Greetings,

After last week’s fiasco, Scribe found it necessary to take a vacation to recuperate from the atrocities perpetrated against the pack. I made my escape to Palm Springs where, serendipitously and strictly by coincidence, my visit coincided with the fourth (semi)annual Hash Springs. As the only Surf City hasher in the general vicinity, I felt it incumbent upon me to represent our kennel. And I did. And there was much rejoicing. With no dBASED, Dung-Fu Grip, Baker’s Dozen’t or Steamy Baanorrhea in attendance, Scribe felt obligated to undertake Saturday’s Eagle trail. The few of us that foolishly did such in mid-ninety degree heat saw an elevation gain of over seventeen hundred feet and six and a half-plus miles passed beneath our rear paws. In this matter, there was NO rejoicing.

It did, however, vanquish the memories of Hash 1181 from my memory. That DID create rejoicing.

This event began placidly enough from Rat Pussy’s (current) place of employment, Steel Bonnet Brewing. In retrospect, I believe his employer was more than happy to 1) Welcome a large group of known beer-swillers to their business and 2) Give Rat Pussy some unpaid time off. Let’s hope they did not notice how much more efficiently the business operated when he was NOT working.

Instructions of Trail were incompetently conveyed by co-hare Dung-Fu Grip. Many promises were made and, knowing we no longer trust him, Dung-fu Grip was able to make outlandish promises aware of the fact that 1) Very few hashers were paying attention to his pronouncements and 2) The few that did waste time listening felt them to be more of a comedy routine than actual details of trail. At some point after he started talking, he stopped and then hare-pair Dung-Fu Grip and Rat Pussy left. I do not know exactly when this happened because, like I said, few persons were listening. Co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain put the clowns on the clock though and that’s all that really matters.

Upon the completion of the fifteen minute lead time, these same co-GM’s called for and received Circleup for Introductions, the results of which are recorded here: Banana Basher, Baker’s Dozen’t, Hareless, My Little Bony, Wicked Retahted, Pretty Fly For A Pi Guy, dBASED, Fap Jack, Pink Cherry Licker, Shallow Hole, Deadliest Snatch, Steamy Baanorrhea, Just Bryant, Just Sara, L’eggs, Cum You Will Not, Clearly Not A Hooker, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, International House Of Pussy and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Everyone has taken their position, let the game begin.

It was across Scotts Valley Drive and into a large business complex to begin our travels this evening. Hacienda Drive was our destination where an on-left was indicated which began a rather unpleasant on-up. When Hacienda takes an on-left, the troops were told to on-right onto Casa Way. Casa Way eventually makes a turn on-right and on-down to Glenwood Drive where we were pointed on-left and on-out of civilization. The Turkey/Eagle split was observed at Scotts Valley High School. It’s obvious the Eagles will traipse on-up into Glenwood Preserve. Let’s fly with them tonight.

Just past Scotts Valley High School, we were led on-left onto K Street and immediately on-right to begin yet another arduous on-up into West Glenwood Preserve. We started on Blue Trail and then illegally transitioned onto Orange-Blue Trail via a cordoned off hillside. So much for preserving the Preserve.

Let’s ignore that transgression and move farther along Orange-Blue Trail before park rangers arrive. We continued the on-up and eventually reached the splitting of Orange and Blue back into separate trails. We went with Blue which, mercifully, began an on-down and eventually, again via an illegal trail, dumped us back onto Glenwood Drive and on-right back towards Scotts Valley. We pedaled along narrow Glenwood until making an on-left onto Deerfield Drive, on-right onto Meadow Drive and ALMOST back to Glenwood but were directed on-left into some minor shiggy. At first it appeared easy but then a six-foot high chain link fence presented itself. There was no quick way around so it was up-and-over. This put us on Shugart Park Pathway which brought us onto Vine Hill Elementary School grounds where Beer Check was staged. Knowing it would be a good idea to leave prior to the arrival of local constabulary, the pack powered on-out with the Turkeys taking Vine Hill School Road while the Eagles continued through school property to on-right onto Tabor Drive. Tabor leads to Scotts Valley Drive which took the Eagles back to the start and then on to Religion on Butler Lane.

Accuprick took the reins for Religion. Here is a sampling of the down-downs deemed deserved: Banana Basher as backslider, Fap Jack and My Little Bony learning the colloquial meaning of an upside-down pineapple; Cumz Out My Nose for falsely accusing Banana Basher of wearing new shoes; Pretty Fly For A Pi Guy as a backslider, Deadliest Snatch for celebrating her 169th hash with us; Shallow Hole as a backslider, Cum You Will Not and Shallow Hole whose dogs pooped on trail; dBASED for harassing Broken Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose’s neighbor and welcome back to Just Sara and Just Bryant. Oh, yeah, the hare-pair. No one had good things to say about them so let’s just move on. After dispensing with the hares, the RA declared, This hash is over. 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 at Palm Springs, Ca. and printed at Santa Cruz, Ca. by permission of no one other than the author on this, the thirtieth 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

Greetings,

While St. Patrick’s day may have featured our annual party, the only ones happy when it climaxed would have been the hares. At least THEY knew where trail was going. The rest of us, not so much.

Beginning the festivities at The Mediterranean, colloquially called The Med, alerted the hounds to the distinct possibility we would be visiting Accuprick’s garden paradise. What may HAPPEN there concerned us but not the visit itself. The Med was the hub of social activity in Seacliff this evening. The pack became a focal point and many of us we photographed by the regular denizens of this long-established watering hole. They seemed surprised people actually dressed-up and got in the spirit of the day for a reason other than just an excuse to drink Guinness and Jameson to excess.

Hashers were so spread out throughout the establishment and onto the surrounding streets, few if any heard Instructions of Trail. The few I spoke with who actually were lucky enough to hear them claimed they were almost incomprehensible due to Accuprick’s level of intoxication. This was a trail feature that would figure prominently in the tragic events that would befall the pack this night.

The hares have vanished, much to the pack’s delight, and fierce socializing has resumed it’s typical dull roar. Seeing that no good could come from allowing the herd to graze at The Med for much longer, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and (future husband) Broke Bench Mountain coerced the clan into a Circleup for Introductions configuration. The result was a follows: Clearly Not A Hooker, My Little Bony, TIMMY!!, Riff Raff, Steamy Baanorrhea, Womb With A View, Finger Nips, My Sister’s Dildo, dBASED, Occasional Rapist, Pink Cherry Licker, Snake Me Anywhere, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, Baker’s Dozen’t, Dung-Fu Grip, Leaky Rubber, Princess Di(arrhea), Thmp-Thmp, L’eggs, Hareless, Penis Horn Deformity, My Little Penis, Queen and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. The players have taken their places, let’s raise the curtain on Trail 1180.

Center Avenue was taken but a few feet until we were turned on-left onto Broadway. Broadway, a somewhat misleading moniker as this street is unpaved, barely passable as a matter of fact by any vehicle not possessing all-wheel drive and a minimum of six inches of ground clearance. dBASED, being a huge fan of railroad tracks, immediately headed towards the nearest ones. Mercifully, he was incorrect and returned. We took North Avenue on-right and continued until it ends at the intersection with Center Avenue. Here we were pointed on-right onto Center and back towards The Med. However, just a few houses along, the LC mark was observed and, as we had assumed, we entered Accuprick’s backyard garden paradise.

Here Accuprick was dispensing all manner of intoxicants but mainly Bailey’s and Guinness. If you were lucky enough to gain access to his infamous ‘gardening shed’, as he euphemistically calls it, you’d have found various brands of whiskeys and possibly some Scotch as well. We spent an inordinate amount of time here; some of us hoping the remainder of trail would be called off and the others wishing to become desensitized realizing trail would most likely continue. And it did, but there was no rejoicing.

Upon leaving Accuprick’s, it was on-left on Center and then on-left at the next street, Santa Clara Avenue and on-right at the next opportunity, El Camino Del Mar. this street was utilized until it’s point of termination at Monterey Bay where an on-left put the pack on Seacliff Drive. Seacliff Drive was trotted until a small field gives access to a treacherous trail that drops 125 feet down an escarpment to the parking lot for Seacliff State Beach. Mercifully, some kindly locals have repaired the deteriorated steps and filled the numerous holes in this trail making it far less life threatening than in some of our previous visits.

Once safely on-down, we turned on-right. Trail marking, or more precisely the lack thereof, became problematic through the parking lot. My Little Penis and Queen tried the hideously long set of stairs leading to the top of the bluff to no avail. We were unable to find maker at the next intersection as well. Just when we thought all was lost, we happened across retired harriette Katman Douche who pointed us towards the trail that leads on-up to Coates Drive and Beachgate Way. Now there was some rejoicing.

Once to the top, we headed on-left on Coates Drive. This was followed by on-left onto Seacliff Drive and on-right onto Mar Vista Drive. This is a rather unpleasant road with few lights and even less for sidewalks. Mercifully, it was not far to Pine Street where an arrow turned the troops on-left which was followed by our highly favored BN mark and we pulled into the driveway of co-hare Cold Smegma Kamikaze’s abode. There we found a keg conveniently residing in the refrigerator in the garage. What a great idea!

I believe it safe to stay on-in back to the start was a rather free-form affair with a number of routes being chosen by various mini-packs. Let’s dispense with any description thereof and fast forward to Religion staged, appropriately enough, on Santa Cruz Avenue a block behind The Med. Accuprick initially assumed the reins in the absence of Dung-Fu Grip but, mercifully, Dung-Fu soon appeared out of the darkness and ascended to Religious Adviser.

Here’s a rundown of some of the down-downs issued by our RA: visitors My Little Penis, Queen, Riff Raff and Finger Nips were welcomed; Leaky Rubber was punished for forgetting to bring the hashit; Thmp-Thmp and Pink Cherry Licker were chided for following dBASED; Pink Cherry Licker and Clearly Not A Hooker were punished for dumping their Irish Car Bombs;(Editorial opinion: Hooker should have received TWO down-downs for saying the drink looked like Monistat); Dung-Fu Grip, Baker’s Dozen’t and TIMMY!! celebrated analversaries; Snake Me Anywhere, arriving after on-out, asked on Facebook where trail went, this was deemed to be a retarded action so she was joined by Wicked Retahted, all the ‘retahted’s together; co-hare Cold Smegma Kamikaze for laying a very confusing check mark, he was, of course, joined by fellow hare Accuprick and lastly, the hares themselves. After pubic service announcements were completed, the RA stated, This Hash is over! I hereby do the same for this Trash. Thank you for joining me, I only wish I had a worthwhile trail to report upon.

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 twenty-second 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

Greetings,

I suggest we avoid the harbor area for a period of time until the frightening memories of this past Thursday’s escapade fade. Just as Stephen Spielberg made us afraid of the water with the movie Jaws, dBASED and Occasional Rapist have now renewed our trepidation pertaining to that liquid medium with Trail 1179.

While everyone was happy to heed the call of the trail announcement and convene at Johnny’s Harborside beside the harbor, we obviously did not know what was awaiting us. Had we an inkling, the crew would have arrived in a life raft or, better yet, have Harbor Patrol haul the hares off in leg irons and be tossed in the brig.

The get-together began innocently enough with libations for all and even featured raw oysters for a few of our more adventurous souls. Dicky Wacker sat enjoying the view and consuming an entire plate of fish ‘n chips celebrating the anniversary of the day he was hatched seventy-five years ago. (The man doesn’t look a day over eighty, agreed?) This lulled us into a false sense of security though. Things soon became so disjointed I remember but few hounds attending Instructions of Trail. dBASED had declared this a ‘M’ Word Hash in honor of soon-to-be-wed Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain. dBASED is quite an authority of such events as he has had two himself.

The time between hares-out and Circleup for Introductions was a blur with hounds randomly drifting away from Johnny’s second floor restaurant and calmly and complacently meandering towards the parking lot where we reassembled. Eventually, as many hounds as assumed would actually attempt this trail were present, we were welcomed by co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain. They heard responding barks from the following hounds: TIMMY!!, Wicked Retahted, Pink Cherry Licker, Fap Jack, Just Foot Pussy, Dicky Wacker, Steamy Baanorrhea, My Little Bony, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Cum You Will Not, Dung-Fu Grip, Ska-Skank Redemption, Hareless, Bacon Queef and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. The actors have assumed their positions, time for the play to begin.

The pack plodded south through the parking lot towards Monterey Bay and hit the beach behind the Crow’s Nest and on-left past the Palomar Cafe, site of a trail start just weeks prior. We continued on and took the same on-left onto Sixth Avenue as a few week prior as well. Unlike the previous trail through here, this lazy hare-pair dispensed with any variety on their trail though and Sixth was shot all the way to it’s termination point at Eaton Street. Here an on-left was indicated which gave us the pleasure of passing right by Johnny’s Harborside again. Thanks for the Circle Jerk, hares.

We crossed over the harbor and were then told to make the on-left on-down to the harbor parking lot. Once there, marker pointed the pod on-right through the entirety of the parking lot, on-up to Atlantic Avenue and on-right to Seabright Avenue. We passed by old favorite Brady’s Yacht Club though Rumor Central contends a Gorilla Beer Check was staged there. We crossed Murray Street and were directed to on-right onto the railroad tracks. While we despise sand for a trail, the railroad tracks in the dark are far more dangerous and present an intoxicated hound with numerous opportunities to twist an ankle or possibly worse. The only saving grace through here was the presence of the street lights on nearby Murray Street. Walking rather than running was a good idea as well.

Once back to the harbor(again) we headed on-down to the harbor walkway and went on-left through the upper harbor. Part way along this path, an arrow turned the troops on-left on-up a darkened staircase.

Nearing the top of the stairs, flour found the flock turning on-right onto a locals-only path precariously perched on the side of the hill overlooking the upper harbor and callously peering into the back yards of homes facing Fredrick Street. This pothole, tree root-lined trail unceremoniously dumped us into a dark, forlorn corner of Fredrick Street Park where further flour forced us to on-down right back to the upper harbor. Another pointless Circle Jerk. The mob made an on-left once back to the harbor and at the top of the harbor, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. By virtue of the fact the coyote pack residing in Arana Gulch where the Eagles are headed hunt at night, I elected to gobble with the Turkey’s. I would assume the Eagles went all the way to Soquel Avenue and utilized Seventh Avenue to get their tails back to the harbor area. Good luck, Eagles!

As for we Gobblers, we circled around the top of the harbor and took an on-right back down the other side. Part way through the parking lot, an large hare arrow pointed us on-left and on-up a set of stairs the emptied us out onto Mello Lane. (Trivia: Mello Lane is the former abode of Apple Bobber)

The only blessing of Mello Lane is that it’s short! Once to Seventh Avenue, we were turned on-right and were soon rejoined with those traveling Eagles. Just past the railroad tracks, our highly revered BN mark was seen and a few feet farther an arrow led the litter on-left into the small park across from Harbor Cafe. There, at the very back of the park, ensconced within the dark gloom, Beer Check was illegally staged on public property and after the park was officially closed.

After completely desecrating one of Santa Cruz’s beautiful parks, where Occasional Rapist and dBASED were randomly and haphazardly tossing powder on hounds as they arrived, we moved to the backyard of Cumz and Broke Bench’s(current) home via an illegal gate they installed giving themselves access to the park. Once safely ensconced therein, Accuprick assumed the reins and initiated Religion.

Here’s a brief, incomplete listing of down-downs, justified and unjustified, issued this night: Those that ignored the hares’ imploration to don white attire; backsliders were punished; Just Foot Pussy for being a (temporary) FRB with a bum leg; Wicked Retahted for worrying about what the hares would use to stain him with upon entering Beer Check, analversaries were recognized and TIMMY!! for returning to the pack after lounging on the Spanish Riviera for weeks. Oh, yeah, the accursed hare-pair were chastised for terrible trail. This was typical of dBASED/Rapist outings, more of a nuisance event than a Hash.

After dispensing with our horrible hares, RA Accuprick stated, This Hash is over! 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 sixteenth 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

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

Welcome to Mardi Gras Madness…

Santa Cruz style. This encompasses convening in a dark dive bar, wearing insane attire and swilling copious quantities of rotgut alcohol. This is a formula guaranteed to make even the most dedicated party-goers in New Orleans envious and possibly somewhat fearful.

However, be that as it may, that is precisely what the denizens of the Surf City H3 attempted on the frigid night of February twenty-fourth. With the mercury soon to fall below the fifty degree mark, only L’eggs braved the cold to display seldom-seen areas of her torso. This may simply be yet further proof of her half-mindedness. At least she did not pilot her arrest-me-red motorbike to the hash this night.

The majority of the pack (foolishly) shunned the warm interior of Callahan’s Bar and drifted to the outdoor drinkin’ area, AKA ‘A Parking Lot’, where they found room to move and socialize all the while attempting to keep their joints from freezing solid. This continued well past our traditional 6:33 hares-out time. This may have been an effort on the part of our hare-pair, dBASED and (second) wife Occasional Rapist, to turn the pursuing pack into a viscous mass of protoplasm thus decreasing the likelihood of their being snared. It did not enamor us of them to put it mildly though. Eventually they did spit-up what they considered pertinent aspects of their trail. To most of us it sounded more like a sales manual for their trail and little more that propaganda.

After the passage of the requisite fifteen minute lead time, co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for Circelup for Introductions and heard responding barks from the following cold canines: Cum You Will Not, Wicked Retahted, My Little Bony, Baker’s Dozen’t, Steamy Baanorrhea, Chippin’ Ballz, L’eggs, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Clearly Not A Hooker, Just Nicole, Penis Horn Deformity, Dicky Wacker, Courtesy Flush and Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

On-out took us eastward from Callahan’s to the intersection with Market Street. Here we were pointlessly pointed across Water Street and on-up the hill to the intersection with Branciforte Avenue. Here were were coerced into crossing right back over Water Street to the side we were previously on to complete a totally pointless jaunt. Trail continued on-up Branciforte and then on-left onto Rose Avenue. For an unknown reason, the FRB’s took an on-right when Rose ends one block later and onto Linden Street. Half a block later we determined this had been another poor choice made by half-minded hashers and we reversed course. We passed Rose Avenue (again) and continued to the end of Linden where a locals-only blocked-off street leads onto Berkeley Court (not the kind of ‘court’ most of you will one day visit) and which feeds onto Berkeley Way where Clearly Not A Hooker was proud to loudly yell On-right! though the pack was a scant twenty-five feet behind her. She seemed quite proud of her FRB status. From this episode, I believe she has a bright future as a half-mind.

Berkeley Way was taken to it’s end point…and beyond by utilizing the pedestrian bridge above the concrete confines of Branciforte Creek. At Market Street, for the second time tonight, marker pointed us on-right and soon on-right again and onto the walkway beside Branciforte Creek. This is a deathly dark and dangerous diversion from the purpose of hashing so we’ll fast forward to the other end of this trail to where Liquor Check was staged and was ably anchored by co-hare Occasional Rapist. As this was an early salute to next week’s Mardi Gras, Hurricane cocktails were served. Hurricane, consisting of light and dark rum as well as Grenadine, is little more than sucrose syrup and was rejected by Accuprick on the grounds he did not wish to add diabetes to his list of medical concerns.

Upon the conclusion of our business here, trail proceeded to Market Street (yet again) and on-right to the locals-only bridge spanning Branciforte Creek and onto the Market-Lee Walkway which took the troops under Highway 1 and on-left onto Lee Street. It doesn’t matter how well lit this pathway is because there’s no one around to hear you yell for help after being jumped by highwaymen. Consequently, everyone was overjoyed to safely negotiate this section of trail and get to Emeline Avenue where an on-left was dictated.

At Fernside Street the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. I anticipate a series of unpleasant occurrences occurring on the Eagle trail this night. Let’s gobble with the Turkeys.

Emeline was used until Grant Street where a one block on-right was followed by an on-left onto Berry Street was followed one block later by an on-right onto Coulson Avenue. One block later an on-left put us on May Avenue which conveniently runs right beside Callahan’s where this tale of torture began. Sadly, we passed right on by. We were then coerced into crossing Water Street but were rewarded by successfully completing this dangerous undertaking by viewing the BN mark. And there, across the street from Dig Gardens and beside a tall fence protecting the Ramada Inn parking lot, Beer Check was illegally staged on a public street.

After having pushed our luck as far as we though we could, we strolled over to the parking lot of a closed restaurant beside Callahan’s and (foolishly) assembling under a security light, Religion was convened. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued by Religious Adviser Accuprick: As this was our Mardi Gras salute, anyone that has ever been to New Orleans was commended; backsliders were burned; Baker’s Dozen’t was mocked for short-cutting over a fence and jamming a tree limb up his nose upon landing; we had two analversaries, that being Chippin’ Ballz at 75 hashes and dBASED has reached the incredibly lofty height of one-THOUSAND Surf City hashes. And with that momentous milestone in the books, the RA declared an end to this Hash and I 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 first 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

With apologies to The Bard,

The Winter of our Discontent has returned. And I refer not just to the precipitous temperature drop we are experiencing but the cold feeling we have towards last week’s trail. We have Pink Cherry Licker, an extremely experienced hare, and Pee Skool whom is, well, extremely experienced in other areas. You’d expect a trail full of the sights and sounds of a Santa Cruz evening. Well, there WERE sights, none of which do we wish to ever see again and there WERE sounds, the sounds of hounds begging for a termination to trail. None of what transpired is what we had anticipated receiving from these two harriettes.

We began our trials and tribulations from 133 Rooney Street, the current flop of Pink Cherry Licker and her (second) husband Fap Jack. As an aside to this, I took note of the fact Fap Jack chose to make himself scarce this night and vacate his own home. Make of that what thou willst.

We had a visitor, Roscoe Pee Cumstain, a friend of Cuntjungle’s from Vermont. He was not a Dukes of Hazzard fan but rather a former law enforcement officer in the Green Mountain State. I see he’s traded his badge for a beer! He sold his house, bought a travel trailer and now he and canine companion Ginger travel the globe on a quest for the perfect trail. When asked what he thought of tonight’s offering, he stuttered for a few seconds and then said, I won’t be anywhere near THIS place next Thursday! Again, make of that what thou willst.

Enough of the bad stuff though, let’s list the good points of this night.

Well, that was the quickest paragraph I’d had to pen in quite a while. Movin’ on…

We are now post-quaffing and ready to withstand Instructions of Trail from our hare-pair. It was generally accepted all the trail was a prelay. While usually condemned as an unacceptable form of hashing, the upside is that this should insure a screw-up free trail. In another break with tradition, this did not prove to be the case tonight.

Hares away was closely followed by co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose call for Circleup for Introductions. Their call to arms was answered by: Cum You Will Not, dBASED, Dicky Wacker, Wicked Retahted, Roscoe Pee Cumstain, Occasional Rapist, Rubik’s Pube, Hugh Heifer, Steamy Baanorrhea, Accuprick, Rat Pussy, Just Bryant, Deadliest Snatch, Just Sara, (still)Just Holly(but soon to change), Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Clearly Not A Hooker and Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

There’s the cast of characters (and I do mean CHARACTERS!) for tonight’s play in one act. The curtain has been raised, let the play begin.

We vacated 133 Rooney Street on-left and eventually made the on-right onto Morrissey and crossed over Highway 1. We groped along Morrissey until reaching Parnell where an on-right was indicated. This dumped us onto Poplar Street on-left and to a check at Hammond Avenue.

On-on was sounded on-left onto Hammond. Sadly, we passed a filthy alley, long the haunt of hashers everywhere and continued on to make an on-right onto Harrison Avenue. Harrison terminates on the side of the Safeway that faces Morrissey and we were then pointed on-right and into the dark and empty parking lot behind Safeway. We circled on-left through the parking lot and stumbled into the parking lot between the thrift store and Sante Adairius Tasting Room facing Water Street. For many of the pack, this trail was proving a distraction from real life and was deemed requiring a Gorilla Beer Check to enable us to see it through.

Upon the completion of our business at Sante Adairius, marker led the litter on-left on Water Street and across Morrissey onto Soquel. One block later, we were pointed on-left onto Pacheco followed by an on-right onto Parnell Street. Parnell dies at Trevethan and it was on-left there and a short distance later on-right onto Almena Street. Almena dies at Park Way and we were directed on-left. As Park Way nears it termination point at Highway 1, the pod was pointed on-right onto a locals-only walkway which dumped us onto La Fonda Avenue and an on-left was indicated there.

La Fonda was abused until Prospect Heights was reached and there we were pointed on-left and past DeLaveaga Elementary School and once back to Park Way(again) marker actually turned the troops on-right and up in the forest dark and deep and then on-left onto Old Vineyard Trail. This trail is treacherous in the light, at night it can be an ankle-breaking death sentence. As I’m certain our hare-pair executed this section of trail prior to old sol setting, they gave a never-mind to our safety.

Eventually Old Vineyard Trail ejects one back onto Prospect Heights and, lo and behold, Beer Check was staged there. This was a dark affair made bearable only by the fact we knew trail end was at hand. We departed from this place and treaded upon the one-way, not to mention (very) narrow, section of DeLaveaga Park Drive until Elk Street was reached and it was then an on-left and on-down back to Rooney Street. This time, however, it was not 133 Rooney we were seeking but, conveniently located right next door, it was 129 Rooney Street that offered us solace. This is the abode of co-hare Pee Skool and her long-suffering partner.

Once safely within it’s confine, RA Accuprick called to order, such as it is, the 1176th edition of the Surf City H3 Religion. Here’s a sampling of the poor bastards he victimized: Roscoe Pee Cumstain as a visitor and Cum You Will Not and Occasional Rapist for completing 25 consecutive hashes. There was a minor monumental event. Just Holly has completed 23 hashes and not been named. Why, you may ask? Well, because of her dogged determination to avoid every haring opportunity presented to her. Well, her innate indolence may enter into the mix too but I’d never mention that to her. So, in the interest of hash harmony, the decision to name her without having a haring beneath her rear paws was made. While a number of very rude(and appropriate) titles were advanced, it was decided to saddle her with always carrying the shame of never having hared for us. Allow me to introduce our newest (half-assed) kennel mate: Hareless.

As quite a letdown after a great naming ceremony, the hares were dealt with and chided for throwing the pack to the pumas by making us traipse through the darkened wood.

After dispensing with the hares, RA Accuprick declared this hash to be over and 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.

By Special Permission 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 twenty-second day of February in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two(2/22/22).

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe