Trash
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Written by Dr Nappy
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Monday, 26 January 2009 |
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We gather at the new Santa Cruz Billiards on the second day of 2009 for a rainy, cold trail set by Jardass for Men. At first, it is just me, Banana, and J4M holding down the fort and drinking our beers. While waiting for the rest of the pups to show up we discuss various venues where we had been that the bathroom had been ‘temporarily out of order’ due to some desperate couples’ inability to make it home or to the hotel before engaging in sex. A fitting conversation for the hash. When I say we were waiting for the pups, I mean this literally. We were inundated with minor hashers on this night. The pack consisted of Banana Basher, Puff MDQ, Pearl Necklace, Last Call Norm, Finger Nips, Ralph-U-Crammed-In, Serial Box, Jordass for Men (hare), Hairy Potter, Rod Lover, dBASED, Vince Lamblowme, Dr. Nappy Headed ‘Ho, Hugh Heiffer, Captain Jack Swallows, snatch.cum, Cunts Sluts and Incest (CSI), Choka Cola, Broke Bench Mountain, Flaccid Capacitor, Cumz Out My Nose, Take it Like a Man, Hot Wheels, Broken Shaft, Cream-filled Twinkie, Winds of Uranus, and Edgar’s Girlfriend. Cumz, Serial Box, and I decided that we weren’t up for braving the weather that night, so we stayed back at the bar and sipped our amber bevies in relative comfort. The stories and conversation around the table were generally embarrassing and not fit even for hash trash except for one little nugget. Apparently Hugh Heiffer called Cumz on New Year’s Day to ask if she was going to the hash that night. Poor Hugh. Either the mountain redwood air infused with cannibus or the beer had gone to her brain. Or both. I’m sure that we were all way too hung over on New Year’s day to move. Just as we began to consider making our way to the beer check, phone calls start coming in from lost hashers. Apparently we made the right move in sitting this one out. Beer check was at the lovely Asti Lounge on lower Pacific. The Asti is one of the fine establishments in Santa Cruz that defies CA state law and allows smoking. Just as I fire up my little sin stick, Hairy Potter excitedly asks me what kind of cigs do I smoke? Apparently they are the same brand that his grandmother smoked and they made him feel a bit nostalgic. When I asked if she still smoked them he informed me that she passed away…from emphysema. Thanks, Hairy. We make our way to the spot behind the Wheel Works for religion with a new 10 minute rule. The Hash Shit had been given to Twinkie for being gone ever since being nominated as on- sec, and she was also crowned beer fairy for the evening. First up to the altar was Serial, just for an example. Next was Twinkie herself for her absence. However, she was forgiven for being gone so long because she did make it to hash in Ireland and in Oklahoma. Apparently getting nominated for mismanagement causes some to run far, far away. Next up was quite memorable as snatch.cum decided to dress like a hooker for the night. Note to all: if you show up in a tiny mini skirt and fuck me boots you will get a down down! Better yet, she complained the whole trail about how her feet hurt. The foot pain was not caused by the three inch heels as you may expect, but rather because the boots were brand, spanking new. Note two to all: tea bags for new shoes are not limited to r*nning shoes! Material for the evening was a bit slim. It must have been the weather. Next up was CSI for wearing a company jacket with the name “Magnum” embroidered on it. Now we know that he spent the 80’s lusting after Tom Selleck. He is still aspiring to grow a few inches and work on that mustache. As mentioned before, we were invaded by children on this hash, so the minors were called up. Edgar’s Girlfriend, Winds of Uranus, and Hot Wheels came forward for their water down-downs. Hairy tried to sing a ‘clean’ hash song. Is there such a thing? Next up were Cumz, Serial, and myself for being lazy and not doing trail. Edgar’s Girlfriend sang us some beaver song that was quite funny, especially from a 12 year old. He is clearly Hugh’s progeny. Last up before the hare was Pearl Necklace for needing emergency surgery. Just as we all gasp in concern for our dear Pearl, he reveals that it was only for a toothache, and that it was really a secret ploy to escape spending time with Norm’s sister. Finally the hare, Jordass, is called up, and so ends hash #445.  Be first to comment this article |  Add as favorites (82) |  Quote this article on your site | Views: 634
