We ranged far from home at the Rangeside Bar,

But did not feel ‘home on the range’ with Occasional Rapist and dBASED clubbing us with their hard wood. Scribe wishes he had gone to the driving range rather than being driven to the edge of extinction by this hare-pair. I do not include my friend Junk Puncher in the same clan as the dastardly-duo of humanoids. Here’s what the other two did to the pack.

The Rangeside Bar is a great place, sunny most of the time and has libations a-plenty to satisfy even the most discriminating palate. True to it’s reputation, the sun was out and the livin’ was easy high atop the hill housing DeLaveaga Golf Course, Driving Range and Disc Golf Course. Between the drinks and Dr. Midnight cookies, everyone seemed quite complacent. This is the usual ploy by hares not completely convinced their trail will prove acceptable.

Believing the pack had consumed sufficient alcohol, co-hares Occasional Rapist and dBASED(with Junk Puncher hiding behind them) delivered Instructions of Trail. It almost appeared the one hare did not know what the other was going to do or that they had two separate trails in mind. In the final analysis, it may HAVE been better if these two hares had not attempted to coordinate their respective trails. Hares away.

The next fifteen was spent finishing drinks, settling bar tabs and attempting to finish off the Dr. Midnight cookies. We were unsuccessful in the latter endeavor but TIMMY!! ‘volunteered’ to stash the uneaten cookies in his backpack. How magnanimous of him! After the passage of the fifteen, in the absence of our GMs, Pink Cherry Licker called for Circleup for Introductions and consequently heard from: Flours For Anal Bum, Cum,U Will Not!, Steamy Baanorrhea, TIMMY!, Oral D, Clearly Not a Hooker and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. This minuscule mob denotes the severe lack of faith the flock has in these two hares. Our lone canine companion was Spot’d Dick as Junk Puncher was co-haring. Pack out.

Trail progressed on-out to Upper Park Road and on-right all the way to Brookwood Drive and there it was on-left and (way) on-up to Hole 27 on the Disc Golf Course, colloquially called Top of the World. After a brief respite, the gang soldiered on and were directed on-left and on-down to La Corona Trail and on-left at that juncture. La Corona continues and then continues a lot more. There was only one interesting aspect and that was the word ‘look’ laid in flour along trail. It pointed up the side of the hill.

After the above was viewed, La Corona led us on as it had previously. Eventually it was on-left onto Wizard Hat followed by a quick on-left onto Enchanted Trail followed by an equally quick on-right onto DeLaveaga Upper Loop Trail. Mercifully soon, an on-left yielded into a parking lot opposite the clubhouse and it was here we encountered the hares chugging Beer Check beer.

After sufficient recuperation time, Pink Cherry Licker began Religion. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this evening: Cum,U Will Not! for falling down the hill leaving W2B Sunday; Cum,U Will Not! for finding a Yoda walking stick which was more fit for Gandalf; Oral D for not attending W2B in favor of a long weekend of unbridled sexual activity(!); a group of harriettes that followed PCL on trail; the Eagles were honored; TIMMY!! and Puff simply for being so damned old and analversaries were recognized. Oh. Hares. We loved the start location but let’s skip trail next time. This Hash is over. On-on-on was at Taqueria Santa Cruz conveniently located directly across the street from the One-Double-Oh-Seven.

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 mind i recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-59.

By Special Appointment of His Royal Majesty ‘G’, this Hash Trash has been compiled and printed by permission of no one other that the author at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the third day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen.

Sunday, Funday,

And Wharf to Barf begins to wind down, something many of us have begun personally as well. Three days of hashing can tax even the most vigorous amongst us and when you stack a fourth upon it…well, certainly no good can come of such. There is substantial proof supporting that assertion and, sadly, I find it necessary for me to throw it at you. Here goes…

Festivities began at 7AM at the abode of Bailas Con Burros and Banana Basher. Their driveway filled with staggering zombie hashers questing for doughnuts and other sweets plus, but of course, some hair of the dog to wake them up for the final day of Wharf to Barf. That will soon prove to have not been an especially wise decision for more than a few of them. Around 7:45 those that intended to attend BS H3 #8 departed down Cayuga on a collision course with Brady’s Yacht Club and especially the bar contained therein. Upon our arrival, the bar was utilized as it should be and then the party moved to the outdoor drinkin’ area as time for the racists to appear approached. The eight o’clock hour arrived and phones were viewed for a live video feed of the the FRBs leaving the Boardwalk and powering in our direction.

In a few shakes of a lamb’s tail, the assembled throng farther down Seabright were heard to cheer as the leaders crested the hill on East Cliff Drive and thundered up Seabright at a blistering rate of speed. They passed quickly followed by a smattering of people, cognizant by this point in time they were outgunned by the leaders. There was then a brief lull, an occasional runner, but mostly quiet. A few minutes later a 2.5 on the Richter was felt as a herd of sixteen thousand approached. It was quite a while until they all passed this point, some intermittently walking by now, around the one and three-quarter mile mark. Their passage completed, the pack migrated along behind them to Johnny’s Harborside where we encountered a lonely Fap Jack whom could do nothing more than watch his business pass by. After a brief interlude here(for drinks!) the gang took to the streets again following course. A brief stop at Starbuck’s was followed by more traipsing which eventually brought the brood to the corner of 30th Avenue and Calla Drive. Many of you are now chanting Wicked Retahted, Wicked Retahted! However, we were directly across Calla at the home of Circle Gherkin’ and Just Meghan. Upon our arrival, Just Meghan announced she was going whale watching. (Anything to avoid us, I assume!) Gherkin’ joined us though and we soon exited for Brommer Street Park and the next hash on today’s agenda, Surf City hash Twelve-58.

Once there the BS H3 hashers joined the Surf City hashers and merged into one big kennel. After partaking of some munchies, hare Broke Bench Mountain delivered Instructions of Trail and claimed trail was short, flat and fast. I believe most hounds deemed it otherwise. Hare away.

Fifteen later co-GM Cumz Out My Nose called for Circleup for Introductions resulting hearing from: Hareless, Banana Basher, Bailas Con Burros, Dung-Fu Grip, Circle Gherkin’, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Cum,U Will Not!, dBASED, Steamy Baanorrhea, Shallow Hole, Pink Cherry Licker, Princess Di(arrhea), Thmp-Thmp, Carlos Danger, Snake Me Anywhere, Flours For Anal Bum, Hugh Heifer, Got Wood?, Sperm Donor, Ho to Housewife, Waxi-pad, Pink Cherry Licker, Baker’s Dozen’t, Virgin Mike and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency was ably represented by Scratch and Sniff, Bitey McFuck-You, Spot’d Dick, Esperanza and Shitty Cat. Pack out.

Trail crossed 30th Avenue and trespassed through the private property of an apartment complex. Mercifully, no residents took notice of us. Once to Brommer Street it was on-left to Thompson Avenue and on-right there until Thompson ends at the railroad tracks. There it was on-right back to 30th Avenue. Once back to Brommer it was on-left and then on-left and on-up into an illegal pump track we have visited many times before.

