Greetings,
On-on! And on and on and on. So went trail for Hash 630. Apparently seeking some vengeance on their kennel mates for some imagined wrong we’ve done them, the tri-powered trio of haring harriettes, Hugh Heifer, Occasional Rapist and Shallow Hole led the litter on a alcohol-fueled fiasco May third, twenty-twelve.
While personally I would prefer to cease further reminiscing at this point, I have been charged with the duty of relating the details of Hash 630 to the asses of the masses. I believe this Trash’s only value will be to serve as a warning to those that come after us.
We assembled our traveling kennel in the dark, dank confines of the venerable watering hole The Rush Inn. The owner, Rick, either likes us or, more likely, finds us mildly distracting and somewhat amusing and promised to provide us with a face-feed post-hash. I wonder if he now regrets this promise made in haste? Too late now, buddy! The Rush filled with red dresses in all shapes and manner. The Flash will be far better at showing you some of the obscene sights that were seen this evening. Besides, most likely you would not believe me were I to try and put into words the hideous attire some people are not ashamed to be seen wearing on the main street of the town they live in. We waited a little longer than usual to allow time for the over-the-hill trouble makers, Foot Loose & Panty Free and her lapdog Arabian Goggler, to arrive. No sooner did they show than the raving maniacs from Can’d H3, Monterey, slithered in the back door. We were cursed with the appearance of Boner Malfuntion and two of his henchmen, Cougar Stamp and Virgin Jason. Bringing a Virgin to a hash thirty miles from home shows what mental midgets these jokers are. Eventually the hares tired of drinking, well, more likely they were running low on money. Consequently they delivered the uninformative Instructions of Trail these three are noted for and outed themselves. The pack returned to drinking.
After the passage of ten minutes, Rush Inn owner Rick said he’d love a picture of our gang so one and all stumbled into the light and fulfilled his request. I assume he will either use it as a dart board or will tell his beertenders to limit us to six beers per person should we ever come in again.
After the passage of fifteen minutes, GM TIMMY summoned more than thirty hounds to the parking lot behind the Rush and had us voice our stupidity by announcing our names for all the world to hear. That being done, the pack wandered back through the Rush and, using all our will power, continued through and out the front door. Trail took us across the Town Clock Park to the intersection of North Pacific, Water, Mission and Pacific Avenue. Guess where we were headed? But of course, Pacific. Now, much like the Perp Walk law enforcement subjects the worst of the worst to, we began the shame of traipsing down the main street of our town huddling together for safety’s sake. While no one actually threw anything at us, one person threw-up in our direction. I gave out a number of our business cards to persons I never hope to see again. After giving a brief description of our premise to one man, he said, I don’t understand. He’s one of those I hope we never see again. The trip down Pacific was rather quick though, aided no doubt, by the fact most people ducked into the nearest doorway hoping we did not single them out for special attention. A few people pushed their plates away from them as we passed the outdoor dining area at Betty’s Burger. The hares wrote a number of bizarre, cryptic messages along Pacific, none of which merit repeating.
Upon reaching Laurel Street, trail made an on-left and came to Front Street. Across Front was a check which when solved directed the clan to cross over the river, mercifully using the bridge, and continue onto Broadway. This dangerous section of trail had only one significant feature: we passed the one-mile mark. Other than that we were just happy to have survived our encounter with gang turf and lived to tell about it.
Making it to Ocean Street was a major accomplishment and, better yet, as trail continued on-up the Broadway hill, we said goodbye to any potential skirmishes with gang-bangers, hoodlums or the street walkers that frequent the 7-11 on the corner. The downside is we had a hill to climb. After that task was accomplished, marker made the merry members of this madness on-right onto Ocean view Avenue. This is undoubtedly the best one-long-block walk in the Cruz, especially the homes with the view. Apparently, the Bum Wine check was either missed or the bottle not collected by the DFL’s. Puff received a phone message from Hugh Heifer Friday upon arriving home asking him to retrieve the bottle but it was long gone by the time he arrived. Being familiar with Hugh’s taste in wine, I bet there were three or four sick winos near here the next day.
Most of us were anticipating a Beer Check in Ocean View Park. I mean really now, we’ve reached the mile and a half mark and it’s a five minute walk to Norm & Pearl’s where Religion will be held. However, just shy of our anticipated goal, trail turned the troops on-left onto Ocean View Way and a-way from the park. Once past Ocean View Park is when this trail went to the Devil.
Quaint Ocean View Way was followed by an on-left onto Branciforte Avenue which led to an on-left onto Windham Street which was followed by an on-right onto Pine Street. Yes, you’re correct. All those twists and turns did was add length to a trail rapidly becoming cumbersome. This section of Pine had two bad features. First, we passed the two-mile mark and are STILL heading away from the site of Religion. Secondly and even worse, we all know what awaits us in one block: the multiple-outlet intersection of Pine, two directions of Cayuga and Clinton Street. Checks with more than two options have always stymied Surf City half-minds and here we have FOUR possibilities. To hasten this Trash along somewhat, I’ll reveal which one we took: None! We eventually stumbled across trail leading down one of the numerous Seabright-area alleys off Pine. This was taken one block to Idaho where we were directed to on-left to Mountain View where we made an on-right.
Mountain View was taken until it ends….and STILL trail continues! We took the locals-only path leading to the (accursed) railroad tracks beside Murray Street and followed flour on-left along the tracks and then were directed across Murray to Cypress Street. Mercifully, we were treated to the Beer Near mark and one and all headed for the rear entrance of the recently-sold Brady’s Yacht Club. I will not detail the atrocities I witnessed here. For further details you may wish to speak in private with Deep Stroke or possibly Cougar Stamp.
We’ve finally finished this trail. Well, two and a half miles isn’t TOO bad I guess. Wait. I spoke too soon. We’ve just been told to go out the front door, turn on-right and look for marker. WHAT? We’re NOT done YET? Blasphemous!
And so it was done. Trail led down Seabright to East Cliff Drive where an on-right was indicated. At the entrance to Seabright Beach, JN was viewed meaning Jello Shots Near so onto the beach we went. Beside some dead wood we found co-hare Hugh Heifer. That sounds somewhat redundant, doesn’t it? Dead wood and Hugh Heifer. Anyway, Hugh handed out Jello shots till no one wanted anymore and then…and then… We undertook the on-in to Norm & Pearl’s. On-in added another mile to the almost three we’d already done. This almost equals the length of the Death March from Aptos to Capitola TIMMY & Puff threw at us two weeks ago. This excessive running must be laid to rest!
Accuprick was tonight’s Religious Adviser and he selected Rosie as his Beer Fairy. I assume he wished to try and keep her under control tonight as she is a notorious troublemaker. He had minimal success with this tactic.
Numerous down-downs were awarded but it was a rather unruly crowd tonight. I’ll mention just a few of the notable crimes punished tonight. Boner Malfunction for flashing his butt along trail, Wicked Retahted for not have mastered the correct pronunciation of his name yet, Just Andrea for letting it slip that she has a propensity for orgies (any takers?) and Virgin Jason telling a way-too-long (not to mention lame) joke. Oh, yeah. The hares. Prior to this trail, there were but a few categories of humans I disliked: lurkers, stalkers, weenie-wavers, bondage aficionados, pedophiles and self-published poets. I have now added the Trio of Terror these harriettes proved to be as hares to this list. I thank the three of you for affirming your half-mindedness for us.
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 sixth day of May in the year of our Hash two-thousand twelve
On-out,
Puff the Magic Drag Queen
Acting Scribe
Surf City H3
Back to the Rush where Rick had been patiently waiting for us to return. The food was just fine and a good time was had by all. When things began to get weird, I decided to leave. However, I stumbled across extreme debauchery in the street behind the Rush. View the Flash if you are strong of stomach and/or weak of mind.
