A picture is worth a thousand words.

Old cliche but nonetheless applicable in this situation. The featured picture in this week’s Trash supports the title of this edition. This picture is the ‘Chalk Talk’ Jersey Lunchbox gave the pack prior to on-out. That was considerate, however, there were two caveats. One, only a small percentage of the pack was told they should listen and two, due either to their level of intoxication or innate laziness, the hares altered the meaning of some of these marks without giving advance notice to the pursuing pack. Please observe, if it please ya, two of the marks, top row towards the right side. You will no doubt recognize the hare arrow and the check, minus the ubiquitous flour. Now notice the three marks to the left of the hare arrow. The middle one is a complete arrow while the marks on either side have but one barb on the left side. You are only able to discriminate between them by size. As trail progressed, our standard hare arrow lost one of it’s barbs and morphed into what we generally call a pack arrow. Additionally, the check first lost it’s flour and then eventually progressed to merely an open circle minus the ‘X’, what we had heretofore referred to as a back check mark. We know there are no rules in hashing, merely traditions. However, I believe it incumbent upon the hare(s) that notice be given the pack that traditions may change at any time, even while the trail itself is in progress. More on the tragic consequences of our hares behavior later.

Driving up Mora Street to the start, I followed a very slow moving black-and-white. He pulled to the left side of the road near where Steamy Baanorrhea was holding court. I drove on past and gave no thought whatsoever to parking close by. Words were exchanged and then the constable motored away. Apparently there was a woman of dubious mental faculties walking along the sidewalk whom earlier had caused some concern among local residents. The officer requested Steamy to phone in if any more commotion arose. Not an especially auspicious beginning to the hash.

It was well after 6PM until more hounds began to appear. As a matter of fact even by 6:20 it was looking like a single digit number of hounds. Expectations were apparently very low for this hare-pair. Not long after 6:33, Jersey Lunchbox slithered away to leave Just John to answer the question as to what the hell was going on. His only response was that Jersey had left requiring additional time and he would leave soon. When your hares have no more respect for tradition than this, we should have surmised trail would be equally as insulting. Eventually we noticed Just John had sneaked away and co-GM Broke Bench Mountain placed him on the clock. The next fifteen minutes, or however the hell long it actually was, passed unremarkably and were finished by a call for Circleup for Introductions. This resulted in responding barks from: Clearly Not A Hooker, International House of Pussy, Cunt Double, Cum You Will Not, Snake Me Anywhere, Pink Cherry Licker, 2 Dicks Down, Steamy Baanorrhea, Flours For Anal Bum, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, TIMMY!!, Beequeefer, Courtesy Flush and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canines this week were Scratch and Sniff and Spot’d Dick. Pack out.

The Turkey/Eagle split was right at the start. Eagles on-left on-up towards Holy Cross Church and Turkeys on-right on-up the pedestrian path. We never lost sight of each other!

The gaggle reunited a hundred yards later at the pedestrian bridge crossing over Highway 1. A second Turkey/Eagle split was found just across the bridge. It would appear the Eagles will challenge Wagner Grove, that does not interest me in the dead of night, let’s gobble with the Turkeys. The turkeys continued on High Street and took the first on-left, Highland Avenue, followed by an on-right onto King Street. We ran with the King until Walnut where an on-left was dictated and then the dangerous crossing of Mission Street. TIMMY!! even crossed against the signal. Walnut was taken until the steps on-left that lead on-up to Towne Terrace. This brought the brood back to Mission Street where we went on-right to Chrystal Terrace and on-right. This brought us to an unauthorized walkway past an apartment building to Pine Place where an arrow pointed the pod on-right onto the pedestrian walkway on Locust Street. There, resting on their haunches, we found the hare-pair swilling PBR. This began an extended Beer Check as we could certainly not abandon the beer until at least one Eagle arrived. We were able to get the hares out though. Once a Eagle landed, the Turkeys were out and on-down to Chestnut Street soon followed by the Eagles.

