Salutations,

The above picture graphically summarizes the pack’s opinion of Trail 1163. While it would be both redundant and unnecessary, possibly even vindictive, to pile on further insults to the hare-pair that unleashed this misery upon us, I deem them more than deserving of such so will consequently proceed with this Trash.

We began the evening with a silly sojourn at a former old favorite, Callahan’s. We haven’t been here in quite a while and there have been some actual improvements. That being said, it’s difficult to concoct a more dreary unpleasant environment that the previous incarnation. It’s not as dark as previously so when you trip over someone passed out on the floor, you now know whether to say, Excuse me, SIR or Excuse me, MA’AM. The back room, formerly used only for clandestine, alcohol-fueled sexual encounters and the naming of Cold Smegma Kamikaze, is now brightly lit and open for business. The too-small room formerly home to a pool table now has a living room feel, albeit a small one, with the pool table moved to the aforementioned back room. The sound system, the prior one consisting mainly of the moans and weeping of the patrons,(and the occasional Yip! of ecstasy from the darkened back room) is now one of state-of-the-art where you can call up almost any tune you remember. Sadly, this can sometimes contribute to the same moans and weeping of patrons that formerly filled this space. Be that as it may, all things considered, these changes should be considered improvements. The area out the back door, formerly only fenced for Red Dress, appears now to be a permanent addition thanks to the City loosening restrictions due to the arrival of the pandemic. This, too, should be considered an improvement as the smell of stale smoke has not completely vanished from the interior of the building. While this was a pleasant change from what most of us expected to find here, remember NONE of these improvements are to the credit of our hare-pair.

Speaking of the dastardly-duo, here they are in their gory-glory most likely conferring on last minute adjustments to their trail prompted by seeing who has shown up for the hash.     

The hares delivered an astoundingly magnanimous Instructions of Trail barely short of claiming, And everyone will live happily ever after! I do not believe it was universally believed though as a few hashers were seen covering their mouth as Broke Bench droned on and the ones that were able to stomach his entire dissertation were seen immediately plummeting headfirst to the bar at it’s conclusion with most opting for a double-anything, on-the-rocks and make it quick. That’s paraphrased, not an exact quote, poetic license if you will.

After hares-out, with no GM’s present, last year’s co-GM Baker’s Dozen’t stepped forward to give the Chalk Talk to Virgins Bianca and Jennie. As a personal observation, I took note of the fact both virgins are unmarried females and Baker’s is an unmarried male. You make the call. As an aside to this, I also saw that Dicky Wacker, whom has hashed for decades prior and has over sixty hashes with us, attended said Chalk Talk. I would surmise he’s grown weary of getting lost within sight of Beer Check.      

 Upon the passage of fifteen minutes, give or take, Accuprick signaled for Circleup for Introductions and heard form the following hounds: Occasional Rapist, Baker’s Dozen’t, Dicky Wacker, Dung-Fu Grip, Just Holly, Wicked Retahted, Banana Basher, Steamy Baanorrhea, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Leaky Rubber, TIMMY!!, dBASED, International House of Pussy, Cum You Will Not, Chippin’ Ballz, Virgin Bianca, Virgin Jennie and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. The stage is set and the actors have taken their places. Let the play begin.

The recounting of this trail will prove far shorter than trail itself…mercifully.

On-out was a walk through the parking lot to May Avenue where a soon solved check turned the troops on-right to Hubbard Street where the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. The Turkeys appear headed for Grant Street Park, let’s follow the Eagles and see what evil the hares will toss their way.

The Eagles were pointed on-left onto Hubbard to Ocean Street. A relatively easy, if not safe, crossing of Ocean and the Eagles headed south, literally as well as figuratively. A hare arrow pointed the pod on-right onto Blaine Street and past the former abode of Twat Did You Say?, now a San Diego harriette. We also passed the County Jail. All the hashers I saw tip-toed as they passed. As the end of Blaine, we were turned on-right onto Villamar Way which is a pretty fancy name for what is little more than a paved stretch of dirt leading to parking lots for low-end apartment buildings that exist only by the grace of the river levee that keeps the mighty San Lorenzo moving on her straight and narrow path to Monterey Bay.

Nearing Kennan Street, a locals-only pathway leads on-up to the crest of the river levee and so we went and executed an on-right. This section of the levee, the one leading to Hell’s Alley in the colloquial, is only marginally safe for human creatures in the daylight. Once the sun abandons it and the creatures of the night take possession, it’s a good idea to make sure your health insurance is up-to-date before traversing this region. Steamy Baanorrhea moved through this area so quickly he could have been given a speeding ticket where he on a public road.

Once safely to Felker Street, and it’s not truly safe, marker pointed us to Ocean Street and across to Grant Street where we passed Grant Street Park and rejoined the Turkeys. To this day, I wonder how the Turkeys passed through Grant Street Park, the gate I saw was locked.

From here it was apparent we would progress to the opposite side of Highway 1. To that end, we used Grant Street to an on-left onto Berry Street, on-right onto Avalon Street followed by an on-left onto Emeline Street and under Highway 1 and then on-right onto Lee Street. As Scribe approached the Market-Lee Walkway, he beheld a frightening sight, three people under Highway 1 peering at the contents of a pack on the back of a bicycle. I assumed they were not looking at a new litter of kittens either.

Just as your Scribe approached, one of them looked up and asked what all the running was about. We’re running for beer! was my response. Apparently, whatever commodity was contained in the container was preferable to following me so I was allowed to pass unscathed. Trail proceeded around the apartment complex, which incidentally is home to old harriette Phyllis Driller, and came to an intersection where an on-right would cross Branciforte Creek and take you to Market Street and an on-left would bring you to Market Street. Apparently, our hare-pair did not believe trail has been long enough so we were off to Market Street and once there made an on-left still heading away from our starting point. 

Market Street was abused until Goss Avenue where an on-right took the troops on-up and across Branciforte Avenue and then on-right onto Gilbert Lane which makes a ninety-degree on-left and morphs into Rooney Street. If you travel far enough along Rooney, you’ll plop into the backyard of Pink Cherry Licker and Fap Jack, both of whom were conveniently home.

It was here that Beer Check was staged. Due to the close proximity of neighbors, the pandemonium was kept to a dull roar. We also most certainly did not wish to attract the attention of one next door neighbor in particular, that being Pee Skool, lest she slither next door and join us.

While there was an on-in trail marked, there were a number of free-form avenues explored. Your Scribe and Dicky Wacker did so but eventually intercepted True Trail on Berkeley Way. From there it was across Branciforte Creek on the pedestrian bridge, on-left onto Market Street and directly across Water Street into the medical complex called 550 Water. There, at the very back hidden from prying eyes, Accuprick convened Religion.

A few of the down-downs were as follows.

There were a number of other down-downs but they did not prove consequential to the overall success of this hash.

That pretty much wrapped up Hash 1163 and that pretty much wraps us this 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 stand in the way of a good story.

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 twenty-third day of November in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-one.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe