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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