Virgin John - dressed up as the odd man out (aka no costume)

Stupid Pussy, Daddy’s Little Helmet, and Stupid Puppy as a swarm of killer bees

Puff the Magic Drag Queen in a black cape

Hogazm as Puff the Magic Drag Queen

Jordass (for men) as Britney Spears (the bitch who’s back)

Banana as a red hairy devil man

Rod Lover in a black cape with a scary werewolf (?) mask he would not wear

Ralphy as a oh-so-disturbing-that-he-looks-better-as-a-woman-than-a-man flapper

Choka Cola, gold digger

TIMMY as TIMMY, wheelchair and all

Glazed Hole, a tacky tourist who can run better than most

Little Anal Annie, a little anal lady bug

Vince Lamblowme, Hunter S. Thompson minus the cigarette holder

Pussy Sipper, a dead motorcyclist (bad karma written all over it)

Finger Nips, a blue M&M with the cutest curly eyelashes

Pearl was the chauffeur to Normy who looked like Sharon Stone (I don’t remember who she was dressed up as... Ms. Daisy?)

Handjob #5, a crazy disco queen

Pussy Galore appeared to be straight out of the Matrix (but I know I’m wrong about that too)

Cum Lord, a peasant

Piss In Booths, a fat ballerina with saggy breasts

Dr. Nappy Headed Hoe, very unsaggy breasted mistress (VERY)

Hugh Heffer, a witch

Jack Off, a very convincing nerd

Butt Balls, horny chef

PCP, WIlliam Wallace of Braveheart

Goat Blower, an unhorny chef

Harry Potter, Wendy (you say that “WEN-dee, not WIN-dy - she’s not like a gust of wind, right Rod Lover?)

Pixi, a sexy sexpot sextrice/dominitrics, (whip me baby)

Daddy Warbucks, a pirate

Just Kirin, a bloody medic from Vietnam

Suck Cockrin, cheerleader

Virgin Mike, dude from Life Aquatic (thanks for the beard Mike! - I’m gonna be the bearded lady for dressing up in places where they don’t know who Puff is; sorry to again disappoint you Jack Off - I know you want me to dress like Pixi too)

DBased, surgeon, Little Spit, little Princess, and Hot Wheels as Harry Potter

My Little Boney as the guy who had the time to change his clothes from his Radio Shack uniform but not to put on a costume

Let me work out the evening going backwards. I ran home drunk in the moonlight, my OP imposter shorts not keeping me very warm. I had just finished a rich piece of chocolate cake (thanks Banana!) at the Crepe Place that the Gold Digger, Pearl and Norm had helped me with. They had finally joined us from being across the street at the double oh - I think Boney went to go fetch them, and they also found Clit Van Winkle who is going to Costa Rica soon. Rod Lover is busy yelling at me about depth of field and aperture sizes, scolding me for looking at the 3 photos I took with his display screen and for other photographic sins I may have committed. Before that I write down things I hear being shouted out loud, including:

Banana bought us several rounds of kamikaze’s which were clear and yummy, unlike the kool-aid versions across the street. I ran into a free-lance photographer that works for the paper and I noticed her friend’s scared look on his face as he watched the mayhem of the rowdy drunk hashers taking over this otherwise quaint, calm bar.

Choka, Jordass, Harry Potter and myself had just walked over from Virgin Mike’s small condo that he rented with four other young twenty-somethings. These kids had a ROSS shopping cart in the living room that I danced to the rave music while standing inside of. One of the roommates was busy cutting some scary flaming skull fabric to make a vest after Harry accidentally walked all over it. There were drinking game tallies pinned to the wall. I felt like I was 22 all over again as Choka swore to us that she used to have raver days.

I had arrived there after convincing Choka that I was sober enough to drive her awesome sports car, a joy that was tainted by the fact that I had to follow Jordass’s car which was going 45mph on the freeway from Aptos. “My speeedometer is broken.” We had picked up her car at Piss N’Booth’s house after we all piled into the sweet ride belonging to Britney.

We had just decided that the Mediteranian was not the bar we wanted to hangout at after religion, and the pointing and laughing we were receiving from the patrons was more annoying than entertaining. During religion the last hashers to get down-downs were the hares, Butt Balls and Stupid Pussy. Before them was Goat Blower for her 25th hash completed. Vince was before her (not sure why), Hand Job #5 was before that (again, had lost interest and don’t know why), and before her the Virgin John gave us a full moon under the almost full moon, providing the front row harriets (myself included of course) with a glaring view of the backside of his testicles. Virgin Mike told us a joke about the difference between Neil Armstrong and Michael Jackson (pretty big difference, by the way). Cum Lord got called up before the virgins for no particular reason, I preceded him with Britney and Busty (Dr. Nappy) for best costumes (two males and one female in “Santa Cruz PC fashion” - only was I considered the male and Britney the female?), and Choka and Banana got the biggest gossipers in the hash award because Serial Box wasn’t around. Piss N’ Booths got the worst trail down-down for her previous death march that Daddy’s Little Helmet kept complaining about (even though she wasn’t there), and Hugh was before that for complaining about the empty pitchers she approached at the beer check. Before that TIMMY was rolled up in his wheelchair for the first down-down in the religion that was held behind the smelly Med.Annie did us a huge service by handing out delicious samosas, and I ate one for Puff and one for Hoggie.

Beer check was outside of the Britannia Arms where we inhaled a series of pitchers of beer, courtesy of our hares. We walked there after being stuck at a check under the freeway for a really long time because there were very few marks to be found. I had pushed TIMMY down the hill in his wheelchair to get there. This was after we circled around the Med a few times at the beginning of trail. Pixi thought it to be a really long walk in her high-heeled hoochy boots.

When we had circled up we gave Boney the vest to wear as his costume. Butt Balls really wants him to be awarded the stupidest hasher award for the upcoming AGM. We had circled up after we turned the Med into a loud, obnoxious costume party where I made Puff blush in tickled excitement (isn’t imitation considered the best flattery?) and he allowed me to borrow his nametag necklace. My mustache was glued on with goops of eyelash glue, and I had to use an entire can of hair coloring to make my hair look somewhat grey and I was feeling high off the fumes of it all. Hand Job #5 turned to me and said, "Puff, nice socks" not realizing I was an imposter and then the real Puff turned to her and asked her which one of us she meant. Mission accomplished!

This all came around the time I consumed my very first PBR in over a month. I sipped this glorious beer (through a straw as to not mess up my mustache) for the first time in thirty five days. I love you beer. I’ve missed you so. Beer, you are my best friend and I hope we never need to part again. Next time I will be putting a lime in you rather than having lyme instead of you.