Every hasher in Surf City
Likes hashing a lot…
But on nights when it rains, it seems they do not.

It was trail 888, and it promised some fun,
As the 4th anul Anti-Yuel, All Krampus Run!
Though many gathered , some naughty, some nice,
At Saturn Cafe, where the drinks were half priced.
To see off our hair pair of Dung Fu and Baker’s,
When it came to run trail, there weren’t many takers.

You see as we arrived it was pouring down rain,
And most of the pack asked, “Are you insane?”
“Last week we went out in our gowns and tuxedos,
This week let’s skip trail and eat some burritos!”
And thats what they did, and I hope they’re all sorry,
Because this rhyming trash will not be their story.

This story will tell of the six that ran trail,
Puff, Timmy, dBased and some girls as well.
Because somehow the flour was not washed away,
And somehow the chalk marks managed to stay.
So they ran, and they ran, and they
Ran
Ran
Ran
Ran
And here’s how the tale of this trail began:

We ran down Pacific, and through Depot Park,
Where we discovered that there in the dark,
A river had sprung up blocking our path.
So we stopped for a second to weigh out the math
Should we just ford the river and run on with wet shoes?
Or veer off the trail and risk missing some booze?

Buyt we found a way, me, Bareback, and Tongs.
And we sang and skipped as we followed along.
Knowing that somewhere ahead was a stop,
Where we would be treated to peppermint schnapps.
It would taste just like Christmas, it’s sweet, and mint-laced,
And it’s one hundred proof so it gets you shit-faced.

And we found the LC, those promising letters,
And we looked among bushes and leaves and duck feathers.
“Those fuckers!” We cried, “They’ve taken the bottle!”
And left all us ladies behind them with fuck-all.
It seems that they waited , but not long enough,
And figured we’d given up, just had enough.

Trail floated on decks that went ‘cross the lagoon,
And through tunnels of trees that blocked out the moon.
It wound onto Laurel, then on Chestnut we searched,
Upwards to Mission St, and to Holy Cross Church.
Then down a waterfall that hid steep, tiny stairs,
We just went around, no thank you cruel hares.

Then we found the hares, and the pack, and a few,
Who didn’t run trail, but still wanted some brew.
They had mulled wine, which was supposed to be hot
It tasted delicious, but warm it was not.
And we drank and we bitched.
And we bitched
bitched
bitched
bitched
About missing the schnapps and those that had ditched.

We went to religion at a different lot.
Where we had a drink that was gross, but at least it was hot.
I didn’t take notes, I don’t remember too much.
Analversaries? Tales? Downdowns and Such?
I do know that Nips is moving away.
To go live with Riff Raff, out near LA.
We’ll miss her a lot, but she’s doing fine.
She ditched us for love and for sex all the time.