Two of our Three Scribes were hares this day and third was absent, so for some misguided reason I decided to be the scribe instead of Puff. One week later as I was driving to the AGM I realized I had not fulfilled by duty. In the past week, I’ve had brief 15 second jolt’s that I have not fulfilled my duty. but was able to quickly forget. Today I suggested that Occasional Rapist withhold food until I write up a few silly sentences, and this was enough to make me remember just long enough.

Our most honorable and routine scribes always writing thing down so that they will  remember. My opinion is I can’t remember or there is no digital proof (hash count or hash flash), then it was unimportant, or probably didn’t happen. However, now it’s 13 days later, so you are getting only the good stuff!

This years journey into Halloween merriment started at Pono. The only reason the hares picked this place is is they were tired of the Rush Inn. Our hares of Shallow Hole and Occasional Rapist danced in as ferries this year. What would they be up to this year?

I slithered in as Dr. dBASED. Broke Bench Mountain eventually showed up as Krusty the Clown. Hugh Heffer came as some sort wench – that doesn’t even sound like a costume! Cuff My Muff was some sort of super hero, which she had to be, to get out of class. Leg Over didn’t come in costume as she claimed Puff didn’t tell her she needed one. The extent of Slownad’s costume was Rabbit ears.  Deep Stroke came as a ninja and was rarely seen.

Occasional Rapist had told me the week before the Hash she worried about a gate being closed along trail. I told her Neary Lagoon had posted sign’s it closed at Sunset, so she’d better be careful. So, the hares left the Red Room promptly at 6:33. By the time the pack left, it was dark anyway. I thought for sure the gate was going to be closed. I warned the pack at the start that if we got caught by a gate, I could assist.

Naturally, everyone assumed we be heading down Pacific Avenue for the annual parade. We all assumed wrong. We paralleled it instead. While I knew we were going to Neary Lagoon, I avoided going there directly. At a check above Depot park, I even headed towards the Pier. When no trail developed, I headed towards the railroad tracks. I got to the railroad tracks, and still found no hint of trail, so I headed away from Neary Lagoon, and towards the now approaching pack.

We got to the black lagoon and were allowed passage. However, before we passed, there was a liquor check with some vampire blood to consume. We searched for the creature in the lagoon, but our headlamps must have scared him away.

After a big circle through the dark and scary lagoon, we headed back pretty much the way we had come from, paralleling just a few blocks to the East. There were no checks in this area as the hares were afraid we’d find trail we had already run and get confused. I know that’s never happened to me before…

We headed up the steep Green street hill to the Santa Cruz mission plaza. I knew where religion was, but didn’t know where Beer check was. However, I knew that religion was over the bridge. I figured beer check would be just over the bridge. Over the bridge, and trail went right. I knew this to be away from religion, so what were the hares thinking? Half way to the Harvey West homeless zone, I realized the Hares target – the cemetery. However, due to the hares exposure to the law the previous year, they didn’t have the check in the cemetery, but across the street. Something about seeing a security guard at some point. Wimps.

The highlight of beer check was seeing that the Giants were winning game 2 of World Series. We headed off to beer check at Just Andrea’s and squeezed into her shack to seem them complete the victory and go up 2-0.

Seeing as I was running for RA the next week, I was appointed RA for the day. I can remember none of the down-downs, so they must have been all dull and boring. Will there be more to come?

Afterward, we returned to Pono for more fun. May the Hash go in Peace!

By Princess Di(arrhea)

1^st Quarter

People, I could be enjoying some dill pickle flavored sunflower seeds watching a BASEBALL game right now, but noooo. Instead I’m going to type Thursday’s tales from the football trail like a good little sports reporter. And instead of snapping your jock strap and snatching your guacamole last Thursday as we kicked off football season, I put on my grandpa’s 49er sweatshirt and made like a Faithful. After all, staying on the good side of our Niner fan hare, Occasional Rapist, probably scored us all a few points.

At El Jardin’s cantina, the usual suspects reunited with kennelmates who’ve been away doing other junk. Dude, Where’s My Trail? was still recuperating from a brutal massage he’d survived in San Luis Obispo. AccuPrick yammered about his recent trip to Boston where he enjoyed a wedding, a “raw bah at the hahbah”, and a whole skiff of beer. We were happy to see Phyllis Driller make another showing, even though she made no bones about only coming for the $4 margaritas.

Hugh Heifer couldn’t fake the football love, so she sported A’s gear. Thmp-Thmp wore tie-dye just to be a contrary dirty hippie. Dude wore a Hawaiian shirt that he raided straight outta Magnum PI’s closet. However, most of the pack was geared up for the either the gridiron or the bleachers. We were really hoping somebody would come as a cheerleader (yes, we’re looking at you, dBASED). Harriettes in eye black were bringing us a special kind of Fantasy Football.

Right before trail kickoff, Occasional Rapist drafted Just Linda and Wicked Retahted for Team Hare. They busted out onto the trail like tipsy quarterbacks. At circle up, the pack’s team should’ve been named the 4.9 Whiners. dBASED got screwed with the wearing the hashit, but he was cool with it because there are no marital aids nor a genuine ball and chain hanging from it…yet. Just wait until the Thursday after his bachelor party!

2^nd Quarter

The 4.9 Whiners stepped out onto the field and cut left down Capitola Rd. A sheriff’s car was waiting for us at the next check at Jose Ave. They must’ve been on to us, so we charged ahead and lost ‘em in the park. We also lost ourselves as trail seemed to drop off in there. AccuPrick got us back on track and across the bridge to El Dorado. dBASED went on left and nobody wanted to follow him, but he was indeed actually on trail (for once) and somehow got us to go along with him. It was a right turn back on Capitola Rd. and a left ahead on 16^th Ave. We pounded neighborhood asphalt for a while and made it to the check at the animal shelter. Down 7^th Ave., some true trail marks led us into Harbor High.

We didn’t want to disturb the football team’s practice, but TIMMY!!! and Puff wouldn’t have minded catching some of the cheerleader practice. You know, just to learn some new cheers to hasherize. …riiiight… At any rate, we were hoping trail would head towards the football field so we could try to tickle tackle Team Hare. We didn’t go near the field, just up the hill to La Fonda instead. We were lucky trail went left instead of right because the bridge is out. That could’ve ended badly. We headed downhill on sidewalk and then worked our tight ends uphill through woodsy shiggy. At the hilltop Adult School, we were instructed by a beer near mark.

HALFTIME!!

Beer check was a tailgater at the end of Park Way. Beers were popped and next thing ya know, Easy Cheese was squirting on Cheesy Poofs. Deep Stroke asked the big question of the night: “why doesn’t guacamole come in a can?” I think we now know where Deep Stroke’s next fortune will be coming from. Our tailgater was in a perfect location…except for the barking dogs and voracious West Nile virus mosquitos. We were quickly pestered into moving down field.

3^rd Quarter

Occasional Rapist’s mom, Coach Beverly, was our kind religion hostess nary a block away. I’d rather hang out in her lovely back yard than at a football field any day. We all settled in and made ourselves at home as Hugh Heifer kicked up her bum leg and Phyllis took a seat on the couch to watch some DNC. And I thought she was just in this game for the margaritas.

Ref AccuPrick gave us a warning that he was on vacation again. BEWARE! Shit’s gonna get sloppy. He crowned Deep Stroke beer fairy but she was too busy trying to unwrap a meat stick to be bothered. (I never thought I would type those words.) Once the tasty beefiness was unsheathed, Deep Stroke offered it up to all who came near it only to be left wondering, “why does everyone reject my meat stick??” Each and every down down beer was then defiled with a de-foaming swizzle by the terrible meat stick.

Dude got questioned on trail by the po-po because he fit the profile of a guy they were on the lookout for who was “smoking weed, yelling at cars and wearing a Hawaiian shirt” Yes, he does indeed fit the profile…but the Dude abides so they let him go. Twat Did You Say? was put in the game, looking all cute in her fancy work duds, after missing trail. Meat stick swizzle for T-Dub!! Just Linda got a hare patch and a new hash name should be getting sewn on her jersey soon. 3/3 of Team Hare got busted for wearing hats during their down down. PENALTY!

4^th Quarter

On on on was back at El Jardin. I swear I saw the hostess’s lips say, “oh dear god, they’re BACK??” Maybe we should’ve tailgated in the parking lot instead of forcing  their kind staff into pouring us more cerveza at the two-minute warning. El Jardin was more than ready for us wind down our game and post the final score:

Team Hare – 3/3 beers

4.9 Whiners –  $4 margarita

Everybody wins!!!

Overtime

dBASED will be haring next week’s trail beginning at Lodato Park in Scotts Valley. You have been advised to bring a flashlight…and maybe some kind of wetness protection. I’m thinking Right Guard.

by Princess Di(arrhea)

Hashers from SLV and beyond met up at Monty’s Log Cabin to give the Labor Day weekend an early kickoff. Speaking of kickoff, it was an unusually tough time prodding the kennel out the door of the cozy cabin to do trail. Some were sidelined due to previous beer-related incidents. Some just had a whole lotta drinkin’ to do. Maybe it was comfy barstools? Anyhoo…

Hash 649 brought us the first signs of autumn. It was kinda cold out, we brought flashlights and there’s a pumpkin patch in old Monty’s yard. I called it a ghetto pumpkin patch, but was corrected right quick by Hugh Heifer, “it’s a redneck pumpkin patch.”

It’s The Great Redneck Pumpkin, y’all!

The drinkin’ was getting off to a good start with TIMMY!!! and his gibson. ‘Round these parts, they must not know that he is not to be trusted with a martini glass. This time he managed not to drop it in the dirt. Before we knew it, we were all getting a good buzz on, which is always a good idea when you know religion is going to be held at a church. Deep Stroke, our harriette, blessed us all and scurried off in a heavenly cloud of pink dust. Halleloo!

Thmp-Thmp’s chalk talk teaches us that 1 gross = 1 buttload

About half of the kennel saddled up and hit the trail. We headed pretty much directly to the Henry Cowell entrance and cut right following the park’s trail along the creek. Virgin Amy was soon hitting her first shiggy with mucho gusto. She gamely slid down a marked steep sandy embankment and clawed her way back up like a natural. TIMMY!!! and Hairy Fuck 2.5 didn’t fall for that diversion and kept moving on. Further ahead, Puff the Magic Drag Queen was constantly blowing his whistle. He was definitely on the right track because an Olde English 40 oz. 8-ball check was just ahead. And there it was–on a picnic table, in the woods, sitting next to a paperback book. Felton keeps it real, yo. Virgin Jon polished off the bottle like a good chugging DFL should while scoffing at the lightweight swigs of his predecessors.

Refreshed and back on trail, the pack continued to wind through the park’s dirt paths. The checks were mercifully simple but the pink flour got a bit dicey through some ivy-carpeted shiggy. It didn’t take long for Puff to start blowing his whistle like a crazy train again, scaring off deer and pissing off hippies. I was so distracted a mountain woman chiding us for noise making, we were lucky Hairy Fuck saw the true trail arrow that showed our way into Roaring Camp. Flour led us down the railroad tracks and through a maintenance yard.

Puff’s sultry FLASHdance

Amid some confusion and chaos as we exited the park, hare Deep Stroke dove into a patch of poison oak to avoid being snared by Phyllis Driller. The chase continued through mountain neighborhoods as we dodged rural traffic like shifty ‘possums. Lord, were we happy to finally see the beer near mark! Then trail just kept going. And going. Past the Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall construction site, past welcoming-looking driveways, past a few party porches…what gives?

We were suddenly at religion at St. John’s Catholic Church.

As we shrugged off the missing beer check and pillaged the beer cooler in the parking lot, churchgoers started to arrive at the parish to do their do-gooder stuff that they do. Banana kindly asked if we could stay. As long as things were kept to a dull roar, the answer was yes. !!!SUCKERS!!! The party carried on as we moved to the other end of the parking lot.

Banana disallowed “frat rules” as he RA’d (I suppose we played “church rules” instead?) and Puff was our magical beer fairy. Zippercised and Wheaton Whacker, our visitors who drove ALL DAMN DAY direct from Seattle, managed to make it to our little hashlet despite being pulled over by the fuzz. They brought a few nifty little songs along with them, too. That’s just one of the benefits of going to hash choir practice. Yes, they really have that kind of thing in Rain City. It was like the harmonizing hash voices of angels were paying us a visit.

Banana did a round of salutes to half-minds near and dear to his beer-drowned heart. TIMMY!!!, Phyllis Driller and Get Up and Run Bitch all got a special “I love you, man.” Phyllis should’ve down downed for missing catching the hare, but she couldn’t manage to snare a beer, either. Poor Virgin Jon’s joke was jeered and Virgin Amy’s joke was wildly cheered: “Knock, knock. Who’s there? YOUR MOTHER’S A WHORE!” That’s a pretty clean joke for us, but as Get Up and Run Bitch said, “we’re being nice to the church.” We also kept the songs a tiny bit less less foul.

Come to find out the beer check was supposed to have been at the JW construction site, but there was too much action there. I’m glad we’d kept on going. St. John’s church was quite tolerant of us degenerates. And for that, let us pray…

It was a decent turnout of half minds from SC and Bay Area  kennels. A few missed trail but still tried to follow what they could in the dark , kudos. I even ran with a newer hasher who wore wedge sandals on trail, Gray Drapes.

She’s a keeper, I think. Trail was a bit odd for a few of us. Never trust a fellow hasher to read trail sign’s for you, see them yourself. We ran an extra 1.5 miles out of our way but still managed to find beer check so all was saved!! Even Cockiss managed to pull off his own BC missing the original one where Butt Balls was hanging out waiting for him. Ha! OK, so running through Nisene is always a pleasure so nice to be amongst the beautiful trees and greenery.

Anyhow FRB dBASED bragged so much about running to BC in 20 minutes flat he almost made me choke on my beer back at camp, really?  But all in all it was a great gathering. Everyone did a great job in bringing good eats, and drinks!

Princess Di-arreha and Thmp Thmp brought some killer concoction of Chocolate Vodka and Coconut water they called it the coconut dog, yum. The Hash shit vest went to Snatch.cum for being a major backslider. We got to see lots of bobbies (ok 4), Hugh and Grey Drapes, as apparently they both have slept with the same guy, maybe at the same time? Get up and run bitch

tried to show off her boobs but we’re hanging way down and never managed to get them loose! I got my 69th Hash run patch.

Butt Balls and Accuprick beat the meat! We raised $1000 for Second Harvest food bank and apparently that will stretch into much more in their magic hands!!! Kudos to all that donated!!

A BIG Thanks again to Little Anal Annie and Butt balls for letting us invade their pretty little paradise!

On On!!

Occasional  Rapist

Hi! Her Royal Diarrheaness here with the weekly trash. It was Twat Did You Say’s? first haring foray ever and Deep Stroke’s first haring for Surf City. We met up at Callahan’s. The place is teeming with big game taxidermy. It’s enough to vaguely make you wonder where the stuffed former patrons are kept. We almost brought in another specimen for the collection when Thmp-Thmp nearly hit a kamikaze dog front of the Grog Shop on the way. Good thing Thmp brakes for more than just squirrels. Lube Me Up Scotty re-joined our kennel to put himself back in harm’s way after a two-year break.

At circle up it became obvious that Dude, Where’s My Trail? will never get his own name right.http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0242423 Learn it, know it, live it, Dude. The pack was soon off and in all directions until we heard a whistle blowing across the street at 550 Water St. Trail followed along the ceee-ment river there. I called it a “water channel” and Puff called it Branciforte Creek. Whatever, nature boy! The bum wine—actually bum vodka—check was just past the ruins of a scroungy campsite along the crick. Trail crossed the crick at Ocean St. I caught up to Cuff My Muff who kindly informed me I was DFL. I was also DFL at last week’s bum wine check and caught hell for leaving that bum wine behind. In a moment of idiocy, I turned around to snag that craptastic vodka and quickly got back on my way. I was soon heading up Soquel Ave. and passing a marked short driveway YBF diversion across from Shopper’s Corner that must’ve discouraged no one. It was then on left through a long stretch of Branciforte. I was clutching that sack of shitty vodka and carrying it with TLC that should be strictly reserved for finer libations. To help cut down on the heaviness and sloshing, I caught up to Scotty and begged him to take some swigs (see—I told you he was putting himself in harm’s way) but Scotty wasn’t having any of it. I had to breakaway and forge ahead to find willing takers. If not, who knows how many miles I would have to jog with this heavy-ass load of turpentine?

At the busy corner of Branciforte and Water, I couldn’t find any markings and had to find my own way. I made a good guess with on right and caught up with Cuff and AccuPrick near Tacos Moreno. A left turn there led us to B-40 Middle School and down Poplar St. I pulled another breakaway to go find the pack. It was on left at Fairmount Ave. and into the neighborhood of Linden St. Luckily, most of the trail had been marked by the pack ahead, however a check was not kicked on Linden St. and I was all alone. When I finally figured out trail went downhill on Berkeley Way, so did my morale. I was busting my bumcakes to herd myself ahead to re-join the pack that must’ve been hauling ass. (I later heard Just Lori was running Nipple Butt so hard he barfed.)

It was on right at Market St. I wandered around looking for pink flour for too long when I should’ve just let the elbow of Market St. point me in the right direction down Washburn St. Conflicting trail markings had me dumbfounded at the corner of Ocean St. where walkers Cuff and Accu caught up to me and led the way to beer check across Ocean on Blaine St.

Homemade cookies and Kirkland beer were served at beer check at Twat Did You Say?’s house (you can call her T-Dub). Fancy imported beer was offered, too. It came all the way from Mexico. At least there was plenty waiting as I came tardy for the party with my big bag o’ bum vodka in tow. I was glad I’d delivered it back to the pack, for a reason you will soon read about (why are your still reading?).

Religion was back at 550 Water. RA Accu was present but on vacation, so he was also on his worst behavior. Just Lori and T-Dub made elegant Beer Fairies.  Backsliders Scotty and Goat Blower were the first to be flogged. Goat Blower’s excuse for abandoning the pack was pretty much, “so many goats, so little time.”  Thmp-Thmp ratted out Slow Nad for not being punished last week for backsliding so they both drank. Thmp for being a rat and Nad for his slow tendencies. Yeah, he may be fast on his feet, but he’s a little slow in the head.

Dog Breath and Hugh Heifer did a mouth-to-mouth vodka shot for some interspecies guzzling at the bum wine check. They reenacted this beveragal bestiality for the pack. Hugh was celebrated for her 225^th analversary and for having no life whatsoever to show for it. Habitual trail pissers Cuff, Deep Stroke and Accu got their fluids replaced. Accu asked for a “witless” to any trail fails. dBASED had tripped on a speed bump and therefore took a warm beer shower. “If it doesn’t go on your lips, it goes on your head!” Hugh adjourned religion with “KIRKLAND BEER SUCKS!” to which Thmp retorted “BUT SO DOES NA!” Take that, O Mighty Beer Mistress who’s been known to serve near beer!

On On On was at MexItalian. We were welcomed warmly with chianti, Sinatra, and the Giants game. Ah… la dolce vida loca. The music made Timmy!!! reminisce about listening to the Rat Pack when the songs were new. That was way back in the days when he used to be trusted with a martini glass. T-Dub was flirting with the waiter and made it clear that she wanted to taste his VERY spicy burrito. I gotta admit that I also wanted a taste of his spumoni. AccuPrick claims to eat like a man with two assholes, so he was hungry enough to taste everything on his menu.

Next week we’ll be meeting at Next Door in Scotts Valley. Trail will be A -> B and transport will be provided. Religion will be at Shallow Hole and Waxi Pad’s casa. There’s gonna be a BBQ, so please plan to bring something to share. Oh, and bring an extra pair of shoes and socks. You probably won’t have to share those.

“A hasher never turns back.” Words to live by, kids. Lesson learned at hash 638. NEVER TURN BACK, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU ARE DFL AND JUST BAILED ON THE BUM WINE. Take my word for it—bum wine is always best left for the bums.

Greetings! Princess Diarrhea here proclaiming tales from the trail throughout the land! Somewhat unbefitting a princess, the hashers met up in the alley this week—Moe’s Alley to be exact. The hash hasn’t been to Moe’s for quite awhile, and we still can’t figure out why they seemed happy to have us back. Apparently we left a good impression so we must be doing something horribly wrong.  Thmp-Thmp and Hairy Potter were our wily hares. It was a sign of things to come when Hairy told us his wise wife Choka Cola stayed home because she’d caught a peek of the trail map and declared, “fuck THAT!”

It all started with a true trail arrow and mercifully there were more of those to come. The pack went on left out of Moe’s, quickly sniffed out trail and headed down Soquel Drive toward just past 7^TH Avenue. Back check! The pack soon rallied and thrusted through Harbor High’s rear entrance. Up ahead on La Fonda, a YBF to the right and a false trail to the left soon got the pack regrouped and headed the right way down Prospect Heights. Most of the loyal hounds stuck to the trail and braved the steep downhill shiggy that Cuff My Muff rode on her bum all the way down to the bum wine check. Sly dogs like Broke Bench Mountain took the nicely paved one-way Brookwood instead (which is also one of the town’s best-kept secrets for ditching freeway traffic).

The poison selection at the booze check was Mad Dog 20/20 Banana Red or Orange Jubilee. Sounds delicious, no? AccuPrick did not partake because he’s too good for bum wine.  He’s also too good for fine wine. Yes, he is THAT good. Cuff turned down the Orange Jubilee because of the hurl factor that comes from beverages that closely resemble Triaminic cough syrup. All it takes is a little Mad Dog to separate the purebreds from the mutts. The trail wound along to more fruitiness as Hugh Heifer started picking sour cherries that she discovered growing in the wild. All we needed was a platter of Velveeta and it would’ve been like hors d’oeuvre hour on skid row.

Soon we were traipsing through Oakwood Cemetery, which is all too conveniently located across the street from a hospital and a nice old folks home. dBased was shut down by a YBF after emerging from the graveyard and broke strict tradition of “a hasher never turns around”—a heinous crime surely punishable by a warm beer shower. Trail then headed through Dominican Oaks where tiny dogs yipped and seniors gawked as the hashers pounded onward and upward through the hillside shiggy. Once across a field, the only thing separating thirsty hashers from cold beer was a burly cyclone fence. Luckily there was indeed a gate that opened to glory. Beer check was in Virgin Lori’s front yard where we were joined by her family and two snuffling pugs. The beer was going down great until a certain member of the kennel befouled the yard, causing everyone to gag on their cold ones and clear out.

The great tragedy of religion behind Bobby’s Pit Stop was that somehow the bum wine had been left behind at the check so nobody could be punished to finish it. Pixelated Obscenity was penalized for backsliding. Dog Breath was awarded for his 169^th analversary! Pixie’s friend Beautiful Rainbow couldn’t fathom why Dog Breath wasn’t drinking from a readily available cup and was instead guzzling from a dog bowl. Hey, at least he wasn’t drinking from a toilet bowl (this time). RA AccuPrick and the hash agreed that “Beautiful Rainbow” was an entirely unacceptable name and she was re-christened Two Dingos Fucking. Nipple Butt wagged his nub with approval. Waxi Pad, Two Dingos Fucking and Pixie then down downed for shortcutting by bee lining it back to Moe’s and getting drunker than the rest of us. Virgin Lori was welcomed to the pack. Instead of showing her lady bits as totally expected (oh yes, I know her well), she told a joke but her so-called friend Slow Nad spoiled the punch line. She still refused give up a peek of the goodies. Dog Breath took a picture of Beer Fairy Cuff marking her territory so they were both disciplined with a tag-team dog bowl down down.

Next week’s meet up is at Callahan’s. Twat Did You Say?’s hare cherry will be popped. She’s hella nervous about it, so please be gentle with her. Deep Stroke will be co-haring to help ensure her first time will be special.  Aww…

On out!