Welcome,

To AGM twenty-3. You undeserving dawgs have survived another year of Hashing (relatively) unscathed. No fatalities this year even though Dung-Fu Grip and dBASED tried their damnedest to thin our ranks. They failed though, just as did as hares.

Let’s set the stage and put the players in place for another comedic tragedy in one act. Current co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain are preparing to cede the their role as ring leaders of the shitshow and hand over the reins of their reign to the next set of victims. We also have current RAs Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip waiting in the wings as the next lambs-to-the-slaughter GMs. By virtue of the fact they are the only (4) nominees on the ballot, I feel confident in predicting the future in this particular instance. All other Mismanagement positions are open but there seems to be little interest. Practically no one has campaigned except PCL and Dung-Fu and they are running unopposed. Most hashers will probably nominate kennel mates they do not like in an effort to irritate them. This will complicate the task of vote coagulating by Banana Basher and Cumz Out My Nose as they must remember who requested they not be appointed to certain positions but other positions that they WOULD accept. Graft, corruption, cronyism and the stuffing of the ballot box are the order of the day come AGM time. Just like in Chicago, vote early, vote often! Tammany Hall cannot hold not a candle to the political intricacies, meanderings and subterfuge of the mighty Surf City H3 political machine! So, in brief, that’s how the pack entered Vino-by-the-Sea on the evening of November the ninth, twenty-23. Everyone was on the menu and apt to be fingered by someone before the (new) GMs dismissed the pack well into the night. Raise the curtain and put the actors into action.

The room rapidly filled with hashers, twenty-5 to be exact plus two four-legged ones. I do not believe we should include Apple Bobber in such as this is his usual watering hole and it just happened to coincide with AGM. He was abhorred to see us invading his personal space. Socializing always runs rampant at AGM. This is our birthday party and we take this annual opportunity to take a breather from (deservedly) mocking our kennel mates and instead telling them how much we’ve enjoyed their company this year and bringing everyone up to date on the various events transpiring in their lives. Soon enough we know we will return to our usual vindictive ways telling each other how crappy their trail was, how clumsy they were in that minimal shiggy, how they called on-on before the third mark, that they whined when they followed dBASED and then discovered he wasn’t even CLOSE to being on true trail, how the RA always undeservedly awards them punitive down-downs and they didn’t do nothing, how the Hare Raiser won’t leave them the fuck alone if they don’t hare every six weeks, the sad fact the Beermeister always stocks the Beer Trough with crap offerings, why does the chip selection never have something worth putting in their mouth, trails are frequently too long, trails are frequently too short, why are the attractive Virgins always already with someone, when they hare why is it always cold, dark, rainy or all three; the list of our whining complaints continues almost ad infinitum. But let’s get back to AGM, as I said, we will soon revert to being the same pitiable wankers as before.

In their last act of defiance, the GMs waited until damn near 7PM to make Instructions of Trail announcement. The only commonality between this and their previous announcements is that it told us not one friggin’ item of any value towards trail. Hare away.

Fifteen minutes, and then some, were expended continuing with fierce socializing. There was no need to waste time settling bar tabs as everyone was prepaid for the evening. Soon enough though Banana Basher called for Circleup for Introductions and he then heard from: Courtesy Flush, dBASED, Hugh Heifer, Steamy Baanorrhea, CumFart Zone, Thmp-Thmp, Princess Di(arrhea), Worm, Today Is Monday, TIMMY!!, Circle Gherkin’, Clearly not a Hooker, Dung-Fu Grip, Hareless, Pink Cherry Licker, Snake Me Anywhere, Just Foot Pussy, Bacon Queef, FapJack, Cum,U Will Not and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our birthday canine contingency was Spot’d Dick and Scratch and Sniff. Pack out.

This was a mercifully short outing. Down the stairs and circle on-left to the very end of the wharf where Broke Bench poured copious quantities of cheap tequila, some of which were offered to mortals that were in the area and wondered what-the-hell was goin’ on. I am not sure all of them understood the explanation of Hashing but they seemed to understand ‘Free Liquor’! The hare then suggested hounds head to their favorite nearby bar for a drink. It appears a number of hounds skipped Liquor Check and went directly to their favorite bar to begin with. So went trail this night. Back to Vino.

It was now face feed time and the options were excellent for vegetarians and non-vegetarians alike. Seconds and thirds were the order of the day. And then came desert! I need not waste your time recounting such, it’s common knowledge and still stored within our memory banks. (and possibly our waistlines)

Now came the climax of the evening, well, maybe just the FIRST of those for a lucky few of you. Announcement of the victims, I find it difficult to characterize them as winners in this context, of the balloting became pubic. GMs, of course, are now repeat offenders Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip. Even running unopposed they did not receive 100% of the votes. That should be a forewarning of what is to befall us this year. Some people, apparently, do NOT learn from their mistakes. They will get what they so richly deserve. Cum,U Will Not! will continue as Social Sexretary. Oops, I meant Secretary. FapJack will continue mercilessly harassing the mortal shit right out of us as Hare Raiser. Key-rist! Clearly not a Hooker assumes the position of Haberdasher and will implore us to purchase overpriced, low quality attire that will disintegrate upon the first washing. While I have heard rumors this is not her FAVORITE position, she said she’ll make it work to her advantage and intends to derive great pleasure from it. We will have to endure a Triumvirate of Terror in the Scribing sector this year consisting of Circle Gherkin'(anticipate lurid tales of bizarre sexual exploits[poor Just Megan]), International House of Pussy(her handle says it all[this is her just desert for not attending]) and Cumz Out My Nose(she promises to get even with the a-holes who verbally abused her as GM this year). Steamy Baanorrhea, the cheap-ass bastard, will manage a rotating schedule of Beermeisters next year thereby allowing him to pay nothing to Hash and providing him with an endless supply of free beer while imposing his will on others to take over every few months. For our compliment of Religious Advisers, get an earful of this. Lead RA will be Thmp-Thmp, a harrier that attended but a handful of Hashes this year. His possible replacement is Jersey Lunchbox, a harrier that lives fifty friggin’ miles distant. I guess he can RA by Zoom. As a last resort we must endure TIMMY!! This decrepit clown is so damned old he only wears his Hash necklace so he can remember his name. Continuing in his role as destroyer of info, AKA On-Sec, will be dBASED. Those of you that have watched the wild swings in the Hash Count know what potentially awaits us next year.

So, there’s your Mismanagers/Manglers for the approaching twelve months. I wish you luck. I intend to be so far in the background you won’t even remember who I am.

Soon after the completion of the balloting results were completed, hashers began exiting at an alarming rate probably to avoid having to help clean up and/or not be present if the police raid the festivities.

This Hash, as well as this year, is over.

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. Do not allow the profound to become the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor remains a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-74.

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 twelfth day of November in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

(retired)

Night of the Dead,

Dead on arrival trail. Let’s closely examine the facts relating to the harrowing hell Hooker humped us with.

Starting from Jose’s Taco Bar adjacent to Jose’s Cantina next door to the Palomar Restaurant was a brilliant move on Hooker’s part. Sadly, her brilliance came and went in this one fell swoop. Most people foolishly wasting their time reading this Trash are fans of at least two of these three venues if not all of them. So, as I said, this was a brilliant ploy on the part of our Hooker. No matter how often one of our incompetent hares pulls the ploy of a pleasurable starting point immediately followed by a shitty trail, it still never fails to place the pack in a happy mood and makes the merry members of this madness forget that what is to follow will be substantially less pleasing than where we are right now. Frequently pre-lube is more exciting that trail. Tonight was no exception to this maxim.

Less than a dozen intrepid hounds showed snout for this edition of the misadventures of the Hooker. That should have served warning to the fools that DID that this trail would soon go sadly awry. But, being the half-minds that we are…we stayed…and suffered the results of our idiocy.

Well past the announced time of 6:33, Hooker delivered Instructions of Trail. This was due, at least in part, to the fact SHE was not there at 6:33. For that brief moment in time, the pack saw a glimmer of hope on the horizon and began making plans to go directly to Religion which would allow for an exquisitely long on-on-on at Woodstock Pizza. Sadly, the hare showed though. Instructions touted the presence of a Liquor Check and some type of pagan altar where we were to place items from those that have joined The Great Circleup In The Sky. I do not know, nor do I wish to know, what manner of nefarious activity she intended to use those items for, I just made the decision I would not participate in such skullduggery. Hare away.

A part of the next fifteen minutes was watching the recently-arrived co-GMs consume an entire meal in just those fifteen minutes. Scratch and Sniff would have given them a high-five paw had he witnessed their voracious appetite. Just in time for Circleup, Broke Bench Mountain, with a mouthful of taco, told the troops to assemble outside. His action resulted in responding barks from: TIMMY!!, Pink Cherry Licker, Steamy Baanorrhea, International House of Pussy, dBASED, Occasional Rapist, Dung-Fu Grip, Circle Gherkin’ and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Tonight’s canine contingency was on the slim side with only Junk Puncher and Scratch and Sniff in attendance. Pack out.

Trail took Frazier Lewis Lane to Front Street and on-left there to the evening’s first check at Cooper Street. This was soon solved and it was on-left to Pacific, on-right to Locust Street and on-left to Cedar Street. The check here proved problematic. It seem hounds continued on Locust but on the wrong side of the street and consequently missed the false markings on the OTHER side of Locust. Returning from Center Street after finding no other marks, Steamy found the false markings and everyone returned to Cedar and began the process again. Trail was eventually discovered on Cedar and took the mob to Mission Street. Once there, it was across Mission, on-right to North Pacific and on-left there. Most of we mongrels knew our fate; the Anthony stairs on-up to Mission Hill. And it was. And there was no rejoicing.

Once Mission Hill was crested it was along School Street. Upon seeing marker turn on-right onto to Emmett Street, wise short-cutters went directly through Mission Plaza Park as it was obvious our destination was the pedestrian bridge bridging Highway 1. On the High Street end of the over-crossing, a check send hounds scurrying on-up High but they soon returned empty-pawed and it was on-right onto the obscenely long-named Coral-Evergreen-High Cycleway. This is a densely dark section of macadam known most notably for it’s over-abundance of highwaymen. Miraculously, everyone escaped unscathed this night. At the bottom of the hill, it was on-left onto Evergreen Street followed by the anticipated on-left on-up into Evergreen Cemetery. Trail led the litter al the way to the top to Fawn Path where the Liquor Check was discretely hidden behind a marker. We then continued along to Fawn Path to Glory Path. Just off Glory Path on Oak Path some type of sacrificial structure was found where heathens, pagans or both, left sacrifices. We exited the area rather quickly.

Back on-down Glory Path we went and soon made an on-left, walked on someone’s grave(how rude!) and on-left again and exited the bone yard into Harvey West Park. Here we crossed the street and once past the cricket field(CRICKET?!?) turned on-right to Harvey West Boulevard and on-right. Soon though the pod was pointed on-left through the Costco gas station to Sylvania Avenue and on-left to Encinal Street. At Encinal it was on-right past the former Bocci’s Cellar(R.I.P.) to Highway 9 and directly across into the Tannery Arts Center and then on-right on the Tannery Arts cycleway and under Highway 1. That was another sketchy section of an already sketchy trail. Once on-up onto the levee, hounds breathed a sigh of relief. We continued along the levee until a huge flour arrow directed the horde of hounds to on-left and on-down to the banks of the river for Beer Check. NOW there was some rejoicing.

Upon completion of our business here it was on-in to Religion atop Sword Fighters parking garage on River Street. Once reassembled(what happened to Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose?!?) Pink Cherry Licker cranked up her Religion machine and issued the following down-downs. TIMMY!! who, thanks to a Hash Count error and subsequent correction, celebrated FOUR analversaries(!), dBASED for screwing-up the database resulting in TIMMY’s four analversaries; those that availed themselves of the multitude of opportunities along this trail to pee many times; backsliders were busted; the hare for a lousy liquor at Liquor Check; IHOP for getting lost and ending up walking almost the entirety of trail. Woodstock here we…Oh. That damned hare. Almost forgot her. Well, the pack agreed the Dia de los Muertos theme was well-served by visiting Evergreen Cemetery and the Beer Check in the riverbed was scenic, it’s just that everything in between sucked! This Hash is over. Off to Woodstock Pizza and playing trivia.

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. Do not allow the profound to become the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor remains a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-73.

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 fifth day of November in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Happy Hallowe’en!

On the other side of the coin…another Summer’s promise is almost gone. And what more accurate way to confirm it’s demise than by being subjected to another edition of the Jersey Lunchbox and Circle Gherkin’ Shit Show. This trail would have proven lethal to anyone under the age of eighteen. These two jokers will be consigned to such depths of the netherworld that they could not be found even with assistance from an asbestos bloodhound. This sets the stage for this tragic play in one act.

Let’s set the venue. Brady’s Yacht Club. The original owner named it such to mock the nearby Santa Cruz Yacht Club and it was the last business in Santa Cruz to get a phone. The City Council dictated all businesses must have a phone in case of an emergency. So, finally, Brady’s installed a phone…a pay phone on the Seabright Avenue-facing outside wall of the building! Needless to say, this did not appease the Powers that Be so they acquiesced and had one installed inside but made sure the number was unlisted. While you may find the interior decor unsettling, this place looks like a cross between a grandfather clock and a pirate ship, and you may occasionally get poked in your posterior with a pool stick due to the close quarters, three shots of Jamison and you’ll be a happy hasher. It is also a good way to keep your mind off the impending trail. A number of people adhered to the upcoming Hallowe’en festivities and came in costume. However, with some of the attendees it was impossible to separate their usual attire from their Hallowe’en getup. Welcome to Santa Cruz! I do not believe it a stretch to say the best part of this trail was NOT trail but rather the announcement on it’s Facebook page. Everything went down hill from there.

A little late, Circle Gherkin’ delivered Instructions of Trail and made reference to QR codes that would be strategically placed at various places on what was promised to be a three mile trail that would give directions for the next section of trail. Novel idea and made even better by being voiced by Vincent Price. Too bad it didn’t work as well in actuality as it did in theory. Hares out.

Fifteen minutes of our lives were now spent finishing drinks, paying our tab and ignoring how dark it is these days even prior to on-out. Once these tasks were completed co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain requested a Circleup for Introductions and heard from the following: Steamy Baanorrhea, Hareless, Oral-D, TIMMY!!, dBASED, Cum,U Will Not!, Snake Me Anywhere, Pink Cherry Licker, FapJack, Worm, Rubik’s Pube, Radies Man, Clearly Not A Hooker, Thmp-Thmp, Princess Di(arrhea), Just Megan, Just Foot Pussy, Bacon Queef, Courtesy Flush and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. This week’s canine contingency consisted of Spot’d Dick, Scratch and Sniff and Bitey McFuck You. Pack out.

We were ejected out Brady’s rear to an on-right onto Cypress Avenue. A block later it was on-right onto Murray Street followed by an on-left onto Seabright Avenue to a check at Logan Street. One mark sent the pack scurrying on Seabright but no more were found. Trail turned out to take Logan to Mott Avenue and on-left to the railroad tracks and a check. This was another check that took a while to solve but eventually trail was found on-right along the tracks to the locals-only path leading to Mountain View Avenue and the first QR clue of the night. By the time the QR code was scanned, Steamy Baanorrhea had already discovered trail on Hiawatha followed by an on-right onto(into?) Alley 1017. This is a challenging event as security lights are tripped, dogs bark and neighbors get suspicious. Back to Logan and it was on-left to Buena Vista Avenue to a check at the locals-only trail leading on-left and another QR check. Steamy located trail onto the locals-only path and then on-left and on-up into Oceanview Park. After being subjected to a circuitous route, the BN mark was observed and we arrived at the end of the park overlooking the river. The hares requested a 5 minute lead time before the QR code here was scanned.

Scanning this code gave us another cryptic clue so sniffing for trail was performed. It was necessary for trail to on-down to East Cliff Drive and once there marker pointed the pod on-left. To shorten this tale, trail took the troops to Princes Park overlooking the Boardwalk for Liquor Check. The covey coagulated there for the appropriate time and then took off again pursuing the hare-pair. Trail returned to East Cliff Drive and sauntered along the remaining sections of the street until making an on-left onto 4th Avenue and then a check at Atlantic Avenue. This proved to be another difficult one to solve but eventually it was on-right onto Atlantic followed by an on-right onto the jetty walkway leading out to the Walton Lighthouse. Little by little, like a slow acting poison, the pack was beginning to die on this trail. A far smaller number of hounds arrived at the lighthouse for Candy Check than showed snout at Liquor Check. After withstanding the bay breeze as long as possible, on-in was instituted…with Steamy Baanorrhea as the hare! Circle Gherkin’, the original hare for this section, hid his face in shame and said he hoped Steamy could salvage some value from this trail. Steamy took us through the harbor parking lot and on-left on the railroad tracks to the site for Religion on Watson Street just off Seabright.

Once the remnants of the now-downsized pack arrived, Pink Cherry Licker began issuing down-downs. Here’s a sampling of this issued this night: visitor Radies Man was welcomed, backsliders were punished, birthday celebrators were honored, Broke Bench Mountain for falling hard on trail, those poor souls whose spouses abandoned them to stay at the bar and best costume contest. Now it was off to…oh. The hares. They were lauded for the QR code idea and told to keep working on it until they got it right. Also a four mile-plus trail is NOT a three mile trail. This Hash is over. Now it was off to Engfer’s Pizza to plague the owner Liz with our presence. I also have it on good authority a small number of hashers hit The Blue Lounge after Engfer’s.

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. Do not allow the profound to become the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor remains a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-72.

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-ninth day of October in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Hallowe’en month continues,

Or at least the accompanying horrors thereof.

We assembled at Santa Cruz’s newest brewery, Balefire, which, incidentally, is hasher-owned making it the perfect venue. Rat Pussy and Deadliest Snatch welcomed us with open taps…and hands as well. Everything breakable had been removed from our table. This was a pleasant reunion as both of them have been slaving away first at Steel Bonnet and now at Balefire. I’m certain they have already ascertained the latter will consume far more of their lives than the previous.

The only drawback to this grand beginning is the complacency it engendered in the pack. We forgot Pink Cherry Licker and Cumz Out My Nose were the evening’s hare-pair. These two have proven to be troublemakers of the first order in their previous outings. We had no reason to expect differently this time. Even before on-out the beach party had been cancelled in favor of holding Religion right back here at the brewery. Last minute changes to trail are always unsettling. Such is frequently indicative of a last ditch, death bed attempt by the hares to salvage a trail they have been forced to admit is subpar.

After it was completely dark and the hares had finished their drinks, Instructions of Trail were delivered, albeit hesitatingly, from Pink Cherry Licker. There was mention of a Turkey/Eagle split, some vague assertion that trail was short and Liquor Check had been deleted. As a matter of fact, almost EVERYTHING this trail was to contain was vague. This is a ruse frequently employed by subpar hares relating to their subpar trail. Hares away.

The next fifteen minutes-plus was spent socializing, finishing drinks and being closely watched by Rat Pussy and Deadliest Snatch. (with good reason too I might add) After these fifteen elapsed, dBASED called for a Circleup for Introductions which resulted in the following responding barks: TIMMY!!, Banana Basher, Steamy Baanorrhea, International House of Pussy, Oral-D, Jersey Lunchbox, Circle Gherkin’, Clearly Not A Hooker, Worm, Today Is Monday, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Jizziki, Hareless and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Tonight’s small canine contingency consisted of Junk Puncher and Bukkake. Pack out.

The search for trail commenced immediately as there was no marking at the start. After a minute or two of aimless wanderings, on-on was sounded through the parking lot to East Cliff Drive and on-left. A block later, 14th Avenue was dictated on-right and then on-right onto Merrill Street. When Merrill collided with 17th Avenue, a solved check turned the troops on-left all the way to Felt Street. The Eagles reappeared having been dragged down the railroad tracks from 7th Avenue. Both packs were directed across 17th and down Felt to 24th Avenue, on-left there to Portola Drive. Once safely across this busy thoroughfare, we were directed on-right (back) to East Cliff Drive and on-left there to plunge down into the darkness of Sunny Cove Drive. It was there we caught up with our hare-pair serving Beer Check from the trunk of a car. It took a surprisingly long time for the mob to reassemble. Once everyone showed snout, the herd migrated back to Balefire for Religion.

Once everyone settled down, RA Pink Cherry Licker began issuing a series of down-downs. Here’s a sampling thereof: those that did not even ATTEMPT trail; Rat Pussy was honored as our host; Steamy Baanorrhea was punished for chivalry on trail and Puff for sharing a dog biscuit with Bukkake. On-on-on was right here and…oh. The accursed hares. They were thanked for holding Religion at Balefire but nothing (good) was said pertaining to trail. This Hash is over.

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. Do not allow the profound to become the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor remains a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-71.

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-fourth day of October in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Why postpone?

Jersey Lunchbox and Circle Gherkin’ decided to give us a sampling of Hallowe’en by dumping on us a trail of horror. Starting from Parish Publick House should have served as a fore-warning things would not proceed as the standard fare of a Surf City trail. The entertaining company and pleasant weather lulled the litter into a false sense of security. Then again, the hare-pair merely played upon our well-deserved reputation as half-minds. The crew commandeered a table inside the building and for a while it looked like on-on-on. In retrospect, maybe we SHOULD have skipped this trail and did a warmup prelude to AGM. But we didn’t. Half-minds one and all. Eventually Circle Gherkin’ delivered an uninformative version of Instructions of Trail. I feel certain he and Jersey Lunchbox conspired to concoct something so enigmatic, no one in the pack would be able to ascertain it’s true meaning. And they did. And there was no rejoicing. Hares away.

The next fifteen minutes were consumed by basically attempting to not think about what would soon befall us. One thing that would definitely fall upon our little heads would be darkness and it would envelope us long before this trail was completed. Upon finishing what would be our last drink for a long time to come, co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain corralled the clan and shooed us outside to conduct Circleup for Introductions. This action resulted in their hearing from: TIMMY!!, Flours For Anal Bum. Oral D, Pink Cherry Licker, dBASED, International House of Pussy, Steamy Baanorrhea and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. We had a small canine contingency this week consisting of only Junk Puncher and Scratch and Sniff. Pack out.

A pack arrow pointed the pod directly across Almar Avenue and onto Rankin Street. I readily admit that I find it impossible to retain my bearings when in the Circles. That, coupled with the fact we traversed every Locals-Only Alley for ten blocks around dictates what follows will be little more than a collection of uneducated guesses and sheer speculation as to where the hell this trail took us.

We took Rankin until an on-left onto Wilkes Circle. We crossed California, took a couple of treacherous alleys and found ourselves on Gharkey Street. This was soon followed by an on-left onto Continental Street which inexplicably morphs into Palmetta Street in a short time. We barely adjusted to this change before we were directed to make an on-right onto Graham Street. Graham was used until Walk Circle where an on-right and a quick on-left took us down another dark and dangerous alley to Wilkes Circle. We passed across Wilkes continuing on the same alley, still both dark and dangerous, to the innermost of the Circles, Errett.

We completed a half-circle of this circle and went on-right on Pendegast Avenue. Assuming everyone was thoroughly confused, and rightly so, the hounds were done with this large scale circle jerk and we pulled away from the Circles. Pendegast was used until following a hare arrow on-left onto Bethany Curve. The locals on this street must have known some of the Powers that Be as they were able to get this street closed to through traffic years ago. One block along, barricades prevent vehicular traffic, only pedestrians can connect with Bethany Curve in the next block. More to our liking was the fact this short, dark stretch of terrain hosted Beer Check this night. This was, by far, the most pleasurable section of trail thus far.

Soon enough though it was on-out continuing on Bethany Curve towards Monterey Bay. But we were not allowed a view of the Bay, we were directed on-left onto Oxford Way and then on-right onto Woodrow Avenue and again were pointed towards the Bay. But no, no viewing was in store for us. It was on-right onto Pelton Avenue and then on-right onto Clark Avenue. When Clark ends at Columbia Street we were directed on-right. Columbia leads to West Cliff Drive. Even this e-vile hare-pair would now be unable to deny us a view of the Bay. And it was so done, an on-right onto West Cliff Drive was mandated.

The purpose of routing us in such a circuitous manner was soon obvious; we were able to observe up close the damage the January and February ‘atmospheric rivers’ did to this stretch of West Cliff Drive. Major sections are missing never to be seen or heard from ever again. The final disposition of this section is still somewhat in doubt, the major goal now is to at least stabilize the cliffs to prevent further loss of land.

Trail continued along West Cliff until Almar where the Turkey/Eagle split was observed. It’s Turkey time. The Turkey was obviously directly on-up Almar to Garfield Park where Religion was to be staged. There we found short-cutters Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain already joyfully slurping beer from the trough.

dBASED convened Religion and here’s a sampling of down-downs dispersed. There was a convoluted discussion between dBASED and Pink Cherry Licker pertaining to the number ‘one’. One also coincided with the number of checks on this trail! Anyway, the result was dBASED being awarded a down-down; Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain being awarded punitive down-downs for missing Beer Check and Flours For Anal Bum for incessantly repeating the same story multiple times on trail. On-on-on was…wait. The hares. How could I forget those two jokers? Everyone appreciated the section allowing us to see the destruction of West Cliff Drive but I heard no compliments pertaining to the rest of trail. This Hash is over. On-on-on was back at Parish Public House which was a college gathering point and even more so since the demise of Burger.

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. Do not allow the profound to become the enemy of the interesting.

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.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mine i recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-70.

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 seventeenth day of October in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Greetings,

Under normal circumstances I would be happy as a pig-in-poop to be home from the Olde South having survived another high school reunion and upon returning home having won my first bout with COVID but considering my welcome home was a trip to The Over-the-Hill Gang Saloon followed by the pursuit of Steamy Baanorrhea I must say this was a less than stellar return to the world of Hashdom. While you may consider that a harsh condemnation of such a nice man as Steamy Baanorrhea but by the conclusion of this Trash you, too, may come to believe he is a wolf in sheep’s attire.

So, here we are(here we are) at the venerable Over-the-Hill Gang Saloon. While it has endured a number of ownership changes throughout it’s life, it seems the clientele has remained the same: inebriated! I could also mention loud and unruly but that seems redundant. The only hasher I saw sitting inside was Flours For Anal Bum. Worse yet, one of the men sitting at the bar actually knew her mortal moniker. Makes one wonder if she may be leading a dual identity, doesn’t it? She did soon join the clan in the outdoor drinkin’ area though.

Okay, we’ve all moved outside, it breezy and much cooler that the darkened interior. On the plus side, that saves the owners from ever having to clean the place. That may actually be a good thing for the patrons as well, one may truly not wish to see what the place really looks like anyway. We have been graced with our Founder’s presence, that being Banana Basher. His long-suffering wife, Bailas con Burros, is wise enough to not give him a hall pass very often. For the first time in quite a while, he served a useful purpose at a Hash; he cradled Bukkake while Clearly Not A Hooker ventured indoors to get a libation. Dog sitter. Finally an endeavor at which he can be at least partially successful. dBASED has returned from his tour of the Southwest, he even developed a slight drawl. Today Is Monday and The Arabian Goggler abandoned the FHAC-U and the Valley heat to enjoy a trip to the beach. We apologized to them for the fact Steamy Baanorrhea was the best we could do for a hare. After a week recuperation time, Just Piper joined us again from the other side of Monterey Bay and brought her little little doggie Taylor. I assume she is now aware of the need for protection while visiting the Surf City kennel. This sets the table for another feast-or-famine Surf City trail.

Steamy delivered his usual lackluster Instructions of Trail. He was somewhat vague on details. I do not know if that was due to the fact he was not happy with his trail or simply due to his sucking on his flask too deeply. That question will be answered along trail I assume. Hare away.

With only the slightest interruption, the pack returned to socializing. Bar tabs were settled, running and walking alliances were forged and tacos from the food truck next door were scarfed. At the appointed time, just arrived co-GM Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions which resulted in responding barks from: Banana Basher, Flours For Anal Bum, TIMMY!!, Pink Cherry Licker, dBASED, The Arabian Goggler, Today Is Monday, Clearly Not A Hooker, Cum, U Will Not!, Just Piper, Circle Gherkin’, Jersey Lunchbox, International House of Pussy and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. We had a canine contingency almost large enough to form it’s own pack: Spot’d Dick, Junk Puncher, Bukkake, Scratch and Sniff and Taylor. Pack out.

Trail took the troops on-right from the Saloon to 38th Avenue where a whichy-way wanted us to on-left all the way to a check at the railroad tracks. Yes, of course, it was on-left onto the railroad tracks. This lasted until 30th Avenue where a grouping of conflicting markings frustrated the FRBs. More on this fiasco during Religion. Eventually on-left proved correct and at Portola Drive an on-left was mandated one short half-block followed by an on-right to continue on 30th. This continued until an on-right onto the Moran Lake Trail, Moron Lake in Hash parlance. It was along here, now in full-on darkness, Liquor Check was staged.

This trail was taken to East Cliff Drive where we were directed on-left and just past the lake it was on-left again on a path that took us around the lake and then back to East Cliff Drive. At Rockview Drive we were pointed on-right and then on-left onto a locals-only path. But instead of going to the cliff as usual, we jumped a set of stairs and went through half a dozen yards past numerous groups of people enjoying themselves. That happiness did NOT extend to us though. Eventually we came to another set of stairs that took us across Pleasure Point Drive back to East Cliff Drive and an-on-right there. This scenic jaunt lasted until 36th Avenue where the pod was pointed on-left. This took us all the way to Beer Check/Religion behind the Cat and Cloud on Portola. After the Walkers walked in, Pink Cherry Licker assembled her Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of those that visited with her this night.

Those that followed and old trail were mocked; Jersey Lunchbox chastised for laying a hare arrow; those that missed Liquor Check were mocked; backsliders were punished; Analversaries were recognized and those that did not have enough of a half-mind to bring a torch were punished. On-on-on was…sorry. The hare. Steamy Baanorrhea was thanked for volunteering to lay this trail only last week. No mention of trail quality was made though. On-on-on was at Taqueria Vallarta on 41st Avenue. This Hash is over.

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. Do not allow the profound to become the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor remains a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind that I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-69.

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 tenth day of October in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe