Hallowed Hashers
The above obviously excludes the Trio of Terror we used as hares for Trail 581.
If you believe the above to be too harsh, 1) you apparently did NOT join us this past Thursday and 2) you do not trust Puff’s judgment. One of those is a good thing but one is not. I believe you will soon be able to ascertain which is which.
Our traveling kennel was assembled on Portola Drive Thursday at The Pocket, formerly saddled with the moniker The Corner Pocket, the sixteenth of June as per our hares’ instructions. This was the first in a seemingly-endless series of judgmental errors dBASED, Occasional Rapist and Hot Wheels would perpetrate this evening. Everyone knows The Pocket is far worse that the Asti or even The Rush Inn as it’s lack the ambience provided by Pacific Avenue and it’s numerous attractions and eateries.
Nonetheless, here we are. There’s one patron at the end of the bar sitting so ramrod straight he’s either been here since the place opened this morning or rigor mortis had set in. The only other denizen, just a few beer stools away from the pack, is chuckling and talking to himself in some foreign dialect, possibly Drunken Jibberish, a common but yet unfathomable language.
Finally the hare-trio comes sauntering in as if they’ve not a care in the world. And, I guess, in actuality they do NOT have a care in the world as they know where the beer is stashed. It is we, kennel mates, that are deep in the crap right now. After their introductory apologies, AKA Instructions of Trail, the trio of terror trotted away and immediately split up like pint glasses that hit the floor at The Pocket. Fifteen minutes later the hounds barked out their names and set out in pursuit of the hares.
As almost no marks were found in the parking lot, a considerable amount of our lives were wasted here until on-on was finally sounded across Portola and on-left half a block to 30th Avenue where a on-right was indicated. When we reached the railroad tracks, and we of course did, a check was encountered and then solved indicating, and no surprise here, an on-left onto the accursed tracks would be the next section of trail. For all practical purposes we can fast-forward to 17th Avenue, mainly because I do not wish to remember ANY of the tracks between 30th and 17th. As I approached 17th, I took note of the fact TIMMY was pacing around the check like an expectant father waiting outside the delivery room. It was soon determined we’d lost trail somewhere and this group began backtracking. Soon this group of lost losers ran headfirst into the walkers. The walkers yelled they had flour and we were then coerced into using a locals-only steep climb over a fence separating homes from the Homeless Highway, AKA railroad tracks. Words cannot describe how treacherous and tedious this climb and crossing were so I shall refer you to this week’s Flash for further details. Even after completing the climb, local neighborhood watch was out if force wondering who (what?) we were and insuring we did not loiter in the area.
We took Tower Place to Felt Street and executed an on-left and then an on-right on Corcoran Avenue. Partway along Corcoran, an atypically reserved Cuff My Muff’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree after seeing a van parked beside the road offering free candy if one would only step inside. The side of the van also implored all women passing the vehicle to bare their breasts. No, this van was NOT owned by Broke Bench Mountain though I feel certain it gave him some devious ideas that he may apply to his car in the near future. There is photographic proof of our encounter in the Flash as well.
When Corcoran ends at Portola Drive, marker made the merry members of this madness on-right and then on-left onto a locals-only shortcut to East Cliff Drive. Here an on-left was indicated. Let’s fast forward past Moran Lake, Moron Lake in hash lingo, to South Palisades Avenue, AKA Circle-Jerk City. South Palisades is a short, dirty, gravel-and-pothole path fit not for man nor beast. Consequently, the hares chose it for us to traverse. It swoops a half-circle and comes right back to East Cliff. Here we were directed across East Cliff to Palisades Avenue and on-right at the first street, Calla Drive. A block and a half later, our highly favored Beer Near mark was observed and shortly thereafter we invaded the yard of someone I can only hope one of the hares was acquainted with. After the walkers sucked one down, on-in was undertaken to Religion at the domicile of Occasional Rapist.
Here are some of the lowlights from Religion: Hugh Heifer was appointed Mob-rule Religious Adviser and she immediately appointed the now-unemployed TIMMY as her Beer Fairy. Punishments were as follows: Dog Breath for almost trotting past Beer Check and dBASED for providing poor marking leading up to Beer Check; Cuff My Muff for forsaking her haring duties two weeks ago and stopping to pick up a pack of cigarettes on trail (can she actually smoke & throw flour at the same time?!?); Virgin Petra, who was made to come by the Rapist, was welcomed to the hash; Broke Bench Mountain for utilizing technology on trail and Dog Breath for the (foolish) completion of his 150th hash with Surf City.
One on-on-on, there may have been multiple, was conducted at Seabright Brewery. Everyone drank and ate until they were low on money and then went home to continue doing the same. There’s no more to be said, I will now return to my search for signs of intelligent life in Santa Cruz.
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 nineteenth day of June in the year of our Hash two-thousand eleven.
On-out,
Puff the Magic Drag Queen
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