We were able to trace trail on-left on Chestnut, on-right on Union Street and then on-left to violate the grounds of City Hall. When we arrived at Locust Street, we found an open circle marking. The interpretation of such varied from hound to hound. In short, the pack scattered to the four winds. Rumor Control contends trail was later discovered on Cedar Street, on-right at Mission and on-left across to North Pacific. This account, too, varies from hound to hound. We did, however, reunite and cross Mission to North Pacific.

You can probably see what’s on the menu next: the Anthony stairs on-up to School Street. Once we regained our breath, it was a short on-in back to the start on Mora Street behind Holy Cross Church. Once everyone was home, Pink Cherry Licker started her Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued: Beequeefer as an extreme backslider; Broke Bench Mountain for forgetting the words to, My Name Is Jack; Cunt Double and Courtesy Flush as lookalikes; Jersey Lunchbox for flashing at Beer Check(might be a hare-first for Surf City!); Flours for Anal Bum for dropping a beer bottle on trail. We also had a naming. Just John has fulfilled the requisite requirements and has morphed into…Circle Gherking. Welcome. Oh, the hares. Everyone appreciated the scenic trail but no one expressed affection for the morphing marks. This compelled the RA to end this Hash and I hereby do so for this Trash as well.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possible not as they actually happened. 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 to not complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this goal in mind I recounted the components that comprised Hash Twelve-19.

By Special appointment of His Royal Majesty ‘G’, the 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-third day of November in the year of our Hash two thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

New year,

Same old… We have now began our twenty-third year of existence and have done so on a rather interesting excursion. Pink Cherry Licker, Dung-Fu Grip and Fap Jack billed this as the Wizard Staff Hash. It took three wizards to pull this thing off but in the end it was the pack that REALLY got the staff. Maybe that should be ‘shaft’.

It is now completely dark when we arrive at the start and this past week the pack remained in the dark when it came to precisely how this outing was to operate. That was not entirely due to our incompetence either, most of the blame goes to the hare trio. They even appeared somewhat confused as to how many Beer Checks there would be. Enough of the preliminaries though, the quicker we wade through this thing, the quicker we can bathe and wash the memory of it away.

Here we are, standing in the dark at the gaping mouth of Arana Gulch dodging maniacal bikers as they careen in and amongst the pack. Our canines are going crazy as they scent coyotes, skunks and cow manure. Our chances of surviving the evening with no casualties is decreasing by the minute. The GMs are the last to arrive and park in a red zone. Most hashers are appropriately attired in their finest(only?) wizard attire and they have all brought their shafts, even the females.

Just as it got dark to the point we needed flashlights to see each other, the hare trio strode to a nearby bench and hopped aboard. Here they delivered disheveled, disjointed Instructions of Trail saying a hare would be found at each of the five Beer Checks. We were told, Don’t spend any time at these interim Beer Checks but make sure to drink your beer and tape it to your growing staff. Sounds difficult to not take any time at a Beer Check but drink a beer nonetheless. There was, reputedly, an ‘official’ Beer Check where we would find all the hares. Just wait till you get an eyeful of where the beer was stashed though. Hares-out.

The next 15 minutes was passed attempting to make sense of what Instructions of Trail REALLY meant. This was done mostly by making jokes of what the hares had said. To clarify, this was not that we found what they had said was funny, this was just an example of how humans frequently joke about things that they either don’t understand or that simply scare them.

Circleup for Introductions was called for by co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain resulting in responding barks from: Flour For Anal Bum, TIMMY!!, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Steamy Baanorrhea, Hareless, dBASED, Occasional Rapist, Rubik’s Pube, Snake Me Anywhere, Just John, Cum You Will Not, International House of Pussy, Clearly Not A Hooker and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our happy canine contingency consisted of Scratch and Sniff, Swamp Rat, Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. Pack out.

Following the hares, we strode deeper into Arana Gulch, took the bridge towering over Hageman Gulch and took an on-left onto Harbor Drive. Harbor appears to have no outlet as it ends at a dual home driveway. As I approached I saw TIMMY!! wandering aimlessly wondering how he’d lost trail. Eventually he saw the hare arrow pointing him on-up the driveway to a narrow easement kindly provided by the homeowners allowing access to Fredrick Street Park. In we went.

We went on-left in the park and on-down to the Upper Harbor. Did anyone notice the person to the right using one of the outdoor barbecue grilles? A warming fire maybe? Once in the harbor, it was on-right and on-in to our first Beer Check manned by Fap Jack.

From there trail continued south and made an on-right onto the accursed railroad tracks and then on-left onto Seabright Avenue. No Beer Check at Brady’s Yacht Club though, we passed right by and when Seabright ends the pod was pointed on-left onto the remnants of East Cliff Drive. This treacherous traipse was traipsed until the Third Avenue stairs. Here was written: To the lighthouse. Many of us, however, myself included, took the cowards way out and took Atlantic Avenue to the jetty avoiding sinking in the sand. Once at Walton Lighthouse, we observed Dung-Fu Grip looking over his kingdom from on high. Or is that WHILE high?

The pack reassembled here on a mercifully windless night and added to the height of their staff. Amazingly, the water hazard on the jetty entrapped almost no one. The braver (drunker?) amongst us felt compelled to clamber over the tetrapods comprising the breakwater. Through sheer dumb luck, no hasher slipped down in between them to take an inadvisable dip in Monterey Bay. When our business was concluded here, it was back along the jetty past the original location of Aldo’s and continuing to the stairs on-left leading on-up to the Murray Street bridge and on-right over the harbor. Once across, it was a 270 degree turn taking us under the bridge we just used and into the Upper Harbor area, again, but on the opposite side from our first visit this night. Fast forward to just past the steps leading on-up to Mello Lane. Here we would find Fap Jack again manning another Beer Check.

Staffs again grew longer here. On-out was continuing through the harbor past the palatial yacht belong to Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain. No visits there this time though, we continued along. Just as we began the on-up on-out of the harbor area, marker made the merry members of this madness on-left onto the elevated walkway over Arana Creek but then an on-right into an area closed for habitat rehabilitation. I know some PEOPLE that need rehab too! Apologies for the digression. And so we stumbled along and then onto a narrow ledge above what is laughingly called Arana Creek. When the tide is out as it was at this time, it’s little more than a mud bog. While you may consider this a scenic side trip, reserve your compliments for the hares until you learn where the libations were stashed at this Beer Check.

Yes, friends and non-friends, the beer was across Arana Creek from our current location and accessible only by risking life and limb by utilizing a fallen tree as you see Snake Me Anywhere attempting in the picture above. This was incredibly dangerous yet all that undertook the undertaking succeeded and without taking a mud bath in Arana Creek. An extended period of our lives was wasted here and we waited until all hounds were found. Once all put back together, we continued along the same path, after correcting a misstep by co-hare Pink Cherry Licker onto a dead end trail that is. After scaling a slick boulder, we on-upped into a more or less civilized trail that deposited us back where we began this fiasco. Owing to the close proximity of inhabited houses, we move a little deeper into the park and assembled our religion machine with dBASED at the helm. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this evening: the person with the longest shaft was rewarded; a Best Wizard award was issued; the GMs for planning an excelent AGM; those that dropped their staff were punished; those that did all the Eagle trails were mocked and Cumz Out My Nose for completing her 400th hash with us. Oh. I damn near forgot. The hares. Many multiple Beer Checks almost, ALMOST made us forget what a hideous trail it was. But not quite.

On-on-on was staged, and rather successfully I might add, at Taqueria Santa Cruz conveniently located directly across Soquel Avenue from One-Double-Oh-Seven Club. I have no personal knowledge of anyone actually crossing the street to enter though. That puts the frosting in this Hash and on this Trash.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never let the facts stand in the way of a good story. Do not allow the profound to be 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-18.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Another successful year,

Where was the success, you may ask? Well, no one died on trail or was even incarcerated this year and in hashing terms, that’s damned successful! I say that even though some of you may think(or wish) that one or more of your kennel mates had been locked away for an extended stay at the Gray Bar Motel. Better luck next year. Unless it’s ME you wish to send up the river, that is.

As you know, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to find an affordable, quality facility that accepts hashers. Our Never-Say-Die co-GM’s were able to find such an establishment, and a quality one as well I might add. Vino by the Sea was our intended target this year, a place with a stellar view and a more than adequate beer and wine selection. So, there we were(there we were) up on the second floor of the wharf gathering for our annual meeting, cleverly disguised as a party, watching the world turn and send the sun sinking into the Bay.

Both rooms here at Vino were filled by hashers. A few regulars braved the tumult and retained their usual places at the bar but soon thought better of it and migrated to a different venue. All the usual troublemakers were in attendance except for our GM’s whom decided a certain illness would not render them suitable candidates for a large gathering in an enclosed space.

In lieu of their smiling faces, Dung-Fu Grip received a map of their intended trail and stepped up to hare it for them. That being said, when trail length is mentioned later in this Trash, you’ll see that Swamp Rat could have hared THIS trail…alone! Let’s move along. Hare-out.

Ballots were distributed by Pink Cherry Licker who promised the results would be announced…assuming she certified the election as fair and equitable and had not been stolen.

After all that official stuff was handled, the party was moved to the lower level of the wharf for Circleup for Introductions. Responding howls were heard from: Hareless, dBASED, Pink Cherry Licker, Cum You Will Not, Occasional Rapist Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Little Anal Annie, Butt Balls, TIMMY!!, Clearly Not A Hooker, Dung-Fu Grip, Today Is Monday, Apple Bobber, Jersey Lunchbox, Steamy Baanorrhea, Just Danielle(soon to change), 2 Dicks Down, Just John, The Arabian Goggler and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. No canine contingency this week, our four-legged companions are not a welcome commodity on the wharf. Pack out.

Butt Balls led the litter along the darkened wharf railing looking as much for tripping hazards as trail marker. Trail crossed to the opposite side of the wharf and proceeded all of two-tenths of a mile to stairs leading on-down to the dock used by Stagnaro’s Whale Watching Excursions. That may sound romantic but try it in the dark sometime! The underbelly of the wharf is not an especially inviting sight and you soon learn where everything goes when you flush the toilet in your favorite wharf restaurant. It was so dark and dismal it’s not possible to estimate what percentage of the pack actually made Beer Check but it was far less than 100, that’s for damn sure. After taking the steps down from the second floor where Vino was located, Just Foot Pussy and Bacon Queef were seen walking 20 feet to the next bar. I’m surprised the lazy bastards didn’t use the elevator and save some energy for more drinkin’. I imagine they are indicative of a larger group of ne’er-do-wells that did not stray far from the free drinks at the venue. They got their 20 bucks worth even before dinner was served.

After depleting the libations at Beer Check, the strenuous on-in was undertaken. It was quite an on-up from the dock, damnit.

On-in was so short many did not even finish their Beer Check beer by the time they arrived back at Vino. Once there, it was face feed time. We were provided with a taco bar that was more than ample. Even His Bulkiness, Banana Basher, was able to placate his burgeoning belly. After our meal, Banana Basher exposed his annual video recap of the past year. It was, as it always is, well produced and hilarious. You can find it on our Facebook page, YouTube and in the weekly press release from the Santa Cruz Police Department. After this was accomplished, co-Religious Adviser’s Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip started up the insult machine. A sampling of down-downs issued are: those that did not make Beer Check, the morphing of Just Danielle into Flour For Anal Bum, Just John and Jersey Lunchbox who felt compelled to actually run this abbreviated trail. Then it was time for ‘awards’, as they are sarcastically called, to be issued. Here’s what transpired for next year’s Mismanagement Team: Occasional Rapist is Hare Raiser; On Sec dBASED; Social Sec Cum You Will Not; Haberdasher is Fap Jack, Scribe, Hash Cash, Hash Flash Puff the Magic Drag Queen; Religious Advisers: Accuprick, Dung-Fu Grip, dBASED, Baker’s Dozen’t, Pink Cherry Licker; GMs Cumz Out My Nose, Broke Bench Mountain; Treasurer, Dung-Fu Grip. Okay, with those wankers out of the way, now the fun stuff. Best Trail, #1172, Princess Di(arrhea) 50th haring; Worst Trail, #1185 Courtesy Flush and Occasional Rapist; Best Theme #1215 Bye-Bye Boobies, Clearly Not A Hooker and Baker’s Dozen’t; Biggest Wanker, Broke Bench Mountain; Stupidest Act on Trail was perpetrated by Cum You Will Not, she asked someone: Hi, I’m Cum You Will Not, are you a Virgin? He was NOT there to Hash with us!

Socializing and drinking to excess became the modus operandi for the remainder of the evening. Eventually the wait staff had become saturated with our presence and asked us to take the party elsewhere. Kudos to them for providing an excellent experience for us and for tolerating our rudeness as long as they did.

That’s pretty much wraps up our twenty-second year of existence and it appears we still have shelf life remaining. I feel capable of speaking for all the harriettes(the women should always come first) and harriers out there in thanking all our Mismanagers, hares and everyone else that made this another successful year for the mighty Surf City H3. On-on to our twenty-third year.

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.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe(again)

Little luck,

This morning I was sitting in an overrated cafe in a trendy-but-shabby section of town trying to log onto a painfully slow Internet connection. In desperation, I tried to log onto wifi at a nearby McDonald’s. Wait,WHAT? McDonald’s has wifi?!? I thought I may wish to get a headstart (who said ‘head’?) on this week’s Trash but thinking back on last week’s trail almost put me off my breakfast beer. The Fall leaves are falling on me which makes me feel even more dreary. Before I could decide whether I wanted something to eat or a second beer would suffice, a yuppie couple sat down beside me with their feisty young male Alsatian. He immediately begins eyeballing my OP’s as if they’ve become his favorite chew toy or resemble a piece of raw beefsteak. Dogs are in essence red-green color blind. My shorts are red and I fear it offends him. I finish my beer and admit I can no longer postpone tackling the Trash nor do I wish to utter the Bart Simpson line, Eat my shorts! because I fear the dog will do exactly that(with me still in them) so off I toddle.

Safely inside my abode, I being to reassemble last week’s trail. The start was nice enough, Jose Avenue Park. We were here not long ago and it’s a pleasant place from which to start. Sadly, what followed was NOT especially pleasant. Many people felt the spirit of the season and donned attire other than their normal rags. Others simply felt the spirit and had an extra beer.

With our GM’s in absentia, dBASED did the honors of misinforming Virgin Manny about trail markings. More than once he said, This mark is somewhat like the other one but it’s different. Had I have been Manny, I’d have walked away from hashing right then. Maybe we should add, Never listen to dBASED to our other directive, Never follow dBASED. Virgin Manny was overheard asking his sponsor, Just Lauren, Is everything tonight going to be that damned confusing? Just Lauren simply smiled.

Eventually the hares, all damned three of them, were convinced to give Instructions of Trail. They did but, 1) they were confusing and 2) they proved to be untrue. Hares-out.

The next fifteen minutes proved to be a jumble of contradictions. Both dBASED and Accuprick claimed to have put the hares on the clock but that’s where the agreement ended. Both specified different lengths of time that the hares had been gone. Eventually they compromised and called for Circleup for Introductions. Their request ended up with vocalizations from the following: Steamy Baanorrhea, Thmp-Thmp, Princess Di(arrhea), Wicked Retahted, Occasional Rapist, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Just Lauren, Virgin Manny, Fap Jack, Pink Cherry Licker, Jizziki, Just John, 2 Dicks Down, Just Danielle and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. We had a depleted canine contingency at on-out consisting of only Junk Puncher. Pack away.

Trail led the litter north to Capitola Road. This also became the first stumbling block. Hounds headed in all directions and most of them were gone quite a while with no on-on being sounded. Eventually dBASED returned from the direction he’d chosen and Jose Avenue yielded a false so it left only Capitola Road towards Seventh Avenue as a possibility. We plodded along and eventually found some sparse piles of flour and this took the troops to a check at Seventh Avenue. Another error was made here but this one is the fault of the flock, not the hares.

Notorious FRB Steamy Baanorrhea took an on-right at the check but soon turned back stating there was nothing in the direction. Many of the pack took him at his word and returned to the check. Marker was found on Seventh towards the harbor and off this group went. Luckily for another segment of the pack, someone crossed Seventh to the other side and found trail towards Soquel Avenue. This group took off on true trail while those heading the other direction had to wait until they found false markings to know they’d not chosen wisely.

Both groups were now headed towards Soquel Avenue. This lasted until a (rare) hare arrow led the litter on-right onto Bostwick Lane. Bostwick passes Green Acres Elementary School and then we were pointed on-right on Paul Minnie Avenue. When Paul Minnie ends at Rodriguez Street, a solved check pointed us on-left and across Seventeenth Avenue followed by an on-right onto Chanticleer Avenue. Not far along, our favored BN mark was seen and we were led on-right and deep into the darkness of Chanticleer County Park.

Once our business here was concluded, on-in was undertaken. Most of you would think trail was down Chanticleer, on-right on Capitola Road and then on-right onto Jose Avenue to Cum You Will Not’s abode. However, the hares were not done jerking us around. True trail went on-right onto Sixteenth Avenue, on-left onto Webster Street and then on-left onto Jose Avenue. Only the biggest half-minds amongst us actually took this trail while most others did the aforementioned one. Eventually though, one and all ended up at Cum You Will Not’s.

Once reassembled, many hashers filled out tickets for a prize giveaway to be held based on how many of five questions pertaining to trail you could respond to in the affirmative. After that, Religious Adviser Accuprick cranked up his machine and staged Religion. Some of the results thereof are: backsliders were punished, Pink Cherry Licked rewarded for defending her class against a supposed shooter, birthday people were recognized, Danielle mocked for not having a box and those that swallowed a ‘clot shot’. Oh. The hares. They were thanked for the chili, the raffle and spooky movie that was to follow Religion but I heard no mention of trail. After dismissing the hares, the RA dismissed the pack. 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. 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 that I recounted the events that comprised Hash twelve-16.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Try to keep abreast,

Of this Trash, it may move and bounce from one place to another.

As is frequently a Surf City hare’s ploy, we began from an upscale venue, Hindquarter. The purpose of this is to instill confidence in the pack that trail will be as exemplary as Point A. While this trail fell way the hell shy of that mark, it accomplished the hare’s goal of hoodwinking us.

Both the inside of the building as well as the breezeway were commandeered by the clan.

We had some backsliders return to the fold and a Virgin too. Sadly, on the downside we also had a large number of returning trouble-makers and the proverbial misfits. Well, things are never perfect for the Surf City H3, are they? At least Pat the beertender at Hindquarter was copacetic with our presence.

Hare-pair Clearly Not A Hooker and Baker’s Dozen’t waited until the majority of the mob moved outdoors to deliver Instructions of Trail. Not that it truly mattered though as most of the pack still indoors didn’t listen anyway. When compared to how trail actually played out, Instructions of Trail from these hares proved they’ve never made a promise they couldn’t break. Hares away.

The next fifteen minutes passed very quickly but not so much due to the fact we were enjoying ourselves as it was to our knowing what awaited us after the expiration thereof. And it came to pass that soon co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and their call was answered by Just Danielle, dBASED, Fap Jack, Pink Cherry Licker, Steamy Baanorrhea, Cum You Will Not, TIMMY!, Just John, Dung-Fu Grip, Jizziki, Courtesy Flush, Virgin Lauren and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency consisted of Junk Puncher, Spot’d Dick, Swamp Rat, Scratch and Sniff. Merlissa was a co-hare. Pack out.

Marker made the merry members of madness cross Soquel Avenue to a check on the corner of Soquel and Riverside Avenue. An excessive amount of our lives was expended here before the on-on was finally sounded south on Riverside followed a block later by a hare arrow pointing the pod on-left on Broadway. Two blocks later an on-right took the troops on-down into Lower Ocean where even evil spirits like not to tread after darkness falls. Such a cruel move meant nothing to our hares though apparently. One long block later an on-left onto Barson Street was dictated.

Both sides of Barson can herald tragic events so no one dilly-dallied through here and followed the hare arrow across Ocean Street at a good clip as well. When Barson ended, we turned on-right and on-down Alley 938, yes, that’s it’s real name, and proceeded along it’s shadowy length past apartments in such dilapidated condition they may be uninhabited. The road, and I use that word in the loosest definition thereof, has more holes in it than low quality Swiss cheese. When we came to Lemos Avenue we were overjoyed to be back into the light and put a potentially dangerous situation behind us. Little did we know as to what awaited us though.

An on-left on Lemos took us to what is laughingly labeled the Jessie Street Marsh. This single-track terror winds it’s way behind hovels and piles of trash with not a trace of water to be seen. I do now know if the trash is left by unsavory characters or simply tossed over the fence from the houses. Only partway through this horrid place, a huge hare arrow led the litter on-left and on-up an illegal path into Oceanview Park.

This may well have been the highlight of trail. The ONLY one I might add. Here was Liquor Check and a handmade pinata in the shape of a pair of female mammary glands. The hares abandoned drinks to man the pinata explosion and left the Virgin in charge of playing mixologist.

Just John was able to burst the breasts with a mere two strokes of his long rod and prizes and treats ejaculated forth from them. Hashers groveled on the ground for the goodies. Sadly however, there was more trail to traverse and eventually the flock exited the park and crossed East Cliff Drive to undertake the on-up of a hill taking us to the pedestrian walkway on-down to the trestle over the San Lorenzo River and into the huge parking lot beside the Boardwalk. Following the arrow here(that old man TIMMY!! did not see) brought the bevy to Beach Street. Three blocks later, past a dark and lonely Boardwalk, it was on-right on Raymond Street past Beach Flats Park(site of a recent nighttime shooting) and on-left onto Leibrandt Avenue. We crossed (dangerous) Riverside Avenue and crossed over to Second Street. A block later we turned on-right onto Cliff Street and took it to, well, the top of the cliff! I wish to exit this area as soon as possible so the Eagles can hang here as long as they wish, I’m a Turkey tonight. We gobblers took the stairs on-down to the levee, arrived at Broadway(again) and were directed on-right over the river. The next on-right is Riverside Avenue(again) and deposited us at the abode of Clearly Not A Hooker.

Here we found all manner of vittles, many of which carried on with tonight’s theme of female breasts. I noticed some harriers spent considerable time licking the cupcakes before gently nibbling on the portion that protruded above the rounded surface. I wonder what fantasy was going through their perverted little half-minds at that time? Stimulating as this experience was, Religion called from afar so the time came for us to exit before arousing the neighbors. Not long before leaving, Jizziki arrived after having returned to the Hindquarter for a drink to tie him over before undertaking the on-in to Beer Check. We moved back onto Riverside and took up temporary residence in the (too) well illuminated parking lot of Riverside Lighting. Here co-Religious Advisers Pink Cherry Licker and Dung-Fu Grip fired up their Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this evening: backsliders were punished, our harriette going under the knife next week to ‘reconfigure’ her chest area was recognized and those that staged a Gorilla Beer Check were brought to the altar. There was also some mention of the hares, specifically the parties in Oceanview Park and and Hooker’s home but I heard NO compliments about trail.

On-on-on was announced to be staged at Woodstock’s Pizza.

On an unrelated note, the site for AGM has been finalized, Vino by the Sea on the Wharf. If you attended Red Dress, you’ve been there at least once in your life.

Upon completing this announcement the RA’s dismissed the pack and I now do the same for you, faithful reader.

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 be 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 to not 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-15.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Darkness fell,

This time, however, it was the color of the chalk (foolishly) chosen by our horrible hare Rubik’s Pube. We’ll get even with her(and her little dog) someday, sometime. My suggestion would be to blindfold her and make her hash trail that way next week. Then she’ll know how we felt at every intersection at which we arrived. Hounds were seen on hands and knees, flashlight in hand, desperately seeking an indication of which direction our hare had happily hopped. The hash cry, Checking! was now heard at intersections rather than at standard checks.

