Salutations,

I’d rather begin this Trash with a (pointless) discussion of our weather than a recap of the dastardly deed done the drove last Thursday. Faithful harriettes Cum You Will Not and Chippin’ Ballz, with almost 375 hashes having passed beneath their rear paws, are two of our most ardent hashers. Sadly, all this experience has not translated in making them efficient hares. I realize this is an assertion both bold and cold but one I intend to support before declaring an end to this Trash.

A good starting point is always to start at the start so that is where I shall start. The Over-the-Hill Gang Saloon. This place lives down to it’s name right down to the swinging saloon doors giving access to a small, dark room full of enough Western memorabilia to make Wyatt Earp reach for his six-shooter and a bottle of Red Eye Whiskey. From viewing the clientele, one would assume the name was chosen to reflect the facade of those that inhabit it: over-the-hill. The denizens that frequent this watering hole are both over-the-hill as well as having been put-out-to-pasture decades ago. And so here we are in a place where it would take any two hashers to equal the age of ONE of the locals. Well, with the obvious exception of TIMMY!! that is. The pack stuck mostly to the outdoor drinkin’ area as the people inside did not appear to be especially welcoming of us and we were branded as interlopers. The taco truck next door was a big draw even though adding additional weight prior to hashing is discouraged. Only beer should be added to your being prior to on-out.

Only slightly behind schedule, hare-pair Cum You Will Not and Chippin’ Ballz delivered Instructions of Trail. There appeared to be some confusion as to exactly what their trail would encompass and exactly how long it would be. This led to much laughter on the hares’ part but little mirth was felt by the pack. Hares away.

The passage of the fifteen minute lead time passed uneventfully. The only pleasure felt was in the consumption of our beers and impending trail was not discussed at all. With both GM’s having wisely skipped this sad session, dBASED called for on-out deleting the usual Circleup for Introductions claiming we all knew each other quite well by this stage in our lives. Pack out.

Little enthusiasm was shown for rapid movement as the mongrels motivated east along Portola Drive until encountering a check at the intersection with 40th Avenue. TIMMY!! threw caution to the wind and hot-footed it across Portola and soon sounded on-on on 40th. 40th actually comes to an abrupt end but this did not deter our hare-pair as they utilized a business sidewalk and parking lot to take the troops to 41st Avenue. The wiser amongst us cross Portola at a marked pedestrian crossing and came on-up 41st that way. We were soon directed across 41st and at the next intersection, that with Bain Avenue, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. It’s a beautiful evening here in Pleasure Point, let’s fly with the Eagles.

Trail proceeded north on 41st past the accursed railroad tracks and then took an on-right into a business driveway, behind a group of businesses and across two parking lots to deliver us onto Jade Street and on-right once there. By virtue of the fact only dBASED and Puff were the only ones foolhardy enough to take on the Eagle trail, things began to get a little shaky along this section of trail. Here’s the best reconstruction my feeble brain can conjure.

A Whichy-Way at 42nd and on-left onto 42nd proved correct. This was followed by an on-right onto Diamond Street which brought us to 45th Avenue, on-left and to a check at Capitola Road. The check here was solved pointing us on-right onto Capitola Road. Two blocks later a hare arrow turned us on-right onto 49th Avenue. We are now deep in the Jewel Box area of Capitola. One block later an arrow led on-left onto Emerald Street. When Emerald ends at Prospect Avenue, an arrow turned us on-right. Prospect was taken until it emerges overlooking the Capitola wharf and Monterey Bay.

We crossed Cliff Drive heading on-right and rejoined the Turkeys at Opal Cliff Drive and proceeded along Opal Cliff until seeing the BN mark and making the on-left on-down to Privates beach. Upon completion of our task here, we began following trail continuing on-left on Opal Cliff Drive towards 41st Avenue. Banana Basher and Puff saw no point in continuing with this fiasco so we shortcut back to the site for Religion which gave us a ten minute advantage on the rest of the pack and our pick of the available ales.