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Written by Dr Nappy
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Sunday, 18 January 2009 |
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OK, my New Year’s resolution was to get the trashes out on a more timely manner. Since this hash was on 12/26 it is automatically disqualified, right? No, really, I have been patiently awaiting the attendance sheet, which has still not found its way to me. So, I will write and post, and if and when I ever get said sheet, I will post under separate cover. My apologies to you all for being so tardy! The pack parks behind Home Depot on 41st and makes our way to a very dry home. The beer wagon has not yet arrived and the pack is very thirsty. Just as we all begin to twitch in alcoholic withdrawals, BBM shows up with the trough to wet our whistles. Whew! Banana, for one, was beginning to froth at the mouth. This hash turns out to be a picture hash where the clues are given as photos of each ‘check’ and upon reaching each site we are given the next clue. As dBased is delivering his instructions to our now buzzing half brains, someone yells out “it doesn’t really matter, just follow Banana!” Sad, but true. The first picture clue is given to the GM, and the hare is out. As we circle up in a nice-sized group, the Cal Transvestite is given to the jolly My Lil Boney and the safety hat is donned on Apple Bobber. He must be a serious back slider because this is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on him. The first picture is revealed, and our destination is Ocean Honda. The pack treads out across Highway 1 toward the strip of car dealerships. The only really memorable event that happened this early was that Nips’ dog, Senna, stepped on MY foot and SHE yelped. Nips told me not to worry, Senna has sensitive feet. What? The dog steps on me and yelps, maybe Nips should worry about Senna! I’ll just lay down a quick progression here because either I was in a dull mood or not too much was happening until we had been walking way too long and began to get cranky. After Ocean Honda, the pack headed for the Capitola Library, then on to Burger King on 41st, and then to Victoria’s Secret. Naturally, here is where things begin to get interesting. We head into the mall through the vast emptiness of the closing Mervyn’s. Finger Nips fearlessly treads in with Senna in tow. Why not? Senna looks like a companion dog, right? And when Nips gets that look in her eye who on earth is going to stop her? Needless to say, we got some very odd looks traipsing into the mall with our beer, hash clothing, backpacks, necklaces, and the dog. We somehow make it into the guts of the mall and head toward Victoria’s Secret. After standing outside and looking at each other in confusion for a few moments, a few of us brave the sales floor and walk inside. The staff was utterly speechless, looking at us much as though we were little green men wandering through their store. Finally, one cheeky sales girl musters up the guts to ask “can I help you?” If our half mind can fill in the blank there, it probably was said. Just in time we hear a yell from the mall and Little Spit has been spotted out at the fountain with the next picture: Ross Dress for Less. We all quickly leave the mall with thanks that we were not arrested for any number of infractions. As we exit through the dying Mervyn’s, Yellow Prick Load decides to steal a sign. Why is it that our over the hill brethren like to steal signs when they visit Santa Cruz? This one happens to be a huge SALE sign. I had to ask YPL if he thought it necessary to advertise the fact that he is for sale. And exactly what is his price? Well, beer, of course! After walking by Ross and the final picture destination, KFC, we head over Highway 1 again in the direction of dBased’s condo. At this point, about half of the pack decides that the end is here and we dive into the trough. Just as we are bitching and moaning about no beer check and wondering where the rest of the pack is, Daddy shows up and tells us that we just didn’t go far enough to find the beer check. OK, this has happened twice in recent months. Hares, we are lazy and we like to drink beer. It is unreasonable to think for a second that we will pass up the trough for a longer trail just to make it to the beer check. Unless there is food. After traveling past all those food joints the pack was hungry, so we actually began to head down the hill to the beer check. That is, until we ran into Boney returning from the beer check and thought to ask if there was food. With the negative reply, we all did a quick 180 and headed back to the trough. The rest of the pack was not far behind. We begin religion with Broken Shaft as RA. He appoints O Holy Nuts as Beer Fairy. First up are our visitors: Vintage Beaver and Cork Sucker. They are responsible for bringing Flaccid Capacitor into being and were up visiting from San Diego. Next up were the much nearer visitors from over the hill. Six of Nine, Morning Missile, and Yellow Prick Load decided to bring their special holiday cheer for us all to enjoy. Broken Shaft asks the pack for crimes on trail. The first one exemplifies the FHAC-U spirit I just mentioned. YPL was caught red-handed using technology on trail. No big deal, you may say, but the call itself was classic. You see, I suppose YPL was missing Six, so he called to see where he was. Six answers his phone and inform YPL that he is walking right in front of him. YPL must have been staring into the sun too long on the way over Hwy 17. Next up was snatch.cum for sampling some goodies in Victoria’s Secret. It seems they had a display of flavored massage oils out, and snatch just couldn’t resist. She reported that the strawberry tasted pretty good. When the circle was asked if anyone had a song, Serial Box jumped up and down yelling “I do, I do” (two words that she has said quite often in her life). Then when she had all of our attention, she forgot the words or the song or something, because all that came our of her lips was “ummmmm”. My Lil Boney and Apple Bobber were called up to the altar next for wearing the hash shit. Finally, the hares were called up and we got to vent our feelings about trail. No mention of on on on, so we just dispersed and I’m sure a few folks ended up at 007. Just a guess. So ended hash #444, the picture hash. May the hash get a piece! Comments (1) | Add as favorites (82) | Quote this article on your site | Views: 744 |
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Written by Jordass (for men)
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Saturday, 10 January 2009 |
This hash was planned at the last second. Luckily, it turns out running in circles isn’t all that hard to do, even when you’re dodging Copitolas and Insecurity Guards.
The usual suspects gathered around the side of Longs Drugs were dBased, Hot Wheels, Banana Basher, Cum Lord, Pussy Galore, Pearl Necklace, Dog Breath, Auntie Cumima, Jordass (for men), Broke Bench Mountain, Cumz Out My Nose, Broken Shaft, Hugh Heifer, Rod Lover, CSI, O Holy Nutz, Goat Blower, Goldie Coxxx, Puff the Magic Drag Queen, Last Call Norm, Just Dana (5th hash), Timmy!!!, Finger Nips, Serial Box, Choka Cola, Tiny Whiny Bitch, Cream Filled Twinkie, Ball Monitor, Hairy Potter, Snatch.cum, Fondling Father & Cougar Bait from the middle of nowhere (Arizona), Icy Jackass from Sacto (formerly Just Liat), and the hares Flaccid Capacitor and Take It Like a Man.
I know this because we had four people taking attendance. Surf City: the most anal hash in America.
The pack was truly a pack tonight, with five dogs (including Dog Breath) running around at the end of their leashes and humping legs. I remind Timmy of his plans to liberate the dogs at a previous hash, but he didn’t remember saying any of that, after a few kamikazes. I also reminded Timmy that his daughter was intimately involved with Ralph U Crammed In, at which point he set off in search of beer, so that he might forget again.
We head forth, each with a different guess as to beer check given the hares lack of time to prepare. dBased’s evil castle and the Flaccid Flop House are the two most likely candidates, but the trail loops up and around Soquel, confounding even the biggest, best, most lumbering second-guessers.
Hairy Potter shares with me that his butt looks so good because he puts makeup on it. “Brown eyeliner.” His success with the ladies is no surprise.
Cream Filled Twinkie shares that she’s about to go to Japan, since visiting one small island nation full of drunks wasn’t enough for her. We spend a few blocks engaged in the ancient Japanese craft of hashku.