Enough of that though, let’s discuss more pleasant subject matter, such as starting from Santa Cruz Mountain Brewery.

This was a brilliant decision on the Pube’s part. Sadly, it was the ONLY wise decision made by her this evening. The pack confiscated the far end of the outdoor drinkin’ area feeling the farther from management we were the better it would be for both parties. Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose decided to sample the wares here for their first meal of the day. But not their first DRINK I bet. Everyone else was happy to stick with the local ales. Swamp Rat got an abandoned pretzel from a nearby table and found it hard chewing. Watching her dog choke down his dinner was what it took to get the Pube away from her glass and deliver Instructions of Trail. Her idea of Instructions of Trail is meant to be manipulative. Hare away.

Fifteen minutes was easily passed as Mountain Brewery has the ability to make beer quicker than even Surf City can drink it. Eventually though, zero hour arrived and co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and received responses from: Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Jersey Lunchbox, Occasional Rapist, dBASED, Cum You Will Not, 2 Dicks Down, Steamy Baanorrhea, Just John(past 5 hashes now), My Little Bony(yes, he’s baaack!) and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency was ably represented by Spot’d Dick, Scratch and Sniff and Junk Puncher with Swamp Rat as co-hare. Pack out.

Due to the fact trail was so difficult to follow and hounds were seen scurrying in all directions, I will approximate trail to the best of my inability.

It was on-left onto Ingalls Street and across Fair Avenue to stay on Ingalls. When Ingalls ends at Almar Avenue, a hare arrow pointed the pod across but then gave no indication as to whether an on-left or an on-right would be right. Eventually dark marks were discovered on-right on Almar followed by an on-left onto Pendegast Avenue. Pendegast comes to Surfside Avenue where searching for trail yielded an on-left followed by a quick on-right to remain on Pendegast. A check two blocks later yielded an on-right onto Walk Circle. Walk crashes into Naglee Avenue and dictates an on-left or on-right. Contrary to the direction FRB’s Jersey Lunchbox and Just John trotted, an on-left was correct. One block later we viewed the DGK mark and crossed wide Woodrow Avenue to remain on Walk.

Walk was taken until California Avenue where an on-right was dictated and taken all the way to Bay Street. Busy Bay was used until an on-right onto National Street was indicated. Thus began a long, boring stretch of concrete and asphalt. Finally, and I do mean FINALLY, an on-left onto Nevada Street was told and a few blocks later on-right onto Laguna Street. Laguna ends at Pelton Avenue but that meant nothing to this hare so we went directly across and into the darkened Lighthouse Field on a single track footpath. The only benefit to this adverse adventure was we stumbled across Liquor Check which, much to my chagrin, I must admit was cleverly stashed in a tree stump!

For the second consecutive week, Liquor Check consisted of airline-sized liquor bottles, this week with the addition of Hershey Kisses. The Pube probably took these from last week’s Liquor Check thereby saving herself considerable expense. After completing our business here, we continued to West Cliff Drive and on-right and soon came to Beer Check staged in one of the few remaining parking areas overlooking Monterey Bay. Sufficient time was spent here to make everyone happy and then it was on-in time.

We continued along West Cliff and made the on-right onto the Bethany Curve Walkway. When the Walkway ends at Delaware, it was on-left and soon we would see the highlight of this trail which of course no credit is deserved by our hare at all.

The decorations at a house on Delaware just prior to Almar are spectacular. This (almost) compensated for lousy trail.

We continued on Delaware and made an on-right onto Swift to make the scene at Religion on the railroad tracks. Once reassembled, Accuprick issued the following down-downs: backsliders were punished, Cum You Will Not for falling on trail and Broke Bench Mountain celebrated his 475th hash with us. Oh, I almost forgot the hare. Most Likely because I WANTED to forget her. Trail? Well, like I said the house on Delaware was superbly decorated for Hallowe’en. After that task was completed, Accuprick dismissed the pack and I also do so from 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. Do not allow the profound to be 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-14.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe