I got so buzzed at trail 664, I can barely decipher my own trail notes from the night. I found random phrases like “rim job” and “surfer boy” written in my Princess Diarrhea. Any ideas what that was about?? Speaking of my dollar store pretty pink Princess Diarrhea, you can click on it to see what popped up when I googled myself.

From what I can make of my scribbles…

The kennel gathered at the super-festooned Windjammer in Aptos. A large creepy collection of nutcrackers (or “wooden soldiers” as Wicked Retahted called ‘em) stared at us blankly as we trickled in. They were as stiff, frozen and sober looking as we felt after coming in from the cold. It was 48° and dropping, which is damn cold to us locals. The table in front of the cozy fireplace was occupied, but that didn’t keep Puff The Magic Drag Queen from scooting in to warm up his perennial OPs and naked knees. Thmp-Thmp ordered some Fireball cinnamon whisky from the bartender to help warm his cock(les). Beer Meister Hugh Heifer was getting over a cold and not running so she pretty much only showed up to ply us with booze and spread her cooties. Butt Balls wasn’t running either, but bothered to casually grace us with a visit while he was “on his way to Safeway” or something.

It was the maiden haring voyage of hare pair Schlong Division and Slownad. It seemed they’d been preparing well for their first mission. Thmp and I had spied Slownad scouting trail in our neighborhood a couple of weeks ago. Snownad had even taken pains to decide between whether to filch whole wheat or pumpernickel flour from his wife’s pantry (whole wheat won). When the hares announced to the pack there would be TWO bum wine checks, we thought for a second that the trail may not even suck. Hey, we can dream.

Soon enough we were on our way into the cold darkness. Trail went on left and over the freeway. A rudely placed check at the train crossing led to falsies in both directions of the tracks. Those bastard hares! A whistle in the night got the pack back together and heading down to the Cement Ship. We all know what goes down must come up. True trail headed up a gazillion flights of stairs and then flour showed us the way across a field. As we got to Seacliff Drive, TIMMY!!! encouraged everyone to scout around the check but I came up empty. Another whistle got us moving in the right direction. We passed a row of cars parked at Seacliff’s very own little Inspiration Point. Coincidentally, I found Thmp-Thmp’s beanie of reindeers fucking in the road there after it fell from his pocket. At least something was getting some action.

What goes up comes down again, right? Trail went down the stairs that roughly lead to the Sleaze Breeze in the Rio Del Mar flats. Along the way down was a terrible fermented sweet nastiness of a bum wine check that we sipped on and then immediately wished we’d had better judgment. At the bottom of the stairs some of the pack was fooled into heading towards the Sleaze Breeze. Suckers!! That place is NEVER open! Trail actually went in the opposite direction. It followed Moosehead Drive up a creek and up a hill where we found a fucked up flashback to a barfy prom night of yesteryear—André champagne. Classy move, hares.

A chug of the bubbly put a little sparkle back in our step as we trudged further along to the top of the hill. Now this is where shit gets dicey. Thmp and I cut trail and bee-lined it to the railroad tracks. This is our stomping grounds. We had a feeling the tracks would be our path to beer so we sidestepped another huge hill that led to Rio Del Mar Boulevard. Bingo! Shortcutting paid off, yo. The tracks took us to Aptos Village. Then it was up Trout Gulch to the post office, along the pump track, and back to the railroad tracks near the recently deceased Brit (R.I.P.). Beer check was just across the trestle and marked “B really N”. Indeed it was, and we were the cheating FRBs. And damn proud of it too, thankyouverymuch. dBASED and Hot Wheels were the real, non-cheating (well, as far as we know) FRBs. It took awhile for the pack to trickle in, so we were all drinking ourselves numb in the unmerciful cold. Something happened at beer check I still do not understand. There we were, everybody carrying a bottle opener, drinking beer, standing next to a cooler full of beer and a bum comes by and asks us for…a cigarette?

We were nearly frozen by now so we hustled off to religion at the medical clinic parking lot next to Severino’s. AccuPrick RA’d and Just Marna was beer icicle fairy. Extreme backsliders were the first to go down down: Hogazm (claims she was in Hawaii), Technical Black Out (claims she was in bed with Accu’s mom), Cervix Denied, and Dr. Nappy-Headed ‘Ho. Next was a wet salute to the doctors: Dr. Schlong Division (Congrats on your new title! I’ve heard PhD stands for Penis head Deformity, by the way), Dr. AccuPrick, Dr. Cervix Denied and Dr. Nappy. Next up for punishment were the non-runners: Butt Balls, Hugh, Cuff My Muff, Wicked, Dr. Nappy, and Cervix Denied.

(This is about where I had to keep warming up my pen between my legs to get the ink to flow. My right hand was also freezing. Duh! That’s because I took my glove off to write because I’m used to tapping out my writing on an iPhone instead of using a real pen and real paper. And also because I was drunk. Double duh! I put my glove back on and all was right and well again.)

Sadly, there was no virgin to entertain us because Virgin Andrea showed up at the pre-lube but wouldn’t do trail. Yes, some are easily scared off. dBASED was chastised for cheating a bartender by snatching his $ back from her. Great, now we’ve probably all been 86’d from the Windjammer. Thanks, dBASED.

(This is about where my notes get really sketchy. Something about how Dr. Nappy’s dog had a protruding penis…I hope somebody could please fill me in about this…no, maybe not.)

The night’s common trail complaint: too flat. Twat Did You Say? was called out because she didn’t know what BW meant and therefore blew by the bum wine check, so Butt Balls wondered what else BW could stand for…ball wrinkle? Puff’s lifelessness was validated by the commemoration of his 650th run. Cheers to Shallow Hole for making it to her 75th without requiring a liver transplant. The hares drank because their first trail sucked high and low.

On on on was at the spanking new Burger. Aptos where you can find a huge and varied beer and burger selection, a warm fireplace and some hot celebrity mugshots.

Next hash will be the picture hash! Bring your holiday cheer. And by “holiday cheer” I mean liquor in a flask…or uh, whatever brings you good tidings of comfort and joy.  😉

P.S. Thanks to the hashers who came out to the SC SantaCon last week! Bad Santas are the best Santas.

Thmp-Thmp, Virgin Marna, and I woke up with a mission at dawn in Oregon at Dad’s house the Saturday after Thanksgiving. We hugged our goodbyes and hauled ass back to SC, just so we could make it to our other dysFUNctional family holiday gathering with you all. The turkey had been stuffed, the turkey baster had blown its load, and now this little flock of turkeys had the trots. We couldn’t wait to stretch out our drumsticks after the 7-hour car ride.

I busted through the swinging doors of the Over the Hill Gang Saloon with finger pistols blazing, trying to start a “shootout” with Banana Basher. But his hands must’ve already been busy playing pocket pool. The few regulars barely flinched at being invaded by all us city slickers. They were already in an afternoon stupor from the cheap drinks–especially Josiah, a random jovial drunkard who could barely stand or say much except for his own name. Nonetheless, he wanted to come run with us!

Our over-eager hare, Puff the Magic Drag Queen, scheduled himself to take off at 3:15 and have the flock give him a 5-minute lead. (When the FRB caught Puff, he or she would become the hare, receive a trail map and get a 5-minute lead. And so on and so on—haring relay style.) That turkey tosser screwed us all and took off at 3:12! The flock finally fell in line and hit the trotting trail. Random Virgin Josiah stumbled along with us for about a block and then disappeared. Did he fly back to the saloon? Did he pass out in a gutter? Did he suddenly remember there was leftover pumpkin pie back at his nest?

Some of us were hoping for a nice long stuffing-burner of a trail. After being cooped up and overfed through the holiday, we were ready to shake a tail feather. The hare led us across Portola Drive and into a trailer park. It was on left at 38th Avenue and on right down the railroad tracks. Another right at 41st Avenue led down the street to a back check. Time to spread out and explore. We’d only jogged a few blocks and now our flock was already crossing our third busy street like kooky quail. Virgin Marna showed her (questionable) worth and solved the back check that led down an alley. We popped out on Portola again and…you guessed it…had to cross. I was starting to wonder if Puff was trying to pick off the flock as roadkill. Luckily, we all survived and flocked together for beer check at Suda.

Whatever Puff lacked in trail ingenuity, he’d made up for with speed. Even with his little 5-ish minute lead, nobody could catch Puff. That leftover hangover clearly had a hold on us. Not only was Puff trying to kill us off with traffic, he’d tortured us by preventing us from working off our Thanksgiving guts. It was Surf City’s second short trail in a row. We were all glad to see Just Mike had returned for his second hash, but the poor guy must think we only do super short pussy trails. Since GPS master dBASED was absent, we will never know exactly how short this trail was (or at least how short his completely different version of it would’ve been). It was definitely a shorty because Brokebench Mountain’s pleasantly plump dog Porter finished the trail just fine. On the plus side, trail was indeed long enough for Deep Stroke to tour two 4:20 dispensaries along the way. Hope she scored some samples for Hugh Heifer!

AccuPrick was spry enough to run even though he said his liver was heavy. Maybe it was heavy, fully saturated livers that kept us from catching Puff! Yeah, that’s the ticket! Banana and Cuff My Muff rolled in a bit late to beer check because they’d been chasing some dude who they thought was Accu over to the cliffs. Accu denied being that dude so Banana said, “it must’ve been some other good looking guy.” Uh, get a room, guys.

Shallow Hole and Grassy Ass also rolled into beer check late after being no-shows at the start. Okay, Shallow Hole drives a red hot rod, how did she manage to be late?? Grassy Ass had lost track of time while shopping for red dresses like a good little hasher boy. Backslider Bloodweiser showed up late, too. I had to cover the hash cash duties this week because the hare was busy doing other stuff, like leading us along his puny sorry-ass trail. Bloodweiser didn’t want to fork over his hash cash so he could keep his $1’s for $tripper$. I said if he stripped for me, I’d give him some back. Suck Cockran, Bailas Con Burros and Twat Did You Say? also made it out for the Turkey Trot foolery. These Saturday hashes sure are great for bringing out the wankers—the new, the seasoned, and the ones who are so jobbed/schooled up they never cum on Thursdays.

Puff cut us off at Suda and we headed down Portola to a parking lot across from the saloon for religion. I guess some folks were still in a gobblin’ mood because the Ritz and Easy Cheese hash dinner was a BIG hit! When the squeeze cans finally ran dry, down downs began. AccuPrick RA’d and Suck Cockran beer fairy’d. Deep Stroke claimed to have had the worst Thanksgiving. She went to Chaminade! ☺ …but had to spend it with her family. ☹ Wicked Retahted rolled a joint but forgot to bring it. No surprises there. Twat Did You Say? was punished for being a backslider smartypants due to taking Thursday night classes at SJSU. She’s studying to be a mean school principal lady. We all toasted Grassy Ass for being a return visitor from San Diego. Yay, we haven’t scared him off yet! We also toasted the newbies, Virgin Ron who came with Puff and my sister Virgin Marna. They both told jokes their mothers should be both proud and ashamed of. Twat called out Porter for shitting on trail and Brokebench for not scooping the poop. Bloodweiser’s suspiciously new-looking shoes were submitted for a sniff test. They reeked, so they passed (failed?). Speaking of footwear, Cuff’s “new pair of FiveFingers” sure looked an awful lot like flip flops. Yep, the girl turkey trotted in flip flops. Waxi Pad had the honor of DFL as he rode in on a bicycle. WTF? His wife, Shallow, drives a hot rod and showed up late, now he rides in last on a bike? I just don’t get those guys. And the hare…

After religion, as I counted the hash cash, Brokebench drove off and returned with a bag of Porter’s offending dog shit and chased Twat with it. Totally gross, but didn’t seem to ruin anyone’s appetite as we headed to Mountain Mike’s Pizza for on on on. Schlong Division porked out on a pizza of bacon and ham. Deep Stroke says she only eats vegetarian pizza…unless there’s meat on it. She also wore her old hasher dog tag that says she only drinks Michelob Lite. Ha!

May the hash digest in peace.