Mardi Gras,

So the decision was made to go to the beach! This is typical of the half-minded decisions made by our trio-of-terror hares; Cum You Will Not, Baker’s Dozen’t and Dung-Fu Grip. Sprinkles and gale force winds were predicted for the darkness so what better place to assemble than It’s Beach?! It’s Beach is dog friendly and our canine companions were undoubtedly the only hashers that enjoyed our visit there. Assembly consisted of clotting together to share what warmth we could muster. None of this warmth, however, was imparted to the hares.

I will commend them on their effort to on-out on time. Needless to say, they did not succeed in this endeavor though as Cum You Will Not went flitting flower-to-flower ignoring her responsibilities. Failure to execute proved to be a recurring theme over the course of the entire evening as well.

Dung-Fu Grip rambled on explaining how trail would cross itself but instructions chalked at this intersection would be self-explanatory and nothing could possibly go wrong. Famous last words! I state for the record: Never underestimate the stupidity of the pack.

When asking if there were questions, the pack was so speechless after the trail-crossing story that they remained motionless thereby instilling a false sense of security in Dung-Fu Grip and Baker’s Dozen’t (we’re still missing Cum You Will Not) so two-thirds of our hare trio took off confident in their abilities as excellent hares and were happy to see how easily the pack was able to grasp their explanation of the trail-crossing scenario .

A chagrined pack mulled over the potential failure of this trail and, upon rendering it the most likely scenario, spent considerable time communing with the Beer Trough until GM Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from the following hounds: Hareless, Dicky Wacker, Virgin James, TIMMY!!, dBASED, Wicked Retahted, Chippin’ Ballz, Rubik’s Pube, Hugh Heifer, Clearly Not A Hooker, Steamy Baanorrhea, Ska-Skank Redemption, Penis Is Good For Me, Pink Cherry Licker, L’eggs and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. As if the aforementioned hounds were not a bad enough ragtag group of misfits and miscreants, along trail we would collect the likes of Courtesy Flush, Today Is Monday, Wines Like A Bitch and Rainbow Butthole.

Trail began on a sour note: sand and stairs. As if this was not enough, our first destination was across from the stairs and into the unlit darkness of Lighthouse Field. Unbeknownst to them, this would provide the hares with all the lead time they would need as hounds sniffed far and wide for flour in the deep dark and tall grass comprising Lighthouse Field. Eventually a small spot of flour was discovered and the trek across the entirety of Lighthouse Filed was undertaken. This emptied the troops onto Laguna Street. A few blocks later, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was observed. This is a rather scenic and domestic section of town, let’s fly with the Eagles and see what the hares have in store for them.

So, the Eagles went on-left onto Oregon Street and two blocks later on-right onto Centennial Street and across busy Delaware Avenue. What followed was a series of one or two block jerk-arounds consisting of National Street, Gharkey Street and finally Columbia Street which dumped us out at Bay Street. Here it was across Bay onto the pedestrian path located directly above the wastewater treatment plant. The only redeeming section of this trail was the fact we were upwind from said disposal facility.

This trail was used to it’s terminal point and we then joined with the sidewalk and were also reunited with the Turkeys and were pointed on-left through the parking lot across from the Dream Inn. After negotiating this vast stretch of macadam, we were directed to cross West Cliff Drive and head on-down to the wharf. It was along here we would encounter the lost pair of Wines Like A Bitch and Rainbow Butthole. They had just encountered the trail-crossing mark and, having not a clue as to what it meant, they were headed on-in. They turned around and joined us though and, ignoring the No Dogs On The Wharf sign, headed onto the wharf. It was also here that they encountered two of our hares exiting the wharf. Baker’s Dozen’t was laying the Turkey on-up Beach Hill and duplicating the on-in trail while Dung-Fu Grip turned on-right onto Beach Street laying the new section of the Eagle trail. Little attention was paid to them as we smelled Beer Near.

Beer Check was staged at the common area on the wharf where music can be heard in the Summer. We also had the pleasure of finally seeing the third leg of the hare trio, Cum You Will Not. She was dancing and prancing a tipsy jig from one group of hounds to the next.

Upon the successful completion of our business here, we adjourned to Point Santa Cruz(it’s official name), colloquially called Lighthouse Point in these here parts. This was a continuation of the hares’ policy of subjecting the pod to misty and windy conditions…as if trail had not been enough physical abuse.

Once reassembled, Dung-Fu Grip assumed the reins as Religious Adviser. To the accompaniment of Cum You Will Not’s boom box, Religion was conducted. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs issued this night: Visitors, Today Is Monday and Penis Is Good For Me, were recognized. (How was Ska-Skank Redemption able to avoid the RA?)

Continuing, Virgin James was welcomed, birthday baby Cum You Will Not was congratulated(spanking to be conducted in privacy); Courtesy Flush chided for biking trail; Ska-Skank Redemption punished for auto-hashing; backsliders were punished.

Continuing, Cum You Will Not was honored for completing her 250th hash with us. Lastly, the hares were chided for the darkness of Lighthouse Field and following it up with a rude example of verboten trail-crossing. The half-mile out-and-back wharf excursion wasn’t much appreciated either. After having been informed his trail was not well liked, Dung-Fu Grip unceremoniously wielded his power as Religious Adviser and terminated Hash 1178. I hereby do the same for this Trash.

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. 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.

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 eighth day of March in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe