On-in,

Puff has recently returned for Sant-o-Barbara’s 17th Analversary festivities. While I cannot speak for our kennel mate Swiss Army Cock who also attended, I feel confident he had as much fun as did I. More on those jokers later. Right now I feel the need to ream the hare, or hares, for Hash 596 in absentia.

At first I was somewhat disappointed the turnout was so pathetically minuscule, eight hounds. Now however, I am glad so many of you chose to drink at home instead of attending. I fear had a larger pack been in attendance, many of the attendees would have sworn off hashing completely after this trail.

As the announcement stated, trail began on Katherine Lane, a dead end street in the northwest corner of the secluded Santa Cruz Gardens area. TIMMY read a note from the hare(s) directing him to read the contents to the pack at 6:48 which was to be on-out time. Since the hare(s) was long gone, how would they know when we actually left? More importantly, what the hell would they care?!? He/she or they were sitting at home sipping their drinks and laughing about what a mess they’d left behind for the pack to try and negotiate. TIMMY was instructed to read the note as the hares(s) knew Banana is not capable of reading for long without losing interest and words of more that two syllables are beyond his capabilities.

Somewhere around the dictated time the back began a leisurely stroll across a small field and through a very narrow, incredibly rusted gate onto property owned by Chaminade that claimed the gate was closed at sundown. I assure you this gate has not moved since the day it was constructed. A check here was soon disposed with and the small pack made an on-right which was soon followed by an on-left which heralded an extended on-down. There’s nothing worse than BEGINNING a trail with an on-down. Why, you may wonder? Because what goes down must eventually come back up and that on-up is at least as long as the on-down was and almost always comes at the end of trail when you are your most tired. It’s a very cruel thing to do. At the bottom of the hill, a check was eventually solved and the pod was pointed on-right and, incredibly, even further on-down. Once we came to a stream, we knew we were at the lowest level and the only way the hell out was the hell up. And so it started, a death climb that wound back on itself so sharply that DFL’s would become FRB’s for a second or two at a time before trail changed direction again. I will spare you the torture the the scurvy school was subjected to and say eventually we popped out on top of another huge hill and then the litter was led into a field where we encountered a pack of neighborhood dogs and their owners who were whacking golf balls willy-nilly around this field. It’s amazing no hound was hit by a wayward shot. The Beer Near mark was found and the pride began sniffing in an increasing-diameter circle as per the hare(s) instruction sheet until the beer was found stashed in a patch of poison oak in a blue bag. And there wasn’t much beer in it either, there would have been quite a struggle had a normal-sized pack been in attendance. This bag had also been spotted by the three locals using the field as a driving range. As the only thing that went right on this trail, they mercifully did not rip us off. They were rewarded with a beer for their honesty but refused to commit to ever joining us for a hash after hearing what we’d just been subjected to.

On-in was short jaunt back to the park where we met a neighbor, Stan by name. Stan remembered going to a restaurant Banana used to steal from before opening  Sports Grille Santa Cruz. Then Occasional Rapist walked over to him and introduced herself as a former elementary schoolmate of his. Old home week apparently. Reminiscing completed, Religion was convened. At first Hugh Heifer was to be Religious Adviser than it was decided pack was so small we would circle the group once, everyone nominating someone else for a down-down. This would prove quick enough we would have time for a very long on-on-on at JJ’s. The crimes proved as lame as the idea, which incidentally was Accuprick’s, so we’ll skip the nominations.

As I said, on-on-on was at JJ’s and we were joined by Mrs. Groper. Whether she was called by someone or whether she simply spends every night here I do not know.

As of this posting, our Mystery Hare, or hares, has chosen to remain nameless. This is the wisest decision he/she/they could have possible made and the ONLY smart one that did pertaining to this trail. I don’t know what possessed this person to lay this trail but I wish I hadn’t been within three time zones of it’s location.

By 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 September in the year of our Hash two-thousand eleven.

On-out,

Puff the Magic Drag Queen