Once the DFL’s arrived(that’s the entire pack except for Banana Basher and Puff), Religious Adviser Pink Cherry Licker started up Religion. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this night: Snapping Twat, who only showed for Religion, was punished as a backslider; dBASED, in the most criminal act he has performed in years, was punished for leaving the start with Junk Puncher still tied to a bar stool, Occasional Rapist had to call his attention to this horrendous oversight; Banana Basher was awarded a congratulatory down-down for actually completing all of trail; Bailas Con Burros joined Banana as it was she who coerced him into doing the entirety of trail; Mr. Wiggly celebrated his 25th hash with us. And the hares…they were informed Beer Check was nice but no mention was made of trail. Next week’s hare-pair, TIMMY!! and (only known) offspring Pink Cherry Licker announced Hash Twelve-Oh-8 would begin from West Remote up on the UC campus. With that, PCL declared a close to this Hash and I do so for this Trash as well.

It was a pleasantly short Religion thereby allowing much of the herd to migrate back to the Over-the-Hill Gang Saloon and catch Just Paulie’s last set. Most Excellent!

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 mine I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-Oh-7.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

The village referred to is Aptos Village.

Co-hares Accuprick and Just Sam believed starting us from Parish Publick House in charming Aptos Village would placate the pride and eliminate feelings of animosity that would be engendered by their terrible trail. While I can certainly not speak for everyone that hashed, I CAN say I heard from no one who enjoyed this trail.

Let’s critique this lackluster outing, shall we?

Admittedly, Parish Publick House is an excellent location. It has a good beer selection, good food and great ambience. Did I mention a good beer selection as well? The clan calmly commandeered the upper level which was far less crowded than the lower one and featured a bar close by as well. This led to numerous beers being guzzled by numerous hashers. While this is indicative of happy HOUNDS, it is not necessarily indicative of how successful the HARES will be with their trail effort. And this trail proved the perfect example.

Co-hare Accuprick stood at the top of the stairs and delivered Instructions of Trail to those that remained on the bargain basement level of the place. He then turned to those on the upper level and spit-out a somewhat different set of details. This either means Accuprick’s memory is extremely challenged or he was hedging his bets so that when trail was deemed a failure, he could say, I TOLD you about that! when in actuality he’d only told HALF of us while the other half remained uninformed and consequently stumbled into the trap he set. Hares out.

The next fifteen minutes passed uneventfully, TIMMY!! did not even break one single glass. We had a Virgin-of-sorts. He had hashed once before in a place far, far away and said no Chalk Talk would be required. He also admitted to being a racist and stated he’d be the first to finish trail. He vanished soon after on-out never to be seen or heard from again.

Upon the completion of the allotted lead time, co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responding yelps from: Occasional Rapist, Banana Basher, Bailas Con Burros, Baker’s Dozen’t, Bareback Unicrack, dBASED, Steamy Baanorrhea, Boneless Shelter, Today Is Monday, The Arabian Goggler, TIMMY!!, Clearly Not A Hooker, Courtesy Flush, Cum You Will Not, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Virgin John, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Representing our four-legged contingency was Boulder, Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. Pack away.

The first section of trail proved both easy and well-marked. Trail took the troops on-down the road leading on-down into Aptos Village Park to a check. Trail continued on-down into the park and on-left across the field towards Aptos Creek. This is where the evening’s first cock-up occurred and it was a rather large one too. Somehow, the FRB’s managed to miss a check and saw marker at the bottom of a hill on the edge of the park. The pack immediately converged on this mark and proceeded along. Soon though, the FRB’s returned saying they’d found false markings but the last check we were aware of was far, far behind us. We chose to ignore this inconsistency and proceeded to the parking lot after finding more marker. This eventually led the litter to the banks of Aptos Creek but went nowhere from there. We were stymied.

Eventually, on-on was sounded up a small hill and on-right onto Village Creek Road which soon placed our paws on Aptos Creek Road. An on-left here pointed the pod to an on-right onto Granite Way and on-down through the new subdivision to an on-right onto Cathedral Drive. When Cathedral intersects with Trout Gulch Road, a check was encountered. Those not familiar with the geography here turned on-left. That leads to places no sane person would ever wish to venture.

Trout Gulch took us to an on-left on Valencia Street. Valencia dictates an on-right onto Bernal Street which ends at Aptos Street and also with a check. This is when the hares became somewhat vindictive. Trail was eventually located proceeding across Aptos Street and on-up onto the tracks and on-left. This led to the treacherous crossing of Soquel Drive, Aptos Creek and Highway 1 on long-abandoned and unmaintained trail trestles. Planks, the ones not missing that is, vibrate beneath your feet when stepped on and metal grating sags under your weight. Gravel is unstable and rotted cross ties crumble as you tread upon them. This was deemed a No Fun Zone.

After the survivors completed this crossing, a check yielded an on-left onto Sandalwood Drive. This was followed by an on-right onto Beach Pines Drive to a check at Rio Del Mar Boulevard where an on-right proved the correct direction. After crossing above the tracks, an on-right onto Aptos Beach Drive was chosen. The next on-right, Carrera Circle, was indicated and the steep on-down thereof was undertaken. The gang arrived at the circle section of Carrera Circle but that did not deter this e-vile hare-pair. By skirting the barrier and infringing onto a private road one can continue along then being on Moosehead Drive. (who said ‘head’?) Thus began a half-mile jaunt along Moosehead terminated by an on-right onto Creek Drive. The terminus of this street meant nothing to our hares as trail continued into a field and soon an on-right began an on-up to Seacliff Drive with an elevation gain of almost a hundred feet. Seacliff Drive was utilized until nearing Santa Cruz Avenue where our highly coveted BN mark was seen and an on-left onto Santa Cruz Avenue found our hares lounging around a cooler sucking down beers.

After concluding our business here, co-hare Accuprick proceeded to lay the on-in trail. This actually proved to be one of the longer sections of trail, almost three-quarters of a mile long. We traipsed along State Park Drive to the railroad tracks (again) and proceeded on-right all the way back to the start where Religion was held on the tracks behind Parish Publick house.

Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued by RA Accuprick this evening: Just Sam for her Virgin haring; Boneless Shelter for explaining the intricate workings of a clit tickler; TIMMY!! awarded the Hashit; non-runners were punished; Courtesy Flush for watching the sun go down…while standing in a patch of poison oak. Oh. I almost forgot the hares, maybe I WANTED to forget the hares. They were thanked for starting at Parish Publick House but no mention was made of trail. Sensing a potential lynching, co-hare and RA Accuprick hastily declared an end to this Hash. 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 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 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-oh-6.

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-third day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Go West, young man,

The slogan popularized by Horace Greeley. I’m certain Mr. Greeley did NOT mean, Go to Mission West. That is, however, exactly where hare-pair Steamy Baanorrhea and Leaky Rubber directed US on the evening of August the eleventh. Foolishly, we did as requested. I trust we shan’t make the same error in the future.

Those of you that go back to the Ye Olde Watering Hole days will agree the environs of this establishment have been radically altered since the ownership change. A few of you may even go back to the Paul’s Place era and can tell of an even greater metamorphosis. Sadly, one aspect that has not changed is the clientele that get their feet caught in the bar rail on a daily basis. For this reason, the pack assembled in the relative safety of the outdoor drinkin’ area.

The pack assembly process is always intriguing. Hashers are always jockeying for position within each clique, sometimes to participate, other times simply to glean gossip or eavesdrop. I have found it safest to observe these antics from afar thus avoiding becoming an object of ridicule or the butt of too many jokes. Speaking of jokes, that brings to mind the evening’s hare-pair, Steamy Baanorrhea and Leaky Rubber. Steamy has already begun backing away from this trail by claiming he’s only co-haring to make sure Leaky doesn’t perpetrate any major cock-ups. Or should that be ‘penetrate’? I believe Steamy does not completely trust Leaky to not do something extremely rude. Just for the record book, most of us have the same sentiments toward Steamy. This may a case of the fox guarding the hen house.

Only somewhat behind schedule the hares called for attention. They received very little. They made the Surf City standard issue pack of lies claiming trail was short, fast and flat. Sounds like some of the girlfriends dBASED conspired with prior to his (second) marriage. There would be a Liquor Check as well as the standard Beer Check. As usual it was difficult to separate the blatant lies from the promises that would simply go unfulfilled. That’s the major reason I’ve always considered Instructions of Trail more for entertainment than information. Hares-out.

The next 15 minutes were passed as usual, fierce socializing and attempting to ignore the treachery and terror that awaited us. The time did, however, pass and upon reaching the expiration date, a Circleup for Introductions was called for by co-GM Broke Bench Mountain. His request yielded yelps from the following hounds: Dung-Fu Grip, Carlos Danger, Occasional Rapist, Pink Cherry Licker, TIMMY!!, Just Breanna, dBASED, Hareless, Accuprick, Boneless Shelter, Virgin Kennan, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Twisted Fister, Virgin Bonnie and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Representing our canine contingency was Boulder and Junk Puncher. Pack away.

A check was encountered just out of sight from the start. Hounds high-tailed it in all directions sniffing for trail. Nothing was heard until Just Breanna eventually sounded on-on on-left on McPherson and on the corner with Fair another check was observed. Here it was on-right to the Rail Trail where we were pointed on-left and crossed Fair Avenue and Almar Avenue before arriving at a check at Rankin Street. Trail was located on-right on Rankin followed by an on-right onto Walk Circle and then on-left onto Naglee Avenue which brought the gang to Woodrow Avenue.

Some serious sniffing at Woodrow yielded an on-left to the innermost of the Circles, Errett Circle, and then an exit via California Street followed by an on-left onto Dufour Street. Dufour was used until an on-right onto Seaside Street was indicated. Thus began a rather long, not to mention boring, stretch of asphalt that did not yield to another street until Laurent Street. Seaside (finally ) ends at Laurent which prompted an on-left to Mission Street and on-right there. Mercifully we did not spend much time on Mission and took the next on-left onto Van Ness Avenue which took us to King Street and an on-left was followed by a quick on-right onto Laurent Street. A cluster of harriettes huddled at Laurent and Escalona gawking at the Laurent Street hill, the majority of which is shielded by an on-right curve partway on-up. However, the part they COULD see was more than enough to make them decide there was no reason good enough to have them undertake cresting the crest so they turned on-right secure in the knowledge that what goes UP must (eventually) come DOWN. The RA will deal with these laggards during Religion I imagine.

I see EVERY reason to tackle this section of trail, let’s on-up. I gladly admit it was strenuous though. Once finally making the top, trail turned on-left onto Majors Street and soon after the LC mark was observed and we strode into the abode of Leaky Rubber. Here Leaky was handing out chocolate pudding shots containing leftover bottles of liquor he no longer wished to consume. As if chocolate itself is not sweet enough, Bailey’s constituted one of the additives to the pudding. After those 2 ingredients are combined, it doesn’t really matter what other poison you add, it’s overpowered by those first 2 ingredients anyway. We staggered on-out.

An on-left onto Allegro Drive was followed soon by an on-right onto Moore Street. One block later was an on-left onto Fridley Drive. Fridley ends at Iowa Drive where we went on-left which brought us to Bay Drive. Halfway across Bay we were turned on-left and on-down the Bay Walkway. This is a scenic and safe to way to navigate Bay until the pathway ends at Escalona Drive where we were turned on-right to begin another long, boring stretch all the way to an on-left on Mesa Lane and one block later on-right onto King Street. King comes to Mission Street almost directly across from Mission West where this fiasco began almost exactly 4 miles ago for the Eagles. To put a little distance between ourselves and the bar’s liquor license, we moved to the parking lot next door. Once settled in, RA Accuprick got things rolling.

Here’s a sampling of the down-downs he issued this night: Backsliders were busted; analversaries were celebrated; Virgins were welcomed; those that missed Liquor Check were punished; co-hare manning Liquor Check that did not see everyone that was there. Yep, the hares were chided lastly. After dealing with the hares, the RA declared and end to this Hash and I do the same for this Trash.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to stand in the way of a good story. 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 that I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-Oh-5.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City He Scribe

Big Balls,

That’s what’s used here at the Boardwalk Bowl. It would appear that the same may be said for our hare-pair, dBASED and (second) wife Occasional Rapist. Now while the Boardwalk and it’s thousands of visitors may be directly across the street, the area mere blocks away is not safe to traverse unless armed. And that is, but of course, precisely where we were led this evening. More on that later though.

We assembled on the patio where it was warm and our canine companions were allowed. Speaking of our four-legged friends, Chewy, upon hearing who the hares were, tossed up his dinner. My Best Friend’s Cock was kind enough to clean it up but such an action would become more prevalent as trail progressed and more and more hounds became sick over trail. Occasional Rapist announced the hares would leave on time so those that were interested would be able to attend a band concert at the Boardwalk. This did not happen. Eventually though, after ingesting sufficient liquid courage, Occasional Rapist delivered Instructions of Trail. Hares-out.

