I got so buzzed at trail 664, I can barely decipher my own trail notes from the night. I found random phrases like “rim job” and “surfer boy” written in my Princess Diarrhea. Any ideas what that was about?? Speaking of my dollar store pretty pink Princess Diarrhea, you can click on it to see what popped up when I googled myself.
From what I can make of my scribbles…
The kennel gathered at the super-festooned Windjammer in Aptos. A large creepy collection of nutcrackers (or “wooden soldiers” as Wicked Retahted called ‘em) stared at us blankly as we trickled in. They were as stiff, frozen and sober looking as we felt after coming in from the cold. It was 48° and dropping, which is damn cold to us locals. The table in front of the cozy fireplace was occupied, but that didn’t keep Puff The Magic Drag Queen from scooting in to warm up his perennial OPs and naked knees. Thmp-Thmp ordered some Fireball cinnamon whisky from the bartender to help warm his cock(les). Beer Meister Hugh Heifer was getting over a cold and not running so she pretty much only showed up to ply us with booze and spread her cooties. Butt Balls wasn’t running either, but bothered to casually grace us with a visit while he was “on his way to Safeway” or something.
It was the maiden haring voyage of hare pair Schlong Division and Slownad. It seemed they’d been preparing well for their first mission. Thmp and I had spied Slownad scouting trail in our neighborhood a couple of weeks ago. Snownad had even taken pains to decide between whether to filch whole wheat or pumpernickel flour from his wife’s pantry (whole wheat won). When the hares announced to the pack there would be TWO bum wine checks, we thought for a second that the trail may not even suck. Hey, we can dream.
Soon enough we were on our way into the cold darkness. Trail went on left and over the freeway. A rudely placed check at the train crossing led to falsies in both directions of the tracks. Those bastard hares! A whistle in the night got the pack back together and heading down to the Cement Ship. We all know what goes down must come up. True trail headed up a gazillion flights of stairs and then flour showed us the way across a field. 
As we got to Seacliff Drive, TIMMY!!! encouraged everyone to scout around the check but I came up empty. Another whistle got us moving in the right direction. We passed a row of cars parked at Seacliff’s very own little Inspiration Point. Coincidentally, I found Thmp-Thmp’s beanie of reindeers fucking in the road there after it fell from his pocket. At least something was getting some action.
What goes up comes down again, right? Trail went down the stairs that roughly lead to the Sleaze Breeze in the Rio Del Mar flats. Along the way down was a terrible fermented sweet nastiness of a bum wine check that we sipped on and then immediately wished we’d had better judgment. At the bottom of the stairs some of the pack was fooled into heading towards the Sleaze Breeze. Suckers!! That place is NEVER open! Trail actually went in the opposite direction. It followed Moosehead Drive up a creek and up a hill where we found a fucked up flashback to a barfy prom night of yesteryear—André champagne. Classy move, hares.
A chug of the bubbly put a little sparkle back in our step as we trudged further along to the top of the hill. Now this is where shit gets dicey. Thmp and I cut trail and bee-lined it to the railroad tracks. This is our stomping grounds. We had a feeling the tracks would be our path to beer so we sidestepped another huge hill that led to Rio Del Mar Boulevard. Bingo! Shortcutting paid off, yo. The tracks took us to Aptos Village. Then it was up Trout Gulch to the post office, along the pump track, and back to the railroad tracks near the recently deceased Brit (R.I.P.). Beer check was just across the trestle and marked “B really N”. Indeed it was, and we were the cheating FRBs. And damn proud of it too, thankyouverymuch. dBASED and Hot Wheels were the real, non-cheating (well, as far as we know) FRBs. It took awhile for the pack to trickle in, so we were all drinking ourselves numb in the unmerciful cold. Something happened at beer check I still do not understand. There we were, everybody carrying a bottle opener, drinking beer, standing next to a cooler full of beer and a bum comes by and asks us for…a cigarette?
We were nearly frozen by now so we hustled off to religion at the medical clinic parking lot next to Severino’s. AccuPrick RA’d and Just Marna was beer icicle fairy. Extreme backsliders were the first to go down down: Hogazm (claims she was in Hawaii), Technical Black Out (claims she was in bed with Accu’s mom), Cervix Denied, and Dr. Nappy-Headed ‘Ho. Next was a wet salute to the doctors: Dr. Schlong Division (Congrats on your new title! I’ve heard PhD stands for Penis head Deformity, by the way), Dr. AccuPrick, Dr. Cervix Denied and Dr. Nappy. Next up for punishment were the non-runners: Butt Balls, Hugh, Cuff My Muff, Wicked, Dr. Nappy, and Cervix Denied.
(This is about where I had to keep warming up my pen between my legs to get the ink to flow. My right hand was also freezing. Duh! That’s because I took my glove off to write because I’m used to tapping out my writing on an iPhone instead of using a real pen and real paper. And also because I was drunk. Double duh! I put my glove back on and all was right and well again.)
Sadly, there was no virgin to entertain us because Virgin Andrea showed up at the pre-lube but wouldn’t do trail. Yes, some are easily scared off. dBASED was chastised for cheating a bartender by snatching his $ back from her. Great, now we’ve probably all been 86’d from the Windjammer. Thanks, dBASED.
(This is about where my notes get really sketchy. Something about how Dr. Nappy’s dog had a protruding penis…I hope somebody could please fill me in about this…no, maybe not.)
The night’s common trail complaint: too flat. Twat Did You Say? was called out because she didn’t know what BW meant and therefore blew by the bum wine check, so Butt Balls wondered what else BW could stand for…ball wrinkle? Puff’s lifelessness was validated by the commemoration of his 650th run. Cheers to Shallow Hole for making it to her 75th without requiring a liver transplant. The hares drank because their first trail sucked high and low.
On on on was at the spanking new Burger. Aptos where you can find a huge and varied beer and burger selection, a warm fireplace and some hot celebrity mugshots.
Next hash will be the picture hash! Bring your holiday cheer. And by “holiday cheer” I mean liquor in a flask…or uh, whatever brings you good tidings of comfort and joy. 😉
P.S. Thanks to the hashers who came out to the SC SantaCon last week! Bad Santas are the best Santas.