After concluding our business here it was back across Brommer to the Park for a face feed followed by Religion. There was a sufficient quantity of remaining meat and veggie burgers plus munchies to satisfy even the most discriminating pallet amongst us. Then Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip acquired an area to act as their altar and cranked up their Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of the results: Everyone that completed all 4 days of W2B; Baker’s for garnering the Watermelon Head Award, Bacon Queef and Puff for helping Baker’s transport the Award to the park today; Virgin Mike was welcomed; racists were punished, those that were attending their first W2B; Broke Bench auctioned off his nipple tape; Flours for unintentionally meeting the pack on trail at last year’s W2B for her first Hash, backsliders were punished. It was then Dung-Fu asked if there was any other Hash business to attend to. ( I suggest fastening your seat belt and using both hands on your drink, the ride gets a little dicey now!) Hareless said, Yes, she believed it should be known Dung-Fu dipped his dick in glitter!My first thought was that I didn’t care in the least where Dung-Fu dips his dick. Please keep the details of the wanderings of your massive member within the confines of your clothing. This sentiment was immediately followed by the rhetorical query as to how Hareless would be in possession of such knowledge, seemingly highly private and personal. I then began to wonder what other perversities these two deviates commonly engage in. I became fearful of even fantasizing about such though. Such thoughts were curtailed by watching as Dung-Fu, eyes locked on Hareless and hers staring somewhat lower, slowly dropped trou to verify his nether region did indeed sparkle with glitter. Was this dousing of the dick, Dung-Fu’s divining rod, a post-coitus ritual these two libertines routinely observe? While I do not wish to attain the answer, I must say I find the possible permutations truly intriguing! (Stop holding your breath now and remove your hand from between your legs!) Next on the agenda was thanks being conveyed to all those that made W2B so a raging success and then lastly was the condemnation of the hare for a trail far too long for the Hangover Hash. This Hash is over. (Except for your expanding fantasies)

(Ed. note: Dung-Fu was the first to leave, some clean-up to be performed prior to reporting for work at Steel Bonnet? Where’s Hareless?!?)

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 ant end I desired. It was with this motive in mine I recounted the events that comprised Breakfast Shots H3 Hash Eight and Surf City H3 Hash Twelve-58.

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 thirty-first day of July in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Wharf to Barf Saturday,

Arguably the highlight of our four day extravaganza. However, sadly, today’s hare-pair, that being the dynamic(dastardly?) duo of Dung-Fu Grip and Baker’s Dozen’t insured that this day and it’s trail will soon be forgotten and no one will remember them by next year’s W2B. You may be thinking, Hey, wait! I’ve heard Scribe contend it is not possible to lay a poor trail through a Redwood forest. You are correct, I did utter such. As you now know though, these two heroes (heathens?) were adroitly able to avoid the nearby Redwoods and show us only huge hills, ankle-snapping roots and rocks, impressive plots of poison oak, open fields and, for the coup-de-grace, meet in a friggin’ cemetery for Beer Check. Not an especially enticing lineup of attractions, is it? Let’s piece together the pieces though and view the tapestry they created for us.

We had obtained Buckeye picnic area in Harvey West Park. I’m certain the person securing the reservation gave the club description as Running Club rather than saying Hash Club. We have had a number of encounters with the Powers the Be in City government over the past two-plus decades and we always come away with the short( and shitty) end of the stick. But today we are here and happy for it. The weather is spectacular even if a tad warm for we Cruzans. We spread our belongings around the entire area and illegally brought every canine we could secure to maximize the barking, fighting and playing to which we could be subjected.

We had thirty-plus half-minds in attendance, a large enough pack to have a few FRB’s but not so many trouble-makers as to attract unwanted attention. Accoutrements were donned as appropriate as the gang awaited Instructions of Trail. Sufficiently far beyond the advertised hares-out time to be perturbing, co-hares Dung-Fu Grip and Baker’s Dozen’t delivered Instructions of Trail detailing what terror might befall us today during our visit to Sleeparound Camp. There was a disgruntled spirit within the surrounding wood. A Hasher who became lost on a shitty trail and died before being found by the trail sweepers. In an act of retribution, he now diligently pursues all Hashers he sees and slays them thinking they are the hares that condemned him to his lonely existence. Hares away.