The pack ignored the fact the hares’ leaving brought us that much closer to having to leave ourselves but, resigned to our fate, we ignored our destiny and continued socializing. This is one of the main tasks we’ve saddled our GM’s with: insuring the pack actually DOES leave and pursue the hares. To that end, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from: Today Is Monday, Jersey Lunchbox, Steamy Baanorrhea, Clearly Not A Hooker, My Best Friend’s Cock, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Accuprick, Cum You Will Not, Wines Like A Bitch, Rainbow Buttthole, Virgin Kayla, Lock Nut Monster, Just Sam and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Dung-Fu Grip would hash trail long after us and arrive only just in time for Religion. Our canine companions were represented by Boulder, Junk Puncher, Spot’d Dick and Chewy(the barfer). Pack out.

The check on the corner of Beach Street and Cliff Street proved to be the hares’ SECOND 15 minute lead time as between dodging hundreds of people and sniffing for trail it took quite a while to locate trail on-left on Beach Street. This worked until Raymond Street where we were pointed on-left. Now this is where things became somewhat sketchy if not downright frightening. This is not an area where one would wish to wear red, blue is the preferred color to swaddle oneself with here. At least the sun was still high in the blue sky. Raymond was used until an on-right through Beach Flats Park and onto Kaye Street. We’re only getting in deeper. One block later the troops were turned on-left onto Park Place and came face to face with a strange sight.

The ‘park’ pictured above 1) Looks more like a Nebraska cornfield and 2) I am not aware of a large contingency of poets living in this general area. I bet locals were not asked by the City what would be an appropriate name for this spot.

We went around this park back to Raymond Street where an on-right brought us to Third Street. Here we were directed on-left and then on-right over the river and on-right again on the river levee until it ends below Oceanview Park. False markings were found on-up towards the park much to Jersey Lunchbox’s dismay. Trail proceeded through the former Jessie Street Marsh, conveniently filled in by our wise City fathers many years ago. Tail proceeded through this field, on-left on Lemos Street and one block later we were pointed onto the wilds of Alley 938.(Are all alleys in this town numbered?) This is an undeveloped, pot-hole filled path frequented by nefarious persons best not encountered in the dark. Everyone escaped but just barely. At the end of the alley, trail proceeded on-left onto Barson Street. Barson was used until making an on-left onto Riverside Avenue. Riverside was taken to Riverside Gardens Park where we traipsed through to San Lorenzo Boulevard and on-right on-up to Broadway.

Once there we went on-left over the river and then on-left again on the river levee and on-right on-up the hideously steep steps to the top of Beach Hill.

Once topping the stairs, trail went on-right on Third Street and on-right again onto Front Street, on-down to Pacific Avenue and on-left there. Along this stretch we encountered a man using watermelon rind as a drug delivery system. We gave him credit for being inventive at least. Trail progressed across Center Street into Depot Park. In the Park we were treated to a pointless circle jerk around the last remaining vestiges of what was the railway station. (Hence the name Depot Park) Trail circled the building and then turned on-right onto the Depot Cycleway. Along this stretch, our highly favored BN mark was observed and we pulled into Beer Check beneath the West Cliff Drive bridge.

Religion was staged under the same bridge on the tracks. Accuprick victimized a number of hashers and here’s a sampling of those poor bastards: Broke Bench Mountain celebrated his 469th hash with us; Visitors were welcomed; Virgin Kayla was accosted; Dung-Fu Grip mocked as DFL; Clearly Not A Hooker was punished for staging a Gorilla Beer Check at her house; Cum You Will Not for having an Ice Cream Check; people whose dogs crapped(or puked!) on trail and short-cutters. Oh. The hares. They were thanked for the good starting spot but no mention was made of trail. Seeing the hares again prompted Accuprick to declare and end to this Hash and I do the same for this Trash.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to stand in the way of a good story. Do not allow the profound 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-Oh-4.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Welcome to the wilds of Ben Lomond,

That’s somewhat redundant, isn’t it? Ben Lomond itself is 15 miles from the nearest nothing and we have taken a side road that completely bypassed town, such as it is.

Be that as it may, here we are surrounded by trees, hills and all manner of wild animal. Co-hare My Sister’s Dildo has supplied pizza knowing 1) There no place within 10 mile of eating and 2) she doesn’t think her trail is especially good. She proved correct on both counts.

The pack trickled in slowly, most possibly due to the fact even Google Earth has not mapped this off-the-grid area so their GPS hadn’t the foggiest idea where the hell they wanted to go. Eventually though all the players were on the board and the pre-lube pizza-and-beer-feed began. Long before we wished it to happen, co-hare Baker’s Dozen’t delivered Instructions of Trail with Rubik’s Pube standing behind him prepared to flee if the pack rebelled. Hares-out.

In the interlude between hares-out and pack-out, Accuprick delivered the Chalk Talk to Virgins Jill and Ben. I doubt much of it sank in. If it truly had, they would have fled in terror prior to on-out time. After the passage of the requisite 15 minute lead time, co-GM Broke Bench Mountain signaled for Circleup for Introductiions and as a result heard from the following hounds: Banana Split, Throttle Bottle, TIMMY!!, Womb With A View, Steamy Baanorrhea, Accuprick, Virgin Jill, Virgin Ben, Clearly Not A Hooker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Just Sam, Occasional Rapist, Cum You Will Not, dBASED, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Dogs are verboten on trail here so Fido remained at home this evening. Pack-out.

This will be a rather brief description of trail as it basically was on one trail. The scenery was too spectacular here so I took the Eagle trail. Eagles took Woodrat Trail(terrible name) and were subjected to over 500 feet of elevation gain. Even the local deer don’t come way-the-hell up here. There was a Liquor Check at one of the two Vista Points we passed.

Eventually we started a serious on-down and transitioned onto Sunset Trail and rejoined the Turkeys. Just as trail flattened out, Beer Check was staged. By this time, Rubik’s Pube and Baker’s Dozen’t, manning Beer Check, realized the Turkey’s were laggin’ and Baker’s took off at a high rate of speed to retrieve his vehicle to carry the last of the Turkey’s on-in. Soon after Beer Check, trail transitioned onto Lower Chaparral Trail which bought the pack back to the start.

Once Baker had retrieved the Turkey stragglers, Accuprick started his Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this night: the Virgins were welcomed; Just Foot Pussy mocked as DFL; the visitors were welcomed; those convicted of using technology on trail; those that shed blood on this trail; analversaries were celebrated. Oh, almost forgot. The hare-trio was brought to the altar, the general consensus was they should be abandoned here with the turkeys and deer…and especially the cougars. After dispensing with the hares, Accuprick declared this Hash as being over and I do the same for this Trash.

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 seventh day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Ahoy landlubbers,

Sunday Wharf to Barf and we find ourselves rollicking and rolling at the Santa Cruz Small Craft Harbor, colloquially shortened around here to the Yacht Harbor. The pack is moving slower than the nearby wind surfers or even a rowboat in the harbor. W2B Saturday took a lot of wind out of our sails and today we will recuperate with short, non-stressful trail culminating with a face-feed with leftovers at the palatial estate belonging to our GM’s.

Food and ales were partaken of from the Crow’s Nest Beach Market. Socializing today was most definitely on the calm side and even more so when compared to the raucous rabble-rousing of yesterday. We picked up a friend of Broke Bench Mountain’s, Danielle, who decide she would accompany us. This was a decision she soon may come to regret.

After sufficient time was whiled away here, our lone hare, Occasional Rapist, gave mercifully brief Instructions of Trail. This was mainly due to the fact we already knew our ultimate destination so why waste any needless time. Without further adieu, the pack outed and began a slow speed chase towards the Upper Harbor.

The harbor walkway was taken under the Murray Street Bridge and continued until the rickety stairs leading on-up to Mello Lane.

Mello Lane brought the bunch of us to 7th Avenue where an on-right was indicated quickly followed by an on-right into Twin Lakes County Park, AKA BBM and Cumz Out My Nose’s backyard. We motivated to the area outside the gate to their place and once opened, we flooded the yard. Food was spread over a series of tables and plates were covered in leftovers. The face-feed began in earnest.

After finding no more room in out tummies, RA Dung-Fu Grip revved-up his Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs issued this day: those that ran the Wharf to Wharf R*ce were punished for their racist ways; dBASED was mocked for his car dying at Greater Purpose; Penis Is Good For Me for using the expression ‘Undam the clam’ referencing harriettes that peed on trail; Virgin Danielle was welcomed; analversaries were celebrated; Occasional Rapist was congratulated on her 100th haring; Penis Is Good For Me acted as a proxy for absent Ska-Skank Redemption; GM’s were honored for their organizing a successful W2B and Baker’s Dozen’t because no one barfed this weekend and he had bet someone would.

Other than the on-going fierce socializing and heavy imbibing that is standard operating procedure for Surf City, that pretty much puts a cap on Wharf to Barf ’22. I believe I can speak for all attendees in thanking those, too many to label, that made this whole thing possible and such a huge success. On-on to W2B twenty-three!

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen