And now for something completely different…an UNhash! Hugh Heifer chose us, her closest (actually, just most degenerate) friends, to spend her 50^th birthday with. There was no trail to be found–this was strictly a booze cruz. Every lazy bastard hasher who caught wind of this week’s unhash hopped off their dive bar stool or couch and got gussied up to kick-off Hugh’s 50th at The Red.  I could almost say that everybody cleaned up real nice and purty. The charming bartender, Aaron, offered Hugh a birthday blow job but she opted for some D.P. instead (a flaming Dr. Pepper).

Next stop was down on the first floor at the Red Room. All this red was getting us fired up for Saturday’s Red Dress R*n. Speaking of fired up, in the back of the bar Hairy Fuck 2.5 and I hotly debated whether it’s called a Dutch “rudder” or a Dutch “runner”. I submit my evidence here.  I’ll bet Dog Breath totally knows for sure. I think he’s a Dutch boy since his home hash is The Hague, but he denies it and claims to be totally from Hawaii, brah. Until we see that birth certificate, let’s just call him an Interhashional Man of Mystery.

After Red Room, we headed down to Rosie McCann’s. I can’t believe they let us back in after Green Dress! The Guinness Girls were there to pass out some swag. No hasher can resist blinky beer swag, right? When all of Rosie’s was happy to see us finally go out the door, we moooved along to Motiv. We all grabbed a round and headed up the back stairs to our own little private ultralounge. VIP, bitches!!

The time had come to sop up the booze with some food, so the gang split for Tampico. Thmp-Thmp and I split for home because we have dumb jobs and a stupid alarm that goes off at 5:30am. You’ll have to get the rest of the story from Puff’s flash, but I’m pretty sure it ended a little something like this:

Happy Birthday to Hugh!!! Cheers to 50 more years and 50 more beers!

On out,

Princess Di(arrhea)

In the fun spirit of Occasional Rapist’s tipsy trash last week (and for shits n’ giggles) I should’ve gotten fucked up before writing this. I should also be drinking to forget the fact that I pitifully DFL’d at a brutal SVH3 hash recently. Too bad I was still feeling off my game this week because I knew Puff the Magic Drag Queen and Timmy!!! were haring Surf City. The last A to B death march they brewed up together took us from Brit 2 Brit (crAptos to Crapitola). Well, this time their trail went from brew 2 brew. We started at newly opened Discretion Brewing on 41st Ave. It’s next to Granny Purps. Don’t even front like you don’t know where that is, you stoners! The beer was good and the place was packed. At first we got some stink eye from other patrons for over-crowding the bar and cockblocking the door, but soon enough we were making pals. Thmp-Thmp may have recruited the cashier to join us next week and Hugh Heifer’s doggie daycare charge Kai chewed through her leash to try and hang with us inside. Bareback joined our kennel this week. She’s moved to SC all the way from Tajikistan! I completely bungled up introducing Bareback to Brokebench so the beer there must be strong. Or I’m lame. Definitely both.

dBASED circled up the pack like a big dawg and sent us off to sniff trail. Somebody finally got a good whiff across 41st Ave. and the pack skedaddled through traffic. I was the only goody-goody asshole who got stuck at the light at a crosswalk so I made myself useful by kicking the check—for no one. I waited alone so long for the light to change, it was obvious I was DFL now, again. At least I wasn’t stuck with that damn bag of chalk like last week, courtesy of big sis Cumcerto. The whole pack missed the turkey-eagle split in the Home Creepo parking lot and followed the leader straight to the grassy eagle trail that paralleled the freeway. Next to the Wharf Rd. overpass, we took a steep dirt path under a cyclone fence gap. What a great place for a Kodak moment! To avoid a butt slide and an undies load of dirt, I went front side down and was almost hung by the boobs with my kilt. With that hazard behind us, Deep Stroke suddenly came up the rear (that sounds so wrong) as the true DFL. We could only assume she fell behind while loading up on “trail supplies” back at Granny Purps.

Safely on Wharf Rd. pavement, we went on-right down Soquel Wharf Rd., through the yard of Soquel Elementary and up the Walnut St. hill. Deep Stroke punched her turbo button, powered up the hill and disappeared into the distance. On the long stretch down Soquel Dr., I passed four walkers while I tried to catch up to the pack. It was on-right at Inner Light Church, through a neighborhood and back to another grassy trail that led to another church. This is where I heard Wicked Retahted had déjà vu, got confused, and was convinced that trail was going in circles. He must’ve stopped at Granny Purps earlier, too. It was on-right at Park Ave. and on-right at Kennedy Dr. It was getting dark and I was alone, so it was time to hustle and get ‘er done.

Beer check was finally in sight at Sante Adairius Rustic Ales Brewery. I arrived far behind the runners and far ahead of the walkers. I heard that Deep Stroke had passed ALL the hounds and “won”. Hmm…the old DFL to FRB conversion. Show off!! Hare Puff hooked us up with our very nice consolation prizes: a cheese platter, a veggie platter and another good fancy ass craft beer served in a douchey stemmed glass. When the beertender cut us off at closing time, Puff stuffed us into his rented paddy wagon and ferried us back to the start.

Down downs went down under a floodlight in the Home Depot parking lot right next to busy 41st Ave. Somehow we flew under the radar right out in the open. dBASED was RA/beer fairy and the shitty beer began to flow. Cuff My Muff came through with the cheezy poofs–it’s what’s for dinner. Deep Stroke was an overachieving racist. Hairy Potter was our backsliding new daddy and got the taco burrito song. Thank you, proud Papa Potter, for informing us your baby girl falls in the taco category. Pink Cherry Licker was busted for tech on trail for calling Papa Timmy!!! to let him know she was “safe with Wicked”. Ha! As if! Brokebench earned his 200 patch and Thmp got his 75. Virgin Sierra did an interpretive dance that unfortunately did not require a lap nor a pole. And the hares…

On on on was in the comfort of our private room in Round Table Pizza. There was a buttload of pizza, beer, and a TV showing Full House with all of those sweet mullets. Pink Cherry Licker says Timmy!!! used to have a mullet back in the day… and she might bring a pic next time to prove it! In that case, we all MUST cum next week for the lampshade hash that will start at Aptos St. BBQ. Good thing they have a fantastic beer selection there. You’re going to need some serious pre-lube to prep for another one of dBASED’s terrible trails.

The Crepe Place always guarantees a great hash turnout. And it’s still winning over new fans because I heard Cumcerto announce, “this is my new bar!” What is it about this place? It’s got booze, so that’s good enough for 99.99% of us. Central SC location? Yeah, that helps. Maybe it’s just the right touch of funkiness that makes us feel right at home. Fans of The Residents, who were playing across the street at the Rio Theatre, were also digging The Crepe with us. They’re odd folks who love a weird band. Shallow Hole asked me to describe the band but all I could come up with was “uh, experimental.”

Although the pack was large, we were missing Choka Cola and Hairy Potter. They’re busy smooching, feeding, burping, diapering, rocking, and dressing up their cute new little girl, Mykah. We’re gonna miss them for a little while, but let’s hope the whole famn damily will be joining us for a stroller-friendly trail someday soon.

Twat Did You Say?’s edjumication didn’t cockblock her from hashing this week, so she showed up–fully warmed up for trail, thanks to sadist and personal trainer Deep Stroke. Monterey CAN’d hashers Free Little Willy, GhettoMan and Virgin Candace came across the bay to join us. I’m thinking that Willy is bionic or something. Just last month, he hared a CAN’d hash in a knee brace. That knee was all swollen, nasty and jacked up, but that didn’t keep him from haring a 10 mile trail! Hardcore. Visitors, Virgins and hashers old and new from far and wide were fired up and ready to face a looooong trail to be laid by the merciless Timmy!!! This time he was joined by the fruit of his loins, maiden co-hare Pink Cherry Licker.

Trail headed straight to the corner of Morrissey and Soquel Ave. to a troublesome check. It was a real team effort, but Cumcerto eventually got us on the right track down Water St. Trail was headed directly to the scene of last week’s heinous crime that resulted in two fallen SC Police Officers. We paid our respects as we cut on-right down N. Branciforte. The neighborhood behind DJ’s Mini Mart was a little sketchy for several reasons. Within the space of two blocks, a hare ran out of chalk and two consecutive backchecks were laid. WTH?? Momentary pack chaos ensued. Our tantrums were soon soothed by a bottle of Adult Chocolate Milk found at liquor check on Market St.

As we continued down Market St., fire trucks and sirens were whizzing by. We hoped they weren’t coming to tend to a hare ahead. The sirens only made the residents even more nervous after last week’s crime spree and our whistles weren’t helping matters. I handed out a few SCH3 calling cards to those who were drawn outside to peek and wonder at our little goober parade.

Somewhere on Emeline St., a YBF was called by Dog Breath. After much confusion and turmoil, we learned there was actually no YBF. We were F’d by one of our own! After a short jaunt down Emeline, we were back on Market St. After the misread and mislaid trail markings, Twat had had just about enough of this B.S. and was ready to turn around. Luckily I was able to keep her moving forward again towards beer check. Eyez on the prize!!!

A well-placed check reunited much of the pack at the top of the hill at Goss St. Deep Stroke and Thmp-Thmp went their own way down Fairmount because Deep Stroke wanted to play her little game of “LET’S R*CE!” Hey, sometimes whatever gets you to beer faster is what’s called for. Cuff My Muff, Occasional Rapist and the rest of the pack trudged through the Banana Belt to the Morrissey bridge crossing. We were all ready to get this trail over with, already.

Behind Safeway, a dark shadow and a beast were sitting on the sidewalk. Not uncommon in this town. When we were almost close enough to trip over her, we realized it was Hugh Heifer, who had beefed it and wounded her rump roast. Calf down! Apparently calves don’t have such great night vision without headlamps. Her trail partner and guide dog Kai hadn’t shepherded her around the patch of dark wonky sidewalk, either. I helped her up and she hoofed it along to nearby beer check behind the old Staff of Life. I guess her trail wounds were nothing a few jello shots and a decent beer selection couldn’t help.

It was a long trail and it sucked. We were happy to finally make it to Puff the Magic Drag Queen’s castle for down downs. AccuPrick RA’d and Just Jerri was beer fairy. Puff was chastised for completing 600 hashes. How can anybody be that consistent? Well, except for Twat who claims to masturbate every single night. Wicked Retahted did not join us on trail because his back is fucked up from surfing. It may have kept him off trail tonight, but nothing will keep him from surfing again tomorrow! Beermeister Heifer pulled down her pants to show us her trail wounds, but was disgusted by the dirty down down song she got for it. Just Charles and Just Jen were welcomed from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Hmm…Ethiopia is next door to Kenya, so we can only assume they can r*n even faster than the wind because they have the extra motivation of finding beer at the end of this r*ce.

Schlong Division and Slonad were backsliders with no excusable excuse. Just Brian was toughing out -15° in Minnesota last week. Deep Stroke was away in search of deep powder. Cumcerto and Deep Stroke were busted for hashus interruptus last week. Deep Stroke made Cumcerto leave mid-hash so she could move Deep Stroke’s rig while she was vacationing in Tahoe. That is straight up criminal. Up for debate was shortcutting: is it honorable? dBASED votes YES. Virgin Candace told a joke about a cantaloupe. I’ll leave that to your imagination. Whatever you come up with has gotta be better than her joke was. Free Little Willy and GhettoMan made her come. Just Brian was named Plastic Pussy and he actually likes it (the name, not just the toy). I think barfly My Little Bony and backslider Rod Lover somehow managed to avoid down downs because they were already getting their jump start on on-on-on over at Double Oh Seven.

And the hares… those rat bastards.

Next week Hash #676 starts at JJ’s Saloon in Soquel. Cuff My Muff and Occasional Rapist will be your hare pair. Cuff has been bragging about the sheer awesomeness of her trail, so be prepared for a big letdown. Enjoy the punishment for me because Thmp and I will be in Palm Springs for Betty Ford, bitches!

On on,
Princess

Hare Hugh Heifer kicked off trail at Tampico downtown this week. If you thought Hugh started in SC because she wanted to spare us from criss-crossing Highway 9 in the dark woods of SLV, you’d be totally wrong, man. There was a rumor that Hugh has a thing for a certain caliente bartender at Tampico. That was bogus, too. The real reason was so Hugh would be close to the Catalyst, where hippie jam band Grandpa’s Chili was gonna noodle their way straight into her heart (and pants).

The pack was a mix of ragamuffins. We had CAN’d hashers Phantom Fluffer, Anthrax Asshole, Ghetto Man, and pooch PB & Vajayjay. We had young nubile girls, crusty old codgers and everything in between. We had virgins! We had namings! We had major backsliders! There was trouble to be had. Of this we were certain because our hare was already drunk and disorderly.

The bag of chalk was being passed around as usual at circle-up. I was carefully picking out a chalk stick like it was a cucumber at the market. It had to be, like, totally choice, ya know? Introductions suddenly ended and the pack took off. I was the sucker left holding the chalk bag. I could’ve stuffed it down my sports bra or something—I even had a free pocket! But instead, I let it flop around like a bag of swinging dildos and headed for the first check at Pacific and Laurel. Trail took us past the new Warriors arena and up the Beach Hill stairs. Then it was down to the bowling alley and onto the beach. Trying to find flour on the sand in the dark is no bueno, especially when the hare is stingy with it. Trail went cold halfway through the volleyball courts. The front of the pack went to higher ground to scout around the wharf entrance. After much bumbling and no flour to be found, I came across a crude arrow pointing towards under the wharf that looked suspiciously like it was frantically scratched in the sand by a dirt-loving hippie hopped up on the vodka. BINGO!!!

The beach trail popped out at the Dream Inn and we hustled up the hill to West Cliff Dr. The sound of the waves and the lights of the wharf were lovely as we made way towards the lighthouse. Trail took a turn on-right at Lighthouse Field, where there was a big commotion. Some wack job was coming towards Puff, Timmy!!! and me on trail hollering nonsense at the top of his lungs like, “YOU’RE TRACKING ME AND IT’S BEEN CONFIRMED!!!” Uh, we’re actually tracking beer, dude. And you’re our biggest obstacle, so fuck off. I might’ve thought it was just a fake diversion our hare schemed up, but Thmp-Thmp found Hugh waiting for us nearby at the beer check wielding a big stick to defend herself against the raving crazy.

At beer check, the best way to “chug” a jello shot was up for debate. My favorite technique is to gently squeeze the bottom while sucking it from the top. Deep Stroke totally vetoed that demonstration, but the guys didn’t seem to mind it. 😉 Hugh was showing jello shot rookies Just Sarah and Cumcerto how to tear open the paper cup and snarf at its innards.

It became evident that this would be the one and only booze check. WTH? We were about a mile and a half from the on-in and this was the END??? Well, Hugh got a bunny earful from Timmy!!! about that. Hugh was in such a hurry to get her some of Grandpa’s Chili, she only laid half a trail (as half-minds will do). We took a nice stroll along the water back to downtown.

Religion was at the Silver Bullet (Oswald) garage and dBASED was our do-it-all RA/beer fairy. Everybody was freezing and doing the pee-pee dance, so it was straight down-down to bizness and only the shortest of songs. Serious backslider Vince Lamblowme has finally returned to our little ragtag bunch, where he belongs. News flash! Deep Stroke still has not left the building! This week, the flu and her RV’s leaky exhaust manifold sabotaged her escape.

We played a little game of “find the foot patch” with Thmp-Thmp to reward him for his 69th hash. He managed to find it deep within my massive heaving boob cleavage and pulled it out with his teeth. Virgin Shannon sang a song about how she’s “got a good feelin’”. I’m pretty sure some of the hasher guys would be more than happy to give her a good feelin’…if you know what I mean. Virgin Jerri told the longest, but not necessarily lamest, blonde joke ever.

At long last, it was time for Just Andrea to be named. Does anybody know if she’s ever actually done trail? Or has she just paid off Puff 5 times over the course of a year? No matter, she’s legit now. She’s naughty and she’s Greek, so from this day forward she is Dirty Dolmas! Apparently Just Sarah learned to appreciate our unsophisticated sense of humor. For lowering her standards, she was rewarded with a new name: Pink Cherry Licker! ‘Cuz she loves them fancy girlie drinks, even though she’s never had classy beer without a twist-off cap. Welcome to the kennel, bitches!!!

As if on cue after the namings, our little shit show was shut down by rain. The pack scattered in all directions and hopefully all roads leaded to a toilet and warm shelter. On on on was back at Tampico and then to the Catalyst, but Thmp and I headed home. We didn’t need no frijoles or Grandpa’s Chili because we’d already survived a case of the r*ns tonight.

Next week we’ll be sporting hottt legs galore! Occasional Rapist will be haring a mini skirt/kilt hash that meets up at Brady’s Yacht Club in Seabright. Panties are optional.

We’ve all been freezing our nipples off with the latest cold snap, right? Cuff My Muff’s sign on the door beckoned the pack to enter Pono Grill and The Reef Bar. It was just the first of many of our hare’s odd scribbles of the night. Luckily, this one was a good sign. Inside Pono was warm, drinks were flowing and there was a Cubano band doing their thing and making us all do a little cha cha. Hugh Heifer sipped her peach vodka and went to “hang with the cool kids” like she was at luau for cheerleaders. The party got into full swing when little Shallow Hole arrived and Banana Basher picked her up and gave her a spin while My Little Bony cheered him on. TIMMY!!! barely managed to not get his martini glass kicked out of his hand. I shit you not. Wicked Retahted just keeps on living up to his name. This week he was bragging to Deep Stroke about the new shoes he was wearing. We know Deep Stroke loves her Chelada clam beer, so let’s hope he’ll like his filet o’ sole beer when he drinks from that new shoe!

Thmp-Thmp greeted Virgin Jeanne from Meetup.com and walked her over to chalk talk. She had no idea what she was in for, so she’d brought two dogs along to her first hash for extra protection. Too bad dogs can’t really save you from the real threats: shitty beer and frostbite. Before we knew it, we were all kicked off the island. Time had come to circle up outside and shiver. Puff the Magic Drag Queen was braving the cold like a man bitch by foregoing the usual ponytail and wearing his luscious lad locks like a scarf.

The first check at the corner of Union St. and Center St. was a bit of a stumper, but soon enough the pack was trotting on trail past the firehouse and turning up Walnut St. There was another check quandary awaiting us at the YWCA, then it was up Chestnut St. to the stairs that lead to upper Locust St. The liquor check at the top of the stairs had us all scrounging in the ivy for the loot. Dog Breath and Schlong Division were pulling all kinds of empty bottles out of the foliage. Finally…a full bottle! Sweet Malibu rum gave our night another little taste of the tropics.

Back on trail, we headed to Mission St. where a cryptic trail marker across from Mission Hill Middle School hinted that we should jaywalk. Gawd, I hope our mom does not read this! Cumcerto and I spent our snot-nosed kid years on the Westside with our mom always warning us to NEVER EVER go near Mission St. Those were the days of yore when kids roamed the neighborhood and played outside—pretty much what us hashers do now, except sans beer (perish the thought). Like jumping in and out of a crazy double dutch jump rope session, we all scrambled across Mission St. and hopped out alive on the other side. Trail then cut down an alley next to the school that also serves as an underground railroad of sorts for student escapees from Mission Hill “Penitentiary”. Students have been known to sneak out through a hole in the fence there to buy candy at the gas station across Mission St. (we never did this, Mom–we’ve just heard stories). 😉

 Trail ascended to a check at High St. and everyone was a little nervous that we were gonna be upward bound. Luckily, Hare Cuff was merciful and led us on right downhill. At the end of High St. was a pretty bullshit double arrow trail mark that must’ve meant “this-a-way or that-a-way???” Doggie and I headed this-a-way toward Harvey West and soon came across another mysterious mark that said “DBS”. We turned around, shrugged it off and followed the pack that-a-way instead across the pedestrian bridge to Holy Cross. Next stop was beer check in the Sash Mill neighborhood. There was a very nice selection of Kona beers, but we were kinda hoping for for a flaming volcano bowl to cozy up to. The frosty beers only made the night frostier, so we got moving again and headed to religion at the parking garage where the Silver Bullet once stood (R.I.P).

Deep Stroke was our RA and Thmp-Thmp was our beer fairy. There were no analversaries to celebrate this week, but there were plenty of other reasons to drink crap beer. Backsliders Banana and Mrs. Groper were the first to have the honors. Soon enough, Wicked was busted for bragging about his new shoes but he refused to drink out of them because they were too clean. Banana and his own stinky shoe came to the rescue! Wicked chugged out of it like a champ. Virgin Jeanne told a joke that started, “why did the hashers cross Mission St.?” and had a clean punch line. It’s OK, she’ll learn… Doggie, most of the pack, and I got a lesson of our own when everybody who didn’t know what “DBS” meant had to drink. Apparently, it’s another version of YBF that means Don’t Be Stupid, coined by former SCH3 hasher Ho Chi Min Clitty.

We had at least four dogs at religion and a couple of ‘em started getting a little testy with each other. Well, except for portly Porter who was too busy begging Puff for treats to be bothered with the fracas. Broke Bench Mountain has been staying out of trouble lately, too ‘cause he’s clean livin’! …for now. It was revealed that Just Sarah couldn’t figure out how to open her beer at beer check because she’s never had a beer without a twist-off before. TIMMY!!! was punished for never hooking his adult kid up with a decent beer. Schlong had the most valid trail complaint this week: not enough boobs. Because it was nipple-shatteringly cold! The hare drank, we drank to the hare, and we quickly scattered to the warmth of El Palomar Taco Bar for on on on. Puff was foolish enough to announce he had an open tab. I’m pretty sure a few gallons of margaritas made their way to his bill.

Next hash will be sexxxy #669! See you at Castaways in Pleasure Point. Take it sleazy, wankers!