The next fifteen, or so, were devoted to an increased level of drinking due to 1) fear trail would be shitty, 2) the temperature everyone’s phone kept telling them it was and 3) fear trail would be shitty. Finally co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions which resulted in hearing from:Occasional Rapist, TIMMY!!, Hareless, Gary the Shit Stain, Bailas Con Burros, Missile Anus, Banana Basher, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Worm, Cum,U Will Not!, dBASED, Steamy Baanorrhea, Shallow Hole, Pink Cherry Licker, 32 Ring Circus, Princess Di(arrhea), Thmp-Thmp, Dual Tools up My Ass, Shanghiney, Waxi-pad, Pumpin’ Uglies, DogBreath, Sticky Dick and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. We had a nice size canine contingency today: Spot’d Dick, Junk Puncher, Bitey McFuck-You and Scratch and Sniff. Pack out.

Trail proceeded along the edge of the picnic area and circled on-right through Friendship Garden Picnic area and then began an on-up into the outer reaches of Pogonip via Harvey West Trail. At the Turkey/Eagle split, the Eagles continued on-up towards UCSC campus. In this heat?!? No, thanks. Scribe will gobble today. Turkeys continued on Harvey West Trail and then on-left onto Lookout Trail to Spring Trail and on-left there. Man, was it ever hot through this open space. Of course, there was no BN in sight. Spring Trail was used until Hagar Drive where an on-left was indicated onto Hagar Court. There is a locals-only path to Limestone Lane we used next followed by another locals-only path to Quarry Lane. It was on-right at Quarry Lane then on-left onto Spring Street followed one block later by an on-right onto Meadow Road.

Not far along Meadow the Turkeys caught the sole surviving Walker, Pink Cherry Licker. PCL said all the other Walkers gave up on trail long ago and she was tired and lonely. PCL joined the Turkeys for the remainder of trail. Trail, as I’m certain you have already ascertained, took Meadow and then went on-down into Wagner Grove.

Once back to the start we noticed arrows pointed us on-right towards Evergreen Cemetery. We entered the cemetery and took the ADA walkway to Glory Path and were turned on-right and on-up to the area in front of the Heath crypt. There were found our hares and a number of short-cutters sucking away on Beer Check beer. We hung around the graves for a while before heading back to the picnic site for Religion and food. The face feed came first. The French fries were salvaged by Broke Bench. It seems the deep fryer loaned by Fap Jack had a hole in it! That makes it incredibly difficult to use. Aluminum pans were pressed into service and were made to suffice.

After hashers had eaten everything is sight, Dung-Fu Grip and Pink Cherry Licker seized a picnic table as an altar and started punishing hashers. Here’s a summary of down-downs issued this day: backsliders were punished, those that made horror movie jokes, those that honored the slasher theme for the day, TIMMY!! for blood on trail, Baker’s Dozen’t for extreme intoxication on the pub crawl last night, those that gave up on trail, those that cooked today were honored, Virgin Ryan was welcomed, Watermelon head nominees: DogBreath, Fap Jack, Arabian Goggler and Baker’s Dozen’t, Baker’s Dozen’t won the award, analversaries, Steamy Baanorrhea for taking over the pub crawl when Clearly Not A Hooker fell ill and lastly, the accursed hares, Dung-Fu Grip and his criminal accomplice Baker’s Dozen’t. Nice Beer Check location but little was mentioned about trail itself. 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-57, Wharf to Barf Saturday.

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-eighth day of July in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

First Night Wharf to Barf,

It was almost the LAST for a few of us. Original hare Clearly Not A Hooker, sensing how horrific events could be, plead(feigned?) COVID and handed haring to Steamy Baanorrhea. Steamy claims he retained Hooker’s original battle plan. If that is true, there’s another good reason for the Hooker not to hare, it was a convoluted trail! How perplexing was it? Read on.

Steamy assembled the mob at Abbott Square. A few met beside the Octagon Building as we always have previously. They were then informed the majority of the pack was outside the Cooper bar. As soon as they arrived, the pack AGAIN moved to the alleyway leading to the Secret Garden behind the Museum. Well, I guess we were always destined to end up in a damn alley anyway.

Drinking here was staggered between the arrival of different hounds but eventually Steamy set out on the next leg of trail. This would take us through the arcade to Pacific Avenue and on-left. At Cathcart it was on-left and at Front Street it was on-right. Hmmm…there aren’t really any bars in this direction, maybe Hooker’s home? Possibly, but this damn hare is walkin’ us all over the damn place. Down Front, on-left on Laurel Street and over the river(and through the woods to Hooker’s house we go?) On-right on San Lorenzo Boulevard and an immediate on-left and on-down the steps to Barson Street. Just past Riverside Avenue, we came to determine, a car had parked since the hare’s passing and the pack consequently missed a mark. Backtracking, the flour was spied and the troops turned onto Riverside and DID go to Hooker’s home. She was home too, sitting in the backyard with her PPE mask on. We thanked her for loaning us her yard then proceeded to mess it up.

Eventually it was on-out time. We continued along Riverside across Broadway and then Soquel Avenue to the Hindquarter. Here the patio area was completely commandeered. This appeared to be a standard stop until Pink Cherry Licker pulled out the components necessary to manufacture a penis. Yes, it was build-your-own time. I fear we may have some bizarrely constructed kennel mates if the organs configured by some of our harriers were patterned after their own members! I’ll let their partners deal with that though.

Upon our exit from this establishment we traveled on-right on Dakota Avenue where the Hooker made sure Puff’s hovel was pointed out. Luckily for me, it is gated and I am on an upper floor. Then it was through San Lorenzo Park and over the River and on-right on the levee. Any chance the intent is to invade the Rush Inn? Yes, of COURSE it was. And we did. And there was much rejoicing. There were but few regulars in attendance at this early hour so the pack could raise a ruckus and not cause too much consternation among common clientele. After securing sufficient pitchers, the party moved to the outdoor drinkin’ area where the party burst into full swing.

We raged for quite a while here until Steamy decided it was time for the next venue. This required us to cross Mission Street, always a sketchy undertaking, and on-right to Cedar Street and on-left to the Red Room. It was not full-on dark and the animals began to emerge from beneath their rocks. A large area was mandated to house the hounds. It was here demon rum began to exact it’s toll. A considerable amount of singing and dancing was perpetrated. The Flash will contain evidence thereof. However, it was soon decided one more stop was in order.

I’ll bet you know where it was as well, none other than The Jury Room. Once there, the deterioration of sanity and sobriety manifested itself in most unpleasant methods. Baker’s Dozen’t, or what small amount of humanity that remained within his shell, put the moves on 32 Ring Circus. She, however, wanted more than a cheek kissing and soon abandoned him in search of more worthwhile prey. Pink Cherry Licker floated a dollar bill, possibly counterfeit, for those still capable of making their ‘X’ and stuck it to the wall.

Upon returning from the bathroom, Scribe found Baker’s Dozen’t joyfully sucking away on my beer. I am done for the night!!

The preceding was a (alcohol-clouded) 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 mine I recounted the (sad) events that comprised Hash Twelve-56.

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-sixth day of July in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Sand gets in your shoes,

Plus any uninhabited bodily space nearby. Make your own assumptions as to which ones that could encompass. The only inhabited spaces this night were the ones for vehicle parking. A Summer Thursday at the Crow’s Nest with the weekly beach party in progress was just the first of many serious errors perpetrated by this hare-pair this evening. Details to follow…

Alcohol was not allowed on the patio area so hounds either brought their own or, devious bastards that they are, went next door to the Beach Market, bought a can and dragged it back to the start.

The weather was stellar and the gang grew. Shallow Hole and Shitty Cat came over-the-hill a day early for W2B. Princess Di(arrhea) is wearing her bionic body parts as if she was born with them. But as for the hares…Cum, U Will Not! is known as a theme hasher. Consequently, tonight we honor Booty Camp, wear your camouflage. Only Broke Bench Mountain is allowed to wear a camiSOLE! Additionally, co-hare Circle Gherkin’ claims to have injured his leg. He also blushes when asked how such occurred. The pack smells prelay. Quite a while after their advertised 6:33 on-out time, Instructions of Trail were delivered. They were rather mundane, exactly in line with how this trail is expected to proceed. Hares out.

The next fifteen passed as routinely as possible when expecting a substandard trail. In other words, additional imbibing. Upon completion of additional alcoholic reinforcement, co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and this is the results: dBASED, Flours For Anal Bum, Occasional Rapist, Hugh Heifer, Shallow Hole, TIMMY!!, Steamy Baanorrhea, Thmp-Thmp, Princess Di(arrhea), Dung-Fu Grip, Boneless Shelter, Pink Cherry Licker and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency this week was Happy, Junk Puncher, Shitty Cat and Scratch and Sniff. Spot’d Dick was co-haring. Pack out.

We proceeded towards Twin Lakes State Beach but only one block. It was then on-left and on-up Assembly Avenue. This street SHOULD be named Unassembled Avenue because it is littered with potholes and more closely resembles one of the unpaved alleys in the Seabright area than passage meant for a vehicle. At Eaton Street we were pointed on-right to Seventh Avenue and on-left there. Not far up Seventh, LC sign was viewed and it was on-right into Twin Lakes Park. In the dark, dreary hind end of the park, Liquor Check was staged. Upon finishing here it was back to Seventh and on-right to Brommer Street where the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. The Eagles continued on-up Seventh Avenue and went on-left and eventually into Arana Gulch Greenbelt. The Turkeys went on-left towards the Harbor. Once down in the bowels, it was on-right and onto Marsh Vista Trail through Arana Gulch, on-right onto Broadway-Brommer Trail which circles around and back to the Harbor. Once there it was across the top of the Harbor and on-right down to Cumz and Broke Bench’s yacht for Beer Check.

Miraculously, no one got motion sickness and tossed their cookies overboard. We were thankful for that and soon migrated to Twin Lakes Beach for Religion. Once here, and graciously given an already-roaring fire courtesy of some people leaving, Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip fired up Religion. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued: those that honored the Booty Camp theme; backsliders were punished and those that wore matching camo shirts. Yeah, I know. I must recognize the hares. They, too, were called to the altar and chided for starting trail in this location but then told the fire on the beach almost redeemed them. On-on-on was right here needless to say. 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 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 mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-55.

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-fifth day of July in the year of our Hash tow-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

The heat is on,

I only wish it were sufficient to fricassee the hare-pair we were burdened with for this trail. We coagulated at Seabright Social, that’s Seabright Brewery for you old timers, and this was the only time we felt social towards these hares all evening. Both Pink Cherry Licker and Baker’s Dozen’t are nice people so you may find my judgement rather harsh. I can, however, produce evidence to support this assertion. Peruse forward.

The mob assembled on the patio area of Seabright Social and caught the final sunlight before the sun dropped behind the building wall. The air immediately cooled. As Instructions of Trail were distributed, the temperature became downright frigid. There were some extravagant promises made(none of which were fulfilled) and trail was to be short as well. The only hound that found trail to be short was Hareless who became disgusted by Liquor Check and went the hell home. Hares away.

Much socializing was perpetrated after the hares’ departure. This frequently is to allay fears that trail will prove to be less than promised and, even possibly, no fun as well. After settling beer tabs, co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responses from: dBASED, TIMMY!!, Occasional Rapist, Steamy Baanorrhea, Cum, U Will Not!, Oral D, Taco Tramp, Virgin Johnny, Dung-Fu Grip, Hareless, Hairy Potter and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency this week was Scratch and Sniff, Spot’d Dick and Junk Puncher. Pack out.

Trail took the troops on-left from the patio on-up Seabright Avenue to an on-left onto Logan Street. This lasted but a block to an on-right onto Mountain View Avenue. The next street, Pine Street, yielded and on-right and once back to Seabright, on-left we went. This, too, lasted but one block and then it was on-right onto Clinton Street. Again, one block and it was on-left onto Darwin Street. Let’s not change now, one block later it was on-right onto Windham Street. Next, and you could probably see this one coming, one block later was an on-left onto Fredrick Street.

We were now allowed to continue ahead until Hanover Street where the pod was pointed on-left. As you know, the palatial castle belonging to Bacon Queef and Just Foot Pussy is located on this street but marker in front of the door indicated no Beer Check available. Reportedly there was some obscene interaction between JFP and a few hounds but I dare not repeat such without having witnessed it myself. That being said, if I HAD seen this event, I probably STILL would not detail it as I do not wish to be known as a party to such an indecent event!

Trail continued along Hanover. Beside the skating rink were two (mostly) empty Modelo Especial bottles. Rumors were spread someone partially refilled one of these bottles but again, as Scribe did not personally witness an event of such vulgar magnitude I shan’t repeat it. At Seabright, our third visit of the evening, it was on-right to Soquel Avenue and on-left at Lillian’s Italian Restaurant followed by an on-left onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Could we be on track to invade the abode of Dung-Fu Grip? Yes, we were and we DID. Liquor Check was staged on the stage of his carport.

Upon completion of our appointed rounds here, trail on-outed on Pennsylvania to Broadway and across. The hares resumed their previous strategy. One block past Broadway it was on-right onto Windsor Street. One block later it was on-left onto Pine Street. One block later, on-right onto Windham Street. One block later, on-left onto Caledonia. one block later, yet again, it was on-left onto Pleasant Street. Scribe is now getting dizzy. One block later, on-right (back) onto Pine Street. Is there no end to this madness?!? I capitulate!

(ONE) Block later at our favorite five-way intersection, that being Pine, Cayuga and Buena Vista, trail took the troops on-right onto Buena Vista. I need not tell you how many blocks later we were directed on-left onto Idaho Avenue and the appropriate number of blocks later on-right onto Seaview Avenue. Miraculously, Seaview was abused until it’s terminus followed by an on-left onto Hiawatha. Hiawatha makes a pair of ninety degree wiggles and ends at Mountain View where an on-right yielded to a locals-only path across the railroad tracks to Murray Street. At Murray Street (DGK) we crossed and proceeded on-right to East Cliff Drive. There we were led on-left and on-down to what is colloquially called Princes Park as it overlooks the mouth of the San Lorenzo River where three Hawaiian princes introduced surfing to North America in 1885. Beer check…finally.

While we were here, a black-and-white pulled up. Beers were rapidly and cleverly hidden. In the end though it was found they were there to discuss a gentleman’s state of intoxication with him. He had climbed the fence onto San Lorenzo Point and was yelling loudly and getting precipitously close to the precipice. They whisked him away. Back to Beer Check duties.

Upon completion of our duty here, we motivated to the Museum of Natural History, colloquially called the Whale Museum, to stage Religion. By the time we arrived, we’d lost two harriettes, Pink Cherry Licker and Hareless, both of whom claimed not to be feeling well. Pink Cherry Licker checked in the next day with not only COVID but strep as well. YIKES!

Dung-Fu Grip took the stage, literally as well as figuratively, at the museum as Religious Adviser. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs issued this night: backsliders were punished, Cumz Out My Nose was congratulated on completing trail in it’s entirety on her new knees, those that beat on Just Foot Pussy’s door were recognized, Virgin Johnny was welcomed, Virgin Johnny was also mocked for catching a bag of dog poop tossed him by Broke Bench. And the hares, they were told the one-block turn trail was interesting but did not salvage an otherwise shitty trail. This Hash is over.

On-on-on was convened (again) at Engfer’s Pizza. Liz was unable to turn off the lights quickly enough I guess!

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.

Scribe 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-54.

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 eighteenth day of July in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe