtedly. Then again, so was the injury inflicted on us. Let’s get to it.

Beginning this quest from Mission West, Ye Olde Watering Hole for really old people like Surf City Senior Citizen TIMMY!!, was  legerdemain on the hares’ part, an attempt to lull us into complacency. The hares’ casual appearance concealed the treachery that was afoot.

Black light flashlights were provided for those that refused to kneel to the hares’ request that we purchase one. Everyone enjoyed shining them on their kennel mates to see what piece of apparel would be illuminated. Of course, there’s always that small percentage of nonconformists, contrarians if you will. This week it was Ska-Skank Redemption wearing a cloak straight from the song Rhinestone Cowboy. Were it to have rained, she would have fried like a earthworm on a sidewalk.   

Eventually the hares completed assembling the components required for the hounds to employ and moved on to the instructional segment of trail. They provided us with exasperating details as to the placement of trail marking…along with the usual list of exceptions to the rule. When Broke Bench was asked if this trail would be an improvement over his previous attempts at haring, he raised his upper lip to reveal his canines much as would a bank robber pull open his coat to reveal a firearm.

Mumblings and rumblings followed hares-out as hounds compared notes in an effort to arrive at a consensus as to what the hell the hares actually said. None was forthcoming.

By virtue of the fact I was more concerned with finding (very) small marks with my (very) small black light flashlight, what follows will be an incomplete and (most likely) inaccurate description of our route but I believe even the hares will not remember where they took us so it truly does not really matter.

We were turned on-right onto McPherson, on-left onto Swift, sadly passing Humble Sea Brewing, and then on-left onto the Rail Trail. This was utilized to, oh, let’s say Rankin to Wilkes Circle where an on-right delivered us onto one of those hideous little locals-only walkways that are both dark and strewn with uneven sections guaranteed to twist an ankle if you do not remain eternally vigilant about where you place your rear paws. 

Once safely through that danger zone, it was on-left onto Walk Circle and then on-right onto Naglee Avenue and then on-left on Bethany Curve. Bethany Curve greenbelt was used until Oxford Way(thus depriving us of the beautiful view on West Cliff Drive) and then on left on Fair then on-right on Wanzer. Wanzer morphs into Modesto Avenue after crossing Swift Street. Now we’re way-the-hell outta town and still trucking along. A few blocks farther along, minuscule marking made the merry members of this madness motivate on-right onto San Jose Avenue. Just as San Jose makes a mandatory on-left, Broke Bench Mountain would jump out of the darkness from a locals-only entrance to Sergeant Derby Park. This park’s claim to fame is being home to one of the first public skateboard parks in the world and was built in 1976. This is where Beer Check was staged. After the conclusion of our business here, the obscenely long on-in was undertaken back to the Rail Trail across from Humble Sea Brewing where Religion would be staged.  

Here’s a brief rundown of the down-downs dispensed by Religious Adviser Pink Cherry Licker: Chippin’ Ballz for not being able to come up with even one verse of a Hash song; a down-down of well wishes for Accuprick who would undergo heart surgery the following day(Scribe note: successful); Fap Jack who called from Neary Lagoon, miles off trail, asking where should he be; Fap Jack, Just Foot Pussy and Bacon Queef for missing Beer Check; Virgin Steve was welcomed; analversaries were recognized for Broke Bench Mountain completing his 10th haring and Dicky Wacker his 69th hash with us; Yellow Prick Load, Ska-Skank Redemption and Today Is Monday received visitors down-downs. Oh yeah, the hares were recognized for making the effort to provide a trail. 

That pretty much did in Trail 1173 and does the same for this 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.

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 second day of February in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Greetings,

And welcome to the three innermost Circles of Hades courtesy this time not of Dante but rather the attractive and our purportedly innocuous Princess Di(arrhea). For her fiftieth(and hopefully FINAL) haring, our little Princess took the unusual tact of laying three separate trails, each working independently of each other but still sharing the common goal of perturbing a previously pleasant pack. Sadly, and I am disdainful of having to award her any credit whatsoever, I am forced to reluctantly admit she was successful in her endeavor. Much to everyone’s dismay too, I dare say.

However, as a standing edict from both past and present GM’s, Scribes must faithfully chronicle the deeds, or as in this case the MIS-deeds, of hares and their respective trails, I will continue shuffling through this mess trying to remain unblemished by it’s dirtiness.

This (mis)adventure began mundanely enough at old favorite Beer Thirty on the edge of beautiful downtown Soquel, California. There’s ample room here which pleased the mortals in attendance as they were able to safely separate themselves from our growing gang. 

A pack of thirty hashers raises quite a ruckus and even more so when they are accompanied by their four-legged canine companions. We had the usual contingency consisting of Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick but this week Just Jaime brought her animal as did Just Holly(will she EVER be named?) and Clearly Not A Hooker, both of whom toted their mangy mutts in their purses a la Paris Hilton. (AKA Handbag Hounds) Well, that just goes to prove the old saying, It takes all kinds. And we sure have our share of ’em here at Surf City.

Speaking of misfits, we welcomed back My Best Friend’s Cock and Twisted Fister to the fold after long absences. Not absent as long but still too long we also saw Bacon Queef and Just Foot Pussy. I could also mention we saw The Arabian Goggler as well but I don’t think anyone really missed him anyway. We will hear their flimsy excuses for their prolonged absences during Religion. Not that we really missed them anyway.

Not soon enough, lone hare Princess Di(arrhea) divested her current version of Instructions of Trail. Just to insure maximum confusion, she gave three completely different set of details although all three trails were reputedly carbon copies of each other. I must admit though that in that particular respect she was being truthful: all three were lousy.

After the passage of fifteen or so minutes, we assumed all trails were prelay, Co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from the following hounds: Just Holly, Occasional Rapist, Today Is Monday, TIMMY!!, Thmp-Thmp, Wicked Retahted, Dicky Wacker, My Little Bony, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Steamy Baanorrhea, Snake Me Anywhere, The Arabian Goggler, Jizziki, Courtesy Flush, Clearly Not A Hooker, Just Mike, Just Jaime, dBASED, Cum You Will Not, Twisted Fister, My Best Friend’s Cock, Ska-Skank Redemption, Just Foot Pussy, Bacon Queef and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Oh yeah, a dog house full of dogs too.  

The clan crossed Main Street and came to home base for all three trails at the intersection with Porter Street. I will only relate the section relating to trail one on-left. I remember most of it…sadly.

This group went on-left and under Highway 1 and then on-left through a gas station and into a parking lot for a nearby shopping complex. We soon came to Crossroads Loop(what the hell kinda name is THAT?!?) and then on-left onto the appropriately named Hill Street. When Hill intersected with Capitola Avenue, we made the anticipated on-left, crossed over Highway 1 and were directed on-left onto Bellevue(like the mental institution in New York) Street. This loops onto Lafeyette Street and then climaxes at Soquel Drive. Here the drove was directed on-left and on-down into Soquel Village. Soon after crossing Soquel Creek, the pod was pointed on-left towards The Heart of Soquel Park. I believe the hare did this prior to allowing us to reach J. J.’s Saloon and Social Club thereby preventing hounds from getting their rear paws stuck in the bar rail. That’s the most intelligent aspect of trail thus far. There, shielded by darkness, communal Beer Check was staged and was common to all three trails.  

Upon concluding my business here, I migrated back towards the starting point for the three trails. However, just shy of that spot, I intersected one of the two remaining trails, I haven’t a clue as to which one, and followed it’s instructional arrow on-right onto Soquel Wharf Road and then utilizing the locals-only walkway on-right onto Esta Lane. After completing the on-up on Esta, trail turned on-right onto Robertson Street to a check at West Walnut Street. I guessed incorrectly and continued forward on Robertson and was too lazy to turn back when I heard dBASED give the on-on on-right onto Walnut. I continued on-in to Soquel and wove my weary way back to Beer Check that way. By the time of my belated arrival, the area was literally a hasher heaven and filled to the brim with hounds. I opted to forgo the remaining trail, the first two had actually been rude enough that I felt no desire to suffer through a third insult.

After wasting enough time here we believed neighbors may have summoned one of the proverbial black-and-white vehicles, we pedaled back to the (sort of) vacant lot behind Beer Thirty adjacent to the open air market to instigate Religion.

Religious Advisor functions were ably handled by Pink Cherry Licker. Here’s a sampling of down-downs she issued: backsliders were first on her list and there was a beer can full of ’em such as…

Those that attempted and/or completed all 3 trails were mocked for their foolishness

Just Jaime, due to recent sexual exploits both salacious and obscene, morphed into…

   

We also celebrated two analversaries; Just Foot Pussy has acquired 175 hashes with us and Princess Di(arrhea) has, more or less, completed 50 harings for us.

Lastly, hare Princess Di(arrhea) was taken to task for laying three trails and still not getting it right. Three trails, three strikes, you’re out! She was, however, gifted a present for 50 harings.

After dispensing with the hare and her (numerous) transgressions, Religious Adviser Pink Cherry Licker declared, This Hash is over! and, taking my cue from her, This Trash is over!

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.

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-fifth day of January in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Hello and welcome to Trail 1171.

The darkness shielded our eyes from unpleasant sights along trail but not from trail itself. It is a fact proven many times over: Too many cooks spoil the stew. To extrapolate from that: Too many hares spoil the trail. In this instance, three hares put the pack in a stew as we attempted to solve the many riddles presented by this trail.

Your Scribe has every intention of supporting this assertion with incontrovertible proof thereof.

Beginning at New Bohemia Brewery, NuBo in the colloquial vernacular, was a wise move on the part of our hare trio, and sadly, possibly the only wise one they made the entire evening.

The hares were witnessed hastily conferring making last minute trail adjustments. This is a kind way of saying more hounds had appeared than anticipated so certain ‘refinements’ were necessary to insure they were not trapped by those pursuing them.

The most significant event prior to on-out was International House of Pussy passing around a petition. She would not divulge how much she was being paid but I’m certain it more than paid for her Hash tonight. That illustrates how entrancing the pack found Instructions of Trail. They were forgotten as soon as the hares hopped on-out. After the passage of another beer(maybe 2 if your name is TIMMY!!) Broke Bench Mountain called for circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from the following hounds: Dicky Wacker(soon to become lost), Princess Di(arrhea), Wicked Retahted, TIMMY!!, Just Holly, Snake Me Anywhere, Cum You Will Not, Fap Jack, Steamy Baanorrhea, Fucked-Over Fest, dBASED, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Clearly Not a Hooker, Jizziki, International House of Pussy, Occasional Rapist, Cumz Out My Nose, Broke Bench Mountain and Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

By virtue of the fact it was dark and your Scribe is unfamiliar with the terrain here, trail description will be rather brief. Well, that plus the fact it was on the whole rather boring.

So, we headed on-right from NuBo on to discover false markings. Next we tried on-left and soon found maker turning us on-left onto Bain Avenue which we traversed to an on-right onto Nova Drive and then a brief on-left onto Portola Drive. Portola is quite busy but mercifully we quickly made an on-left onto 47th Avenue. We were then directed on-right onto Opal Street and observed the promised Turkey/Eagle split at 49th Avenue. Let’s see what our hares have in store for the Eagles, shall we?

The Eagles took Opal to Prospect Avenue and across to stairs leading on-down to the railroad tracks and Cliff Drive beyond. There was some confusion here.  Fucked-Over Fest went on-left down the tracks but encountered false markings. All other avenues of exit were broached with no success. When inquired about the mark he saw, Fucked-Over Fest said the three lines he saw across trail were through an arrow. Hmmm, says Steamy Baanorrhea, sort of sounds like a hare arrow to me. How long since you last hashed?!? Trotting down the tracks, we found Fucked-Over Fest’s false markings and determined they were really a skewed hare arrow. Down the tracks we went. Just prior to the trestle, we encountered a chain link fence preventing the use of said trestle. Utilizing our typical tenacity, hashers breached the defenses of the fences and scurried on-down the stairs to Capitola Road. A check here was solved turning the troops on-left and on-up to make and then an on-left onto Prospect Avenue. 

Not far along Prospect, marker made the members of the Eagle clan on-right onto Garnet Street. We’re deep into what is colloquially called the Jewel Box section of Capitola. Garnet was taken across 49th, 47th and 45th avenues. Once across 45th, things got a bit dicey. The next section of trail, now rejoined with the Turkeys, became a mix of public streets and apartment complex driveways. Eventually, via Diamond Street and 42nd Avenue, we found our feet on Jade Street and then on-right back to 41st Avenue. Here was the second(and hopefully last) Turkey/Eagle split.  Seeing as how we did the first Eagle, let’s continue being foolhardy and attempt the second as well.

Eagles crossed 41st Avenue and continued along what is now Brommer Street. Your Scribe was trotting with Fucked-Over Fest(he of false marking/hare arrow fame) and we went a very long way until the next mark…which was an arrow FACING us! Somewhere we obviously missed an on-right arrow which was the prelude to a circle jerk. We did not shed tears over missing such though. By some devious means I am unable to remember, the hares funneled us onto Star Lane, 35th Avenue and then to Portola using a secret passage which I hope no one ever finds again. It was unsettling at best and most likely illegal at worst.

Once back to Portola we went on-left and then using 37th Avenue and Madrone Avenue(little more than an alley) we found ourselves on East Cliff Drive and pointed on-left and to the overlook area at The Hook at the bottom of 41st Avenue for Beer Check.    

But where is Dicky Wacker? No one knew. We presumed he was lost or possibly incarcerated by Capitola PD on a charge of vagrancy.

After concluding our business here we migrated north on 41st to the parking lot on the corner of Portola. While heading there, the pack stumbled across Dicky Wacker who probably ended up hashing a trail longer than anyone. After moving a few times to avoid a vehicle that appeared as if it wished to move, we stettled in for Religion with two reluctant RA’s, Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip. Neither thought they should be made to RA after haring but dBASED said he was only backup RA to be abused when no duly elected RA’s were present. In other words, he told them to fuck-off and do their job!

A brief sampling of the down-downs awarded are: the hares for trying to worm out of RAing; backslider down-downs; analversary down-downs; couple of crimes-on-trail down-downs and lastly, the hare-trio.

On-on-on was staged at Taqueria Vallarta and was well attended though cliquey. We had Occasional Rapist and dBASED romancing at a table for two, TIMMY!! and Dicky Wacker communing at another table and our COVID-paranoids, International House of Pussy and Dung-Fu Grip, freezing outside.

That puts a cap on this Hash and on this Trash as well.

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. 

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 eighteenth day of January in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Salutations,

We entered the second Hash of 2022 much as we completed the first one, dismayed and disappointed. I see no reason to rehash last week’s Hash, let’s rather attempt to rationalize this week’s outing.

 Winter is truly here. The palm tree in your front yard no longer flowers, one of the Japanese Maples on Pacific planted a discarded leaf on your head. It’s dark at your favorite watering hole when you arrive after work.

This brings us to this week’s trail and, more specifically, lead hare Courtesy Flush. Courtesy Flush, in his multitude of physical manifestations, has been with Surf City almost seven years. He has settled into our Hash much the same way as would an unemployed cousin who visits without a fixed departure date settles in. You will remember Courtesy Flush’s last excursion onto the sand, we almost lost dBASED(not a great loss) and Junk Puncher(a truly great loss). So now, in his steadfast refusal to learn from previous grievous errors, even when he was the one to commit them, he again saw fit to drag the gang through the sand. Maybe, in his warped little half-mind, he envisioned events transpiring differently in the dark. On that note, he WAS correct, most of us were unable to even find the WATER, let alone the damn trail.

But let us examine events in the order in which they occurred, there will be plenty of opportunity the thrash the hare in the future.

We started pleasantly enough at old friend the Boardwalk Bowl, albeit outside this time rather than in the warm interior. It wasn’t that cold(yet) so everyone was fine with that.  

After an unsatisfying bout with Snake Me Anywhere and her unsettling version of Instructions of Trail, the pack settled back into socializing and pondering the enigmatic question: Where the hell was Courtesy Flush? The general consensus was the cheeky hare was pre-laying but, as evidenced by later events, this extra time did not enhance trail quality one iota.

After the passage of the preordained time allotment, Broke Bench Mountain issued a call for Circleup for Introductions and heard from: TIMMY!!, dBASED, Occasional Rapist, Dicky Wacker, Ska-Skank Redemption, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Steamy Baanorrhea, Cum You Will Not, Chippin’ Ballz, Cumz Out My Nose, Dung-Fu Grip, Puff the Magic Drag Queen and the usual compliment of four-legged hounds, that being Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. On-out!

The pack progressed on-right down Beach Street to our first stop at a Song Check outside the bathrooms at the foot of the Wharf. That proved serendipitous as our singing voices sent more than one tourist to the toilet. Then the trail took the troops down the steps to the Main Beach and here is where the true mystery began. Courtesy Flush had stated marks would be placed in the sand keeping the clan on the straight and narrow along the beach. Well, when it’s too dark to see brilliant white flour, it’s way too damn dark to see flimsy little sticks protruding a scant few inches above the sand. Long story short, the presence of the San Lorenzo River eventually funneled everyone on-up and over the river on the pedestrian bridge. No one drowned or was washed out to sea in other words. 

Okay, now we’re on-up to East Cliff Drive and are heading down to Three Princes Park, the perfect setting for a scenic Beer Check. Alas, it was not to be, we curved on-left bypassing the park and took off for the Museum of Natural History, colloquially called the Whale Museum due to the large concrete whale in the yard. We of course were not allowed to play on it, the cruel hare-pair turned us away from the whale and then on-right on Forbes Street, on-right onto Seabright and then on-left onto Atlantic Avenue.  Not far along, a Turkey/Eagle split sent the less-stupid amongst us on-right. I admit a morbid curiosity in what the e-vile hare-pair planned for the Eagles so I foolishly forged ahead.

The Eagles took Atlantic until it died at the former location of Aldo’s and were then pointed on-right onto the harbor jetty. Partway out to the lighthouse, what proved to be the last mark of the evening, a large hare arrow pointed the pod on-right onto Seabright Beach. That proved to basically be the end of this trail. If there truly were any more of the small markers placed by the hares, no one I spoke with ever saw them. Flour was non-existent. Many of the Eagles, yours truly included, were saved by hashers who saw their ghostly flashlights scouring the beach in search of anything recognizable or, at the very least, some way to get the hell off this desert wasteland of sand. I was rescued by Dung-Fu Grip and escorted to safety. Beer Check was staged at what is colloquially called the Third Avenue Stairs.

 

After the conclusion of our business here, we meandered farther along Seabright Beach, mercifully on East Cliff Drive rather than on the sand, and planted ourselves at a fire provided by our hares. It was here Dung-Fu Grip convened Religion. I spent most of Religion stuffing pizza down my pipes and became highly disinterested in talking notes pertaining to down-downs awarded. I didn’t really cared what happened to any of those people anyway. The only one I truly remember is the awarding of a patch to Snake Me Anywhere for the (somewhat) successful completion of her tenth haring for us and I only remember that one because I had to hand the patch to the RA. Oh, yeah, the hares were called up as a pair as well but I’m certain I need not tell you their trail was thoroughly reviled. After this, the RA dismissed the pack but, as the Beermeister had not gotten around the closing the trough yet, the mob loitered for as long as they could mooch off the the trough. I will tarry no longer though and call for an end to this 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.

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 eleventh day of January in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Happy New Year!

As we ended 2021 on a sour note, it’s a blessing to be ensconced within 2022. I will not review the entirety of 2021, it would be too depressing. Our retrospective of Hash Eleven-69 will be a sad enough excursion into one of the numerous haring failures of the past twelve months. So, let’s get started, the quicker we jump into this thing the sooner we will be able to return to real life.

Things began as would a real Hash with hounds engaging in intercourse with each other. Admittedly, most of the pack were far more finely attired as would normally be acceptable for hashers. There were a few notable exceptions of course. (there’s always that 4% of nonconformists and contrarians) Banana Basher crashes into our thoughts immediately, he was as slovenly attired as ever, Fucked-Over Fest was so brightly attired he resembled a banana slug, dBASED inside so many clothes he could have qualified as a quail, (or should that be a turkey?). Ska-Skank Redemption’s lengthy regal robes swept and cleaned many a block in Santa Cruz this night. Cum You Will Not appeared as would have a war widow during the War of the Roses in fifteenth century England. Let’s not forget Virgin Eric smartly attired in a flower print dress and accompanied by his sponsor, Just Holly, who donned enough layers of black to easily pass for a Hasidic Rabbi. Hallowe’en is long gone, guys.

I trust no one wishes to mock the attire of our kennel mates who made an effort, feeble though it was, to adhere to this week’s Hash theme of Dress to the (eleven) 69’s. So, bearing that in mind, let’s move forward. Dung-Fu Grip delivered his usual cryptic Instructions of Trail standing on a bench and clinging to a tree enabling him to remain erect.

After allowing the mandated lead time, Broke Bench Mountain signaled for Circleup for Introductions for Surf City’s final Hash for the year two thousand and twenty-one.

From Seabright Social, the pack plodded on-right onto Seabright. Sadly, we were not invited in at Brady’s Yacht Club but instead made an on-left and paraded Marine Parade and then on-right onto 4th Avenue.

 

Not far along 4th Avenue, we encroached onto the private property of Santa Cruz Yacht Club. Now while the vast majority of us have never set foot in this fine club since it moved here in 1964, I guarantee none of you would ever mistake it for Brady’s Yacht Club. We gingerly traipsed on-down stairs the club has kindly installed and emptied ourselves into the boat yard beside the harbor. On-left was indicated here and at the base of the Murray Street bridge, the promised Turkey/ Eagle split was encountered. The Turkeys are most likely bound for Arana Gulch Greenbelt via the most direct route, let’s fly with the Eagles and see what obscenities they will be subjected to.

The Eagles headed on-up the steps on-left and then on-right onto the Murray Street bridge and once across the harbor, on-right on the first street, Lake Avenue. You may wonder why a road beside a harbor is named Lake Avenue. Well, once upon a time, in a previous life, the harbor was a lagoon before the Army Corps of Engineers transformed it into the current Santa Cruz Small Craft Harbor. This should also help you understand why this area is called Twin Lakes when you can only find one lake. As you can see, originally there WERE two lakes here.

Soon an on-left onto Carmel Street was dictated and this was utilized across dangerous 7th Avenue followed by an on-left onto 9th Avenue followed by an on-left on Eaton Street. This was an unnecessary circle jerk that brought us back to 7th where we were turned on-right. This eventually deposited the Eagles at Brommer to make an on-left and head on-down into the Upper Harbor and on-right into Arana Gulch where we rejoined the Turkeys. The mob circled on-left through Arana Gulch to exit into the rear of Santa Cruz Bible Church. We desecrated these holy grounds by parading right through the middle of the property. I shouldn’t fail to mention I encountered Ska-Skank Redemption sitting on a bench facing the church deep in thought. Though she would neither confirm nor deny it, I feel certain she was praying for a swift and painless end to this trail. I left her lost in her own thoughts.

In keeping with this theme, we crossed Fredrick Street and ventured into the space occupied by Star of the Sea Catholic Church and were ejected out it’s rear. This expelled us onto Effey Street and then on-right onto Sumner Street. Bacon Queef and Just Foot Pussy, if they were home, refused to acknowledge the pack’s presence as we passed. Here we were turned on-left to Seabright, on-right to Soquel and on-left until just past Cayuga where we ventured onto private property in order to shortcut our weary way to Pennsylvania and on-left there to the abode of Dung-Fu Grip.  

 

Once we gained the safety of Dung-Fu Grip’s carport, the bar was open. There was a short but potent menu: vodka, gin or beer. Slip the bartender and extra few bucks and you could suck up all there I heard.

Upon the conclusion of our business here, on-out was down Pennsylvania to Broadway, on-right to Ocean View Avenue, on-left there(past quiet Seabright Railroad) to Ocean View Park for Religion. Here, amongst the towering trees and the increasing wind velocity, RA Pink Cherry Licker convened Religion. Here is a sample of the down-downs, both justified and unjustified, she dispensed wielding her wand: dBASED for a lousy selection of ales in the beer trough, the crime of auto-hashing for Broke Bench Mountain, Wicked Retahted, Princess Di(arrhea) and Thmp-Thmp, Dicky Wacker for walking around asking, Who can touch who and where can they be touched?, Rubik’s Pube for celebrating her 125th Hash with us. The highlight of the evening was of course the naming of Just Jennie. As do many half-minds, Jennie inadvertently named herself. She mentioned COVID has been unkind to her love life and she ‘dreams of weenie’. There already is an I Dream of Weenie so that was tossed out. There was an episode ending with Don’t Sweat On Me. Sounded good but then Jennie mentioned walking to the start and wanting people to know she was Clearly Not A Hooker. Done deal! Just Jennie has forever morphed into Clearly Not A Hooker.

 

The Naming Ceremony was followed by the downer of having to deal with the hare-trio. They were universally condemned by being such cheap bastards as to combine Liquor Check and Beer Check.

Once the RA dispensed with our hideous hares, Pink Cherry Licker declared an end to Hash Eleven-69 and I also hereby declare an end to this Hash 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.

By Special Permission 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 fourth day of January in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe