Life’s a beach!

That old play on words failed us on the last Thursday in September 2022. This shift from fun to fucked is laid directly on the pointed little heads belonging to the hare-pair of dBASED and Clearly Not A Hooker. Admittedly, it’s an accepted truism that dBASED will bring the pack to no good and must simply be accepted as the cross Surf City must carry. However, due to our short memories and innate kindness, we continue allowing him to hare. As for his partner-in-slime, Clearly Not a Hooker, she’s a well-known traveler across Northern California to attend other hashes. It is now apparent that she cataloged the vilest tricks she learned at these events and mixed them together to use against us on this trail. That sets the table for Hash Twelve-12. It also is a recipe for disaster.

We began the assembly process on the railroad tracks at the intersection of Coronado Street and Park Avenue in Capitola where we’ve been many times before. And we still don’t like it. On one side it’s open to stiff winds coming off Monterey Bay and on the other in plain sight of all vehicles passing by. Cold breezes and cold stares, two items that do not sit well with us. This week’s theme was Dress like a Hooker as it was (Clearly Not A) Hooker’s celebration of her hatching day. (She must be over 30 as she declined to say how many trips around the sun she has completed) Hash Flash will chronicle how Surf City hashers define the word ‘hooker’. In keeping with the town motto ‘Keep Santa Cruz Weird’, you will see some rather intriguing attire.

Not disgustingly late, the hare-pair delivered Instructions of Trail. It’s always disconcerting when these details differ from those on their Trail Announcement on our website. Changes are unsettling and leads one to believe their plans for trail are disjointed. Hares-out.

The next fifteen minutes of our lives were spent conversing, drinkin’ and keeping Junk Puncher and Odin from erupting into full-on fighting mode. Junk Puncher seemed to take exception to new-on-the-scene Odin’s garnering so much attention. Eventually zero hour arrived and co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responses from the following: Occasional Rapist, Steamy Baanorrhea, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, TIMMY!!, Cum You Will Not, STD(the harrier with dozens of names), Just John, Jersey Lunchbox, Just Danielle, My Little Bony and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency has swollen by one and was represented by: Junk Puncher, Spot’d Dick, Swamp Rat, Scratch and Sniff and Odin. Pack away.

Trail proceeded down the treacherous hill to the parking lot for New Brighton State Beach and on-right and on-down onto the beach. I do not need to remind anyone how much we dislike motivating along the sand. Even if this was your first time, maybe Just Danielle or Just John, I’m certain they have now developed the same dislike for sand as have any of the more experienced hounds. With that in mind, let us fast forward to the area just past Potbelly Beach where the promised Turkey/Eagle split was viewed. The Turkeys will on-up to a large open field while the Eagles will continue along the sand pit. It’s too beautiful to resist, let’s continue getting sand in our shoes with the Eagles.

This trek continued for almost a mile until an arrow pointed the pod on-left and on-up the trail to Beachgate Way. After recuperating from the climb, it was forward on Beachgate Way, on-left onto Seacliff Drive, on-right onto Coates Drive, on-left onto Hill Crest Drive and finally an on-right onto Mar Vista Drive. This would bring the tired troops to the accursed railroad tracks and a check. Steamy continued along Mar Vista bur soon returned from false markings. Jersey Lunchbox inspected Poplar Street to no avail. Eventually, more by the process of elimination than good detective work, trail was stumbled across on Cedar Street. This led the litter to an on-right onto Oakdale Drive followed by an on-right onto Poplar Street. This has pointed the pride back towards the check, I smell skullduggery in our immediate future.

Ah, yes. I see our destination just ahead on-left. Not far along Poplar Street, marker turned the merry members of this madness on-left and on-down a steep hill and onto the accursed railroad tracks. In retrospect, it was basically the only way home. The tracks were taken until a check at the same field that was used by the Turkeys. The correct route, contrary to the direction FRB’s Jersey Lunchbox and Just John took, was on-right and through a small patch of woods and then they would have observed the LC sign. Contained there was some chocolate-tasting substance.

After concluding our business here, it was back on trail through a (now) darkened field and eventually to New Brighton Road and upon viewing the BN mark, on-left and into Beer Check. While this may sound all well and good, sadly this did not spell the end of trail as is usually our custom of late. Tragically, this signaled the beginning of what was arguably the most e-vile section of trail. Rather than taking the backdoor into New Brighton State Beach campground where we already were, it became an almost half a mile traipsing of the train tracks to Oak Trail which led on-up into the campground. Still not done jerking the gaggle around, the hares had the unmitigated audacity to place a check on the on-up into the campground. Unheard of in Surf City history, a check on an on-in! And even then they were not finished screwing the school. They utilized the most inefficient route possible to get the gang to space 42, the site for Religion.

Once there, everyone grabbed a beer and a bite and settled in for another edition of Accuprick’s Fun House of Religion. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this evening: those dressed as hookers were honored/mocked(you make the call), auto-hashers were punished, short-cutters were appropriately punished, those donned in fishnet stockings, those (barely) covering their nether region with a thong. Yes, the hares were taken to task too. It was unanimous the scenery was spectacular, too bad the trail to get us there was subpar. With that encounter, the RA dismissed the pack and the face-feed began. I hereby dismiss you from the Hash Trash as well.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to get in the way of a good story. Do not allow the profound to be the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-12.

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 fourth day of October in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe