Greetings,
We find ourselves in beautiful downtown Felton, California, for this edition of the useless drivel saddled with the unenviable moniker of Hash Trash. We’re inside a building with a sign precariously perched on the roof that reads Cowboy Bar & Grill. Now to the best of my knowledge there never were any real cowboys in these-here parts but some mental midget deemed it necessary to open a place for these nonexistent cow pokes to eat. There is, I feel safe in saying, far more Wild West in our hare-pair, Hugh Heifer and Hairy Fuck 2.5 than has ever existed in this redwood forest.
Hugh has just admitted she doesn’t know the location of Beer Check. While this admission does not surprise me, it also does little to raise my opinion of these two as hares. It smacks of little planning and warns of execution of trail that promises to be even worse. It did not bother me at all to see the hare-pair hop on-out. Out of sight, out of mind is my motto when it comes to these two jokers.
We did have a few surprises tonight prior to on-out. Maladjusted has returned from a visit to San Francisco. I see that he stayed long enough to be counted as a local: he’s sporting a stylish gold hoop earring now. (See Flash) I’d say it makes him look like Mr. Clean but Mr. Clean had some redeeming social value as a cleaning agent. Canadian Penny Slut made a guest appearance, albeit a very late one, but at least she remembered he name in circleup this time. This hash also saw the return of the elusive pair of Chad and Dan. We last saw them at the Halloween Hash and, considering the contributions they made on trail tonight, it can be Halloween until we see them again as far as I’m concerned.
We exited the parking lot of the amazingly-ineptly named Cowboy Bar & Grill and have made an on-left onto Gushee Street. I the first block we pass a waring sign about a major bee infestation in the area and a lot full of the kind of cars that have pursued Surf City throughout the county for over a decade. Not an especially auspicious beginning to a trail, is it?
Two blocks later we performed an on-right onto Russell Street and one block later on-left onto Valley Drive. Valley was taken until Redwood Drive where an on-left proved to be the correct guess. When Redwood junctioned with Highway 9, our course became obvious: we were to cross the road and head into the darkening depths of Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. Having been here many times before did NOT lessen the anxiety of the herd as we smell the approach of rangers and a bumper crop of poison oak.
From this point forward trail consisted of a lot of dirt and lots of piles of horse crap. Mercifully, the hares did not throw us into the river. They did, however, compensate for this oversight by seeing to it we were accosted by poison oak and attacked by tree limbs, briars and those pesky tree roots cleverly concealed beneath a few fallen leaves. dBASED of course went off on his own but this time was foiled by what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of foliage. Broke Bench Mountain played bull moose though and charged on through. dBASED wisely backtracked but Broke Bench became hopelessly lost and ended up auto-hashing to Beer Check. Beer Check was staged on the railroad tracks just across Graham Hill Road from the entrance to Roaring Camp & Big Trees Railroad. A dangerous jaunt along Graham Hill Road soon brought the gang to Covered Bridge Park and once across the bridge we went into a lot used to store horse trailers. This proved an unwise decision as the owner heard the screaming and yelling and sent us packing. Remarkably though, we were able to complete Religion before being ousted.
Speaking of Religion, here are some of the lowlights from this week’s session: Cuff My Muff was appointed Religious Advsier and she immediately seized on TIMMY as her Beer Fairy; Broke Bench was chided for auto-hashing and even then he turned in the wrong direction to arrive at Beer Check; Maladjusted, Just Chad, Just Dan and Canadian Penny Slut were punished for backsliding; Hugh was made a laughing stock for the completion of her 175th hash with Surf City and by far the most important portion of Religion was saying goodbye to Just Sean and remolding him into Waxi-Pad. Oh, yeah, the hare-pair. As for Hugh Heifer, this woman has had so many boyfriends I bet she’ll be buried in a Y-shaped coffin. And as for her erstwhile consort Hairy, I think it’s sad that I have to spend the final few years of my life hashing his trails. Hairy, do old Puff a favor and instead of laying trail again, just show up at the hash and juggle a few beer bottles while reciting the Declaration of Independence.
By Special Appointment of His Royal Majesty “G”, this Hash Trash has been compiled and printed by permission of no one other that the author at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the twenty-fifth day of July in the year of our hash two-thousand eleven.
On-out,
Puff the Magic Drag Queen