This line has five syllables
This line has seven syllables
Cherry blossoms in my puke
Trail meanders into the heavily-fortified Rispin Mansion property, where the city of Capitola decided, after decades of farting around, to fix up the place just so hashers wouldn’t have any more house parties on trail. The fence proves no match for Broke Bench Mountain, who channels his inner chimpanzee (never far away), and climbs it, the chains sagging ominously under his bulk. As the hash backs away from the leaning fence, I ask if we’re getting into position to catch him if he falls. A conspicuous BBM-sized hole opens up in the crowd. Guess not.
Dumb hasher climbs fence
Friends step back to watch the show
Beer will numb his pain
Icy Jackass must have a warm butt, contrary to her title, as she scoots over to make room for Goat Blower on a wet ledge, and Goatie proclaims, “The cement is nice and warm here.” Then again, Goatie is an internal combustion engine fuelled by bong hits by now, so maybe her ass isn’t the best thermometer. Just as I’m pondering the circulatory system of the common Valley Toker, Finger Nips decides to reveal to me the precise amount of hair growth on her legs.
Harriettes are sweet
But be wary of their charms
They might be yetis
Banana finally shows up, declaring it the best trail of the year, since it passed four liquor stores and five open bars. Having sampled many of the wares on trail, he declared the world to be a good place. Hairy recalls the first liquor store we passed, in which an old man on his way to his car told us there was free beer inside for us. The pack swerved, but the store owner was quickly out to frantically wave us away before the thundering herd could invade. Inside, an assistant loaded a shotgun, just in case.
Capitola crime
Is really not an issue
Unless there’s a hash
We walk down the staircase to religion. Auntie Cumima is made beer fairy, and immediately RA Paints-His-Tush calls up Fondling Father and Cougar Bait. The latter claims to have been named by us after a night of on-on-on debauchery with the finest aged ladies of Santa Cruz. Serial Box denies everything.
Goldie Coxxx tries to explain her lengthy absence, but Hairy points out that she got a breast reduction from EEE to EE. She can now comfortably ride on airplanes. She signs and surrenders My Fucking Helmet. Fondling comes back up to explain what he found for the hashit. “I have Classic Lays, something Snatch.cum knows all about.” Nice to see someone’s reputation is intact. He adorns the Cal Transvestite with a beat rag he found on trail instead.
Thinking about Snatch
Is usually followed by
Dirty discoveries
The pack takes its first stab at naming Just Dana. She’s wearing a Nabokov Sharks jersey, so we start with hockey-themed names: High Dicking, Penalty Box, Zam-bone-me. Flaccid says she has a crush on her roommate, and suggests Roommate Rapist. The matter is tabled.
Broken Shaft is called up for his 69th hash. Rod Lover also gets to celebrate his, even though it was last time. He thinks we forgot and was very whiny about it. Truth is, the hash is so entertained by his whining, there was a conspiracy to forget. Yeah, that’s right.
Snatch.cum is called out by the pack for chasing Hot Wheels around in her bid for early Cougardom. Norm points out that dBased was egging her on. Nothing wrong with a dad playing wingman.
Dog Breath is once again chastised for starting wars. At this point Hairy notices Pussy Galore and Cum Lord chatting, so he calls the private party up for a spanking. They reveal they were conferring about names for Dana. Slippery When Wet. Iced in the Hole. Sam Blow Me.
The hash settles on Two Minute Penalty Fuck, and a hasher is born.
The rest of the night is cut off by an Insecurity Guard. Apparently we were frightening the Longs employees who were taking out the garbage, what with our singing and shouting and in-depth discussion of Snatch taking advantage of a minor.
Hashes are best done
Where civilians cannot hear
Victims’ cries for helpComments (1) | Add as favorites (100) | Quote this article on your site | Views: 876 |
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Written by Jordass (for men)
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Saturday, 20 December 2008 |
Everyone comes dressed in Santa’s finest for an orgy of food and cheer at the Finger Nips palace over looking the mighty San Lorenzo River. Or: A bunch of drunks invade a perfectly nice home and trample dog shit into the carpet. It depends on who you ask.
Attending were Puff, Finger, Hugh, Take it Like a Mannequin, Flaccid, PG, Just Jenn, Cap’n Jack, Jordass, Banana, Timmy!!!, Vince Lanblowme, Daddy Warbucks, Norm, Pearl, BBM, CSI, Hogazm, dBased, Hot Wheels, O Holy Nutz, Hairy Potter, Snatch.cum, Goat Blower, Auntie Cumima, Dog Breath, Dr. Nappy-Headed Ho, and the baby Jesus.
Finger Nips has thoughtfully provided “adult alternative” music emanating from her television screen. CSI is disappointed that “adult alternative” doesn’t mean footage of Fairuza Balk sucking off a capuchin .
We stand around a while in complete and utter sobriety, munching on food (when are they going to invent food with alcohol in it?) as we wait for the beer wagon. When it arrives, Broke Bench Mountain announces that he needs to take inventory before anyone can crack a cold one. This, needless to say, was a mistake.
Under immense pressure from the hash, he allows people to grab PBR because “those don’t count.” Vince Lanblowme immediately calls the IRS to lodge a complaint about BBM’s accounting practices.
Speaking of Vince, Puff brought his annual bribes for those who helped him stay out of jail for the year, and gave to Vince a t-shirt with the PBR logo on it and something about Santa Cruz written above. Vince spends the rest of the night showing it off like a wallet full of granchildren photos. The other lucky recipient of a prize is Hogazm, who gets a tiny motorcycle, which her “special friend” in her bedside table can “ride” with her.
Last Call Norm shows up in Santa-theme lingerie, and Pearl Necklace has to spend the rest of the evening beating away all the little elves.
Snatch.cum arrives, rummages around in a nearby garbage can, and comes up with a tin of cookies, which she donates to the spread.
If you’re wondering, BBM is still counting beer at this point. Maybe next year, Puff will bring him a calculator.
We finally get a few tall ones released from the wagon to suck on quickly, and Finger takes off to dribble flour all over Seabright. The abuse this neighborhood’s sidewalks sustains is astounding. Without waiting long, we circle up. Hogazm acts as GM, and needs extreme coaching in order to do the three things a GM has to do—tell us the number of the hash (she gets it wrong), hand out the hashit (she takes 10 minutes to figure out how that works) and start introductions.
Luckily, Hoggy makes it up to everyone by divulging on trail that the recipient of her first blow job later discovered he was gay. And that’s the story of how Flaccid met the hash.
We have many wonderful conversations on this extremely short trail, like the different kinds of poop one can make if one has sufficient pinching control, and O Holy Nutz joins Snatch.cum for some impromptu naughty carolling at one checkpoint. A car drives by and stops to listen, then hurriedly drives off.
There is no beer check, which confuses the hell out of Surf City. BBM passes out the chips without counting them, and I try to convince everyone that, yes, we’re done. A few people continue searching for trail even though we’re back in Finger Nips’ yard already. The hash was so short that the hash reacted to it like a woman faced with premature ejaculation. “Is that it? Normally it’s just getting hard by now. Are you sure you’re doing it right?”
Hairy Potter makes me the beer fairy because I kept losing the crowns (not true, they kept breaking on the giant hasher heads), so the rest of the notes come from Dr. Nappy’s poisonous pen.
Goat Blower is up first. Why? 69th? Complained about vessels.
BBM: Snatch asks, “Should we rename him Rain Man?”
Just Jenn: Name ideas are Ball Monitor, Sexless in the City, Pink Taco.
Dr Nappy: Birthday.
Finger Nips: 100th hash.
Norm & Pearl: Dressing alike.
Hoggie & Auntie: Umbrella use and because Hoggy blows gay guys.
More names: 69th Percentile. Ball Monitor wins.
Banana Basher calls up Dr. Nappy for being too old to run trail.
That’s the ledger. Rain starting pouring about midway through religion. For posterity, Ball Monitor got her name because she works as a high school guidance counsellor and doesn’t mind admitting that she thinks the sophomores are hot. The hash does seem to attract an alarming number of pedophiles.
After religion, we all repaired to the Nipsy domicile for more food and beer stolen from her refrigerator. At some point, the drunks decided to sing nasty Christmas carols, which Finger Nips banged out on her piano while Jordass sloppily slammed along in the bass register with his ham-sized fingers. There was probably more to remember about it all than that, but Christmas is the season for forgetting, not remembering.
May the Hash go in Peace to 2009. Have fun on Boxing Day, suckers.Be first to comment this article | Add as favorites (95) | Quote this article on your site | Views: 688 |
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Written by Jordass (for men)
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Saturday, 20 December 2008 |
We meet at the Crepe Place, where owner Adam says “I love you guys” when we tell him we’re donating toys to children. The public relations ruse is a success for one more year.
Attending were Totgazm, StilletotHo (Long Beach), Veterans of Foreign Tots, Snatch-tot-cum, Jizz “I made a tot” Bollah, Broken Shafted Tot, Tot Breath, Just Liat, Tiny Whiny Tot, Tot Heifer, totBased, Tot Lord, Pussy Totlore, Li’l Anal Tottie, Tott Balls, Ralph-U-Crammed-That-Tot-In, Puff the Magic Tot Queen, Cervix Totnied, Choka-Tot, Daddy Totbucks, Goldie Tottts, Last Tot Norm, Tot Necklace, Tot Lover, Jordass (for Tots), Timmy!!! (for special tots), Cunts Tots and Incest, Bad Tot Raising, Broke Tot Mountain, Banana “I put tots in trash cans” Basher, Hairy Totter, Dr. Nappy-Headed Tot, Cumz Out My Tot, Just Jenn, Flaccid Totpacitor, Auntie Totmima, My Li’l Tot Bone, Technical Tot Out, Tot Blower, and Finger Tots.
After a very productive mismanagement meeting in which we all discovered that hashers are fucking cranky before they’ve had their beer, the pack wanders in with its colorful bounty. Rod Lover brought a giant fluffy dog, which garnered him a lot of attention. I asked him if he was thinking the dog would get him laid, and he nodded, then told me not to write anything about that.
Banana wanders off to dribble flour all over Seabright, and we enjoy the cozy heat lamps of Creepy Place’s back porch, where the owners in their infinite wisdom have installed a bald-headed ugly man bust on a large rocking chair apparatus, which lurks in the corner. Creepy, indeed.
At circle up, Butt Balls dons My Fucking Helmet, but he has a hard time putting it on, not being used to safety equipment that doesn’t come with a chin strap and a dildo on top. Li’l Anal Annie shows him the appropriate way to wear protection. The vest goes to Cervix Denied, who has been on a long work trip for Google. This time they sent her into the kitchen of her apartment to study the mapping properties of beer bottles.
We roll out, with Flaccid keeping his buddy Just Jenn well entertained. Someone makes an insinuation, but Rod Lover declares, “She’s the safest girl in Santa Cruz,” then tells me not to write that.
Trail is one of your typical noodle dashes around Seabright, in which we stroll in circles and guess whether beer check will be at Banana’s Dude Shack or Puff’s Garage of Horrors. It turned out to be the latter this time. dBased, with only a few hundred hashes under his belt, mistakes Banana for a marathon runner and gets completely lost at the harbor, circumnavigating it before realizing that Surf City is more prone to a direct route to the beer check than a world tour of smelly bodies of water.
Back at beer check, Goldie Coxxx and Snatch.cum are discussing underwear trestles designed to hoist their assets into the air. Goldie says, “I like the Victorian corsets that still say fuck me.” Butt Balls and I listen in, wondering if we have to buy tickets to this show.
While his woman is pondering the engineering issues surrounding her orbs, Tiny Whiny Bitch is off picking up stray bike wheels and parading them around the hash. Finally, a spare part for the bike Banana found in Zayante Creek.
Hugh Heifer, meanwhile, in her continuing campaign to get renamed, runs through the pack screaming “thanks for letting me do your husband!”
Speaking of Banana, he has thoughtfully provided a cooler of kamikaze shots, which are inhaled by the hash at an alarming rate. The alcohol has little effect on the group, unless you count the sudden increase in noise and sudden decrease in IQ. Cervix Denied takes a shot then breathes through it like she’s going into labor. We all watch her cooch to see if a little Japanese man in a plane will pop out and crash into the ground.
dBased finally shows up, a sweaty DFL, and Banana declares it to be the best Christmas present ever. But with dBased off on his own orbit, who was the FRB marking all the checks incorrectly? Turns out it was Puff, who doesn’t even know how to get to his own house.
Broke Bench Mountain is attempting to get his dog Porter to do some tricks, but the dog, like the rest of the world, refuses to take anything BBM says seriously, and just ignores him. Smart dog. After BBM’s numerous attempts to get the dog to do something, Timmy snaps and calls for dog liberation. “He’s exploiting you! Break free of your chains! Rise up against your oppressor!” He grabs a red flag and marches off to lead the glorious canine revolution. Like I said, the kamikazes had little effect on the hash.
Hairy Potter tries to get the pack moving and motivated back to the Crepe Place for religion, but they pay attention about as well as Porter does to BBM, so it takes a while. Eventually, we do find ourselves in the defunct Harley Davidson parking lot, and an altar gets set up. Rod Lover changes the lenses on his camera so he can take shittier pictures of shit-faced people, and as he screws in the lens he pretends to have an orgasm. My Li’l Boney assists by depositing a dollop of whipped cream on his cheek. “There’s your cum stain.” Seeing that the whipped cream came from one of Hairy Potter’s famous Hot Apple Pies, Rod Lover takes a shot, then immediately spits it up, leaving a giant jizz mark on the parking lot for Porter to lick up. Rod Lover tells me not to write about any of this.
Religion is finally starting, but Cumz Out My Nose has her phone ring. Hairy gives her an apple pie down down, but she can’t figure out how to drink it. Cumz doesn’t know how to put pie in her mouth. Hairy shows her. Thanks for letting me do your pie.
Now, Hairy can finally start religion, and calls up some trail slackers, but just then Broke Bench Mountain decides he must move his truck back for some reason. He starts it up and backs up a foot or two. An irate RA screams, “Is that it? A couple of inches?” Porter nods. Smart dog.
StilletHo and VFW step up to announce something about a hash in Monterey with an ABC (anything but clothes) theme. Then VFW takes Big Daddy down, with contributions from the entire hash’s cans and bottles. An impressive swig for an impressive man.
Hogazm gets an award for wearing the ugliest sweater, some sort of puffy painting of Sylvester sucking Tweety’s cock. Thanks for letting me do your canary.
dBased gets a DFL down down and goes on about something with gypsies … by now, the RA is pouring shots just for himself, the pack is so rowdy and stupid. At least the kamikazes didn’t have an effect. PG gets an award for looking like a Christmas tree, Goat Blower for looking like a banker, and Dog Breath for starting another war. Somebody accuses Jordass of plucking his eyebrows. He probably does, being such a douche.
Banana gets convicted of a pointless trail. He tries to sing a Christmas carol, but has beer poured down his throat instead.
On on on is at the Creepy Place, naturally, where we chase out a convention of lawyers and demand beer from the bartender. Puff brings a dusty SCH3 Hash Horn — did anyone know we had that? It’s a circular job lined with Tartan rope, and with our beloved hash name engraved in the bell. He bequeaths it to Goat Blower, which is great because Tongue Job’s mouthpiece just might have been covered in ‘communicable issues’ but we haven’t seen Serial Box lately to ask.
Rod Lover never did get laid that night. But he told me not to write that.
Next up: Christmas with Finger Nips.
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