Welcome,

To Saturday Wharf to Barf. Normally, such a momentous occurrence would be termed the Crown Jewel of W2B but after perusing the pictures taken and having hashed the trail, I must sadly deem this the Clown Jewel of W2B.

I intend to provide evidence supporting my supposition. Let’s begin at 11 minutes before 11. I arrived on my bike only to find co-hare Dung-Fu Grip’s method of personal conveyance already firmly ensconced at Forty Thieves Picnic Area. I could not help but concluded some major pre-lay was in progress. Dung-Fu did not return to the scene of his future crime for a number of hours.

It was quite a while until other hashers began to arrive and offload copious quantities of food and kegs of ales. In order of importance, much effort was expended in assembly the two kegs and making sure they operated correctly. Co-GM Broke Bench Mountain felt it incumbent upon him as GM to insure everything was copacetic with the apparatus. By-the-by, this also allowed him to drink without having to wait for others to fill their drinking vessel.(Not that I would ever accuse him of an ulterior motive) While BBM was playing beertender, co-GM Cumz Out My Nose was manning check-in and trying to snare sneaky dogs that attempted to circumvent paying up. A rather unenviable task but she showed little sympathy for those thieving dogs that tried to sidestep her. Meanwhile, on the field of battle, socializing was especially fierce as many of us have been separated from each other lo these two years of the pandemic.

This portion of today’s festivities occupied a great expanse of our time here today which is exactly as it should be. The action kicked off around noon and was only interrupted by Dung-Fu Grip(finally on-in from pre-lay) announcing Instructions of Trail. After hearing what Dung-Fu had to say, I found his exaggerations, possibly just blatant lies, qualify him to run for political office, possibly even rising to the level of being Donald Trump’s vice-presidential running mate in 2024. We’ll save that discussion for another time though, there’s a trail to be hashed!

Trail began innocently enough but within minutes coerced the clan into crossing a creek. This was an iffy crossing as no stable means of keeping our rear paws dry existed. Two hashers went for a swim, details during Religion recap. We’re now on Branciforte Creek Trail and would take it’s winding way on-up to Top of The World which is also Hole 26a on the Disc Golf Course. We’ve just gained almost 300 feet of elevation from Forty Thieves. Yikes!

This proved to be Liquor Check as well as a sight-seeing stopover. The skies were crystal clear and Monterey appeared to be almost close enough to reach out and grab…if that’s a place you aspire to touching. Bailas Con Burros and Oral Lickstation went exploring the small abandoned building on this hilltop but soon discovered they were but members of a long line of people who have been here and were saddened to find nothing of value unless you are a collector of beer bottles and used condoms.

After concluding our business here we headed on-down to Upper Park Road and peeled off on-left just prior to the road leading to the clubhouse. At a split in the sidewalk, the first of the two promised Turkey/Eagle splits was observed. It’s a beautiful day, too nice to miss the sights so let’s fly with the Eagles. Trail, now using the golf cart sidewalk, proceeded beside Hole 9 over 400 yards, before curving on-right to parallel Hole 8. However, not far past the tee trail took an on-left onto a (barely) maintained trail that led on-down to a water tank. Once we were tanked, we were pointed on-right onto Old Vineyard Trail.

Old Vineyard Trail would be traipsed until Parkway Trail where an on-right would yield onto a trail of questionable maintenance. We would eventually curve on-right and be spit out into the Rangeside Bar beside the driving range and rejoin the Turkeys. This was a welcome respite from what has up to now been a somewhat challenging trail. Little did we know what awaited us on the second leg of our journey. Upon completion of our task here the pack outed through the parking lot and viewed the second promised Turkey/Eagle split. It’s still early, let’s fly with the Eagles again. What could possibly go wrong by now?

We proceeded all 400 yards of Hole 9 and then curved on-right and started alongside Hole 8. However, not far past the tee, a hare arrow pointed the pod on-left to begin a steep on-down through some serious shiggy.

A semblance of a trail eventually became evident and we even passed a long abandoned bike pump track. The reason it was abandoned some became evident.

This trail passes Audrey Stanley Grove Trail, the locals-only entrance to the Shakespeare Santa Cruz venue. Then we passed the entrance to the long gone DeLaveaga Zoo and popped out onto DeLaveaga Park Drive and on-left to Pacheco Avenue and on-right past the dog park and on-down. That shiggy wasn’t so bad, now was it?

A shortcut through a church parking lot placed our rear paws on Goss Avenue and, at least ostensibly, heading on-in. Little did we know… Goss was used until an on-right onto Carol Avenue was indicated. Carol was abused until North Branciforte Avenue. Once there, marker made the menagerie motivate directly across and onto Old Sheriff Posse Cabin Road. It’s been years since we challenged this trail and I hope it’s years before we do so again. It steep and treacherous. Were the sheriff’s posse to breach this trail now, they would be as surprised as us to find a homeless encampment far, far off the road.

We struggled on-up through some serious shiggy until emerging into a small field. This soon became field of screams though as marker completely vanished. Ramrod, assisted by Crumple Zone, tried every possible avenue of exit…multiple times. Eventually, having been through here many years prior, we took the most well defined of the trails as we used years ago. Some distance along, marker was found. Probably too many hounds’ rear paws obliterated marker for those of we DFL’s. This trail eventually ejected us back onto the golf course along the fairway for Hole 3 and on-left. The golf cart path curves on-right and continues along towards Hole 2 but soon a hare arrow led the litter on-left and on-down a short distance onto DeLaveaga Upper Loop Trail.This was followed by a series of quick on-lefts that would bring us back to DeLaveaga Park. A easy crossing of Branciforte Creek deposited us back at Forty Thieves where the found the Turkeys asking, Where the hell have been? We chose to not scare them by answering their query. Next up was face-feed time and was quite welcome after the horror we had just been subjected to. After sating ourselves, Accuprick fired up his Religion machine. This was an extended Religion with almost no one being able to avoid Accuprick’s fickle finger of fate. Here is an abbreviated list of down-downs issued this day: Leaky Rubber for bragging about performing karaoke; auto and short-cut hashers were punished; those that went for an unplanned swim in Branciforte Creek; those that performed a hare-snare…by hashing trail backwards; two harriettes for using words no one else knew; the hasher that won the impromptu disc toss from Top of the World. I’d like to skip mentioning our hares again but they, too, were awarded punitive down-downs. Now for what everyone waits for at W2B: the awarding of the Watermelon Head Award. This goes to someone who has made an outstanding contribution to the degenerative behavior W2B has come to signify. There were a number of outstanding examples but the one that sang the loudest to us was…Ramrod. Just prior to opening the nomination process, a song was being sang to a down-down recipient and each and every time we tried to end the song and get along with the proceedings, Ramrod added yet another verse. I doubt he truly ran out of verses, I think someone just stuck a beer in his face and while he was drinking it, the RA was finally able to move on. Anyway, in the end it was Ramrod who donned the highly-coveted Watermelon Head Award.

This pretty much finished off W2B Saturday. There was some more food munching as well as continued imbibing but events(and hashers) were beginning to move considerably slower than they had a few hours earlier. Let’s adjourn the party until tomorrow.

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 end in mind that I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-Oh-1.

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 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

Happiness,

We all know this evening’s route so our hare, the esteemed Steamy Baanorrhea, will not be able to jerk us around. Well, not to any great extent anyway. It was deemed appropriate that our twelve-hundredth hash would be a pub crawl. We have crawled into, and occasionally OUT of, many a pub in our twenty-one-plus year life so it is only fitting to celebrate this occasion with another crawling.

The assembly process began, appropriately enough, at the Redroom, just downstairs from the former Sports Grille Santa Cruz, the birthplace of Surf City H3. The outdoor area was the preferred venue and it soon filled with hashers.

Steamy Baanorrhea concocted a trivia game for trail and actually had a bottle of the hard stuff for the winner. The questionnaire consisted of trivia questions and of sights that would be seen along trail if you were attentive. After explaining the ground rules, Steamy laid a hare arrow and headed for stop number two.

Trail took us up Cedar Street and across Mission to the Rush Inn. Everyone’s heard the advertisement for this place: Rush Inn, Stagger Out! We took this admonishment to heart and extended our visit somewhat.

Upon completion of our task here, marker made the merry members of this madness on-down Pacific to El Palomar. Upon seeing us, the beertender, Tim, said, ‘I recognize you trouble-makers, I’d appreciate it if you went to the Taco Bar and got out of my bar!’ Not wishing to be forcibly ejected from (another) bar, we complied with his request and ensconced ourselves in the Taco Bar. Some of us decided to partake of the food offerings while others decided alcohol was on the menu for dinner. What a surprise!

After concluding we’d be more appreciated if we went elsewhere, marker pointed us back to Pacific and on-up the really long set of stairs to Rosie McCann’s. The wheels began to come off the pack here. First, there was a woman distributing free hard stuff as a promotion. Not sure anyone of us will be purchasing said bevy but we made sure to boost her attendance by stealing as many shots as possible. Then, just as those that did not consume food at the Palomar sat down to dinner, one of the apparently frequent fights erupted. Some biker did not appreciate comments from a non-biker. We should have known this place was trouble as soon as we arrived; never drink in a bar that has SIX security personnel! Those of us not eating exited via the back steps rapidly while those with food huddled together for safety’s sake.

The fifth and final(authorized) stop on tonight’s Magical Mystery Tour was, and no surprise here, the Jury Room. We’ve all heard the history of this dive bar; cop hangout where they unwittingly told mass murderer Edmund Kemper what they were doing to apprehend him. This is also the home of the Giant Gopher drink. Try one, once! Succinctly, the failures of this old watering hole far outnumber their successes.

There are rumors of more stops and other venues for a number of the pack but, as this was the official end, I will put away the camera and pen. Even if further events were related, upon the advice of council, hashers would: Admit nothing, Deny everything, Make counter accusations.

And so ended Hash 12-hundred for Surf City. As per hare Steamy Baanorrhea: No animals were harmed in the concoction of this trail.

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 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

Sand gets in your shoes,

When you motivate from one beach to another courtesy of Cum You Will Not, Pink Cherry Licker and Thmp-Thmp. I believe this was more of a convenience to them than it was a well thought out trail. One could toss an empty beer bottle from our start at Black’s Beach to religion at Sunny Cove. Personally, I’d rather toss our tosser-trio of hares. Be that as it may, let’s delve deeper into the transgressions perpetrated against our bodies on the evening of July twenty-first in the year of our Hash tw0-thousand twenty-two.

Things started pleasantly enough; the sun was shining brightly and the beach was inundated with happy people, many of whom were in various stages of nudity. The Beermeister finally made an appearance, dragging coolers haphazardly along an ALMOST existing road to our perch on the cliff above the sand. Pink Cherry Licker presented bags of colored beads and lettered blocks. From these trinkets, hashers began constructing colorful bracelets, necklaces and other items of body adornment that I do not wish to visualize. One of these colorful creations would earn a certain harriette a well-deserved down-down during Religion but I’ll reserve that story until the appropriate time.

It took some arm-bending to get the hares to deliver Instructions of Trail. Well, actually what we wanted was for them to simply leave as it was well past the standard on-out time.

Socializing was fierce as, being Wharf to Barf pre-lube, a large number of denizens have emerged from beneath their respective rocks and have joined their kennel mates at the beach. Sadly, as all things, good or bad, must come to an end dBASED was eventually forced to call for Circleup for Introductions. Fearing a riot situation, both GM’s chose to avoid this potentially dangerous situation. This request led to responding barks from the following: Pussy Wood, Transcuntnanal, Just Foot Pussy, Princess Di(arrhea), Leaky Rubber, Fap Jack, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, Virgin Breanna, Womb with A View, My Sister’s Dildo, Steamy Baanorrhea, Accuprick, Virgin Erika, Virgin Jim, Baker’s Dozen’t, Deadliest Snatch, Dung-Fu Grip, Occasional Rapist, Bacon Queef, Today Is Monday, Just Sam and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Junk Puncher, Merlissa and Spot’d Dick represented our four-legged contingency. Pack out.

The troops traipsed up 14th Avenue and the FRB’s were soon punished by discovering a back check. There was little option available, we migrated to the pedestrians-only section of Prospect Street. One block along Prospect and the hares had found a trashy alley for us to motivate through which brought us to East Cliff Drive and an on-right. Once back to 14th Avenue, we were coerced into crossing on-left onto 14th. When 14th intersected with Merrill Street, we went on-right to 17th Avenue. At 17th, we were turned on-left and encountered the promised Turkey/Eagle split at Felt Street. The Turkeys are being pointed on-right onto Felt Street. It’s a beautiful day, let’s fly with the Eagles.

The Eagles passed the railroad tracks which is the direction we believed we would take. We proceeded to the next street, Kinsley Street, and turned on-right. At the next street, Chanticleer Avenue, marker made us on-right. We can see a chain link fence beside the railroad tracks, the hares must know something we do not.

A gate has been breached creating a locals-only access to the railroad tracks. And so it begins. We turned on-left on the tracks and began an extended visit of almost 1/2 mile to 30th Avenue where we were pointed on-right to Portola Drive. Here, for probably the third or fourth time today, we encountered old trail markings. While the hares CLAIMED they would mark through previous trail markings, this proved to be another example of Hares Lie! Eventually the check here was solved and we motivated on-right to 26th Avenue and there it was on-left to 24th Avenue and on-right there to East Cliff Drive where we went on-right. This was good until 20th Avenue where we turned on-left and onto the beach where flour led the flock on-right and into Beer Check.

From Beer Check it was a short-but-sandy trek to Sunny Cove Beach where Accuprick would fire up his Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this night: Pussy Wood for making a bracelet resembling a lizard at the start, backsliders were punished, Virgins were abused, dBASED for doing Virgin’s Chalk Talk on a manhole cover and Just Foot Pussy for feeling bad about calling him out for such, Ska-Skank Redemption for showing up halfway through Religion, Steamy Baanorrhea celebrated his 225th hash with us…and last as well as least, our hares. They were thanked for the party favors at the start and the rave that would commence after the RA dismisses the pack but no mention was made about trail. So the party could begin, Accuprick signaled an end to this Hash and 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 is still a subject open to debate.

I chose to not complicate this Hash Trash with the 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 1199.

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 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

Then again…

The Bastille may be too good a place for these scoundrels. I suggest dispensing with the usual Kangaroo Court associated with such dastardly deeds and send the lot of them directly to the guillotine. Beheading is an efficient (and economical) method of ridding our midst of these three misanthropes. Allow me to elaborate upon their many transgressions.

Bestiality Interruptus, Just Jenna and My Little Bony brazenly and proudly announced the entirety of their trail was prelaid. For a reason I am of yet unable to fathom, they seemed especially proud of themselves for this ‘accomplishment’ and vigorously preened themselves and each other in plain sight of their kennel mates. This brazen demonstration took place in a large public park within sight of young children as well.

A synopsis of events follows.

We gelled at Jose Avenue Park adjacent to the horse shoe pits. Bony said this area was used to raucous behavior and yelling so no one would take note of us. While that may be true, there aren’t 20 people yelling and drinking at those social events so I think we were probably taken note of by the mortals around us. Be that as it may, the festivities progressed unabated. Just Jenna even distributed beer produced by her husband which was quite tasty. Even though trail was a pre-lay, the hare trio still could not find it within themselves to leave on time. This portends of tragic events to soon follow.

As this was Bastille Day, berets were distributed and many hounds sported striped shirts and a few wore suspenders. I was unable to determine if they were to look French or as gondola operators in Venice. Then again, consider who our hares were. Hares away. (to their cars!)

Not wishing to press our luck drinking in a public park, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and were greeted by responding barks from: Boneless Shelter, Pink Cherry Licker, TIMMY!!, Steamy Baanorrhea, dBASED, Wines Like A Bitch, Just Sam, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Cum You Will Not, Occasional Rapist, Rainbow Butthole and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Boulder, Spott’d Dick and Junk Puncher represented our four-legged contingency. Pack off.

By virtue of the fact we assembled our traveling kennel atop not-one-but-two hare arrows, on-out was quite simple. We crossed the pedestrian bridge above a deep gorge and onto Harper Street. Strangely though, we were not directed to make an on-right onto El Dorado Avenue but continued on Harper to the next intersection, Avila Avenue. Here we encountered the first mark Bestiality Interruptus laughingly referred to as a ‘slight oversight’. The hares had crossed up back checks with standard checks. So, what we viewed was a back check circle with flour but no ‘X’ inside the circle. So we treated this sight as a check. Trail was found on-right on Avila which curves on-right and brought us right back to El Dorado. Somewhat early on trail for a pointless circle jerk, wasn’t it?

El Dorado was burned until it’s termination point at the railroad tracks where powder pointed the pod on-left to 17th Avenue where an on-right was dictated. The next intersection, Felt Street, produced an on-left followed by our lovable LC mark on-right into Felt Street County Park.

After the conclusion of our business here, we returned to Felt Street and, mostly by the process of elimination rather than adequate trail marking, found ourselves pointed on-right on 24th Avenue followed by an on-left onto Portola Drive. On the corner with 30th Avenue, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. The Turkeys were pointed on-left while the Eagle crossed Portola. I’m hoping for a sighting of the Bay, let’s fly with the Eagles.

Eagles were turned on-right onto 30th Avenue, on-left onto Scriver Street which ends at 33rd Avenue which was then taken to it’s termination at East Cliff Drive. Once on the cliffs, we had the pleasure of going on-left all the way to 38th Avenue. Once there, it was on-left onto 38th to Portola where an on-left was indicated. We plodded along the sidewalk to 35th Avenue, on-right there to Roland Drive and on-left there. This led the litter to 30th where we rejoined the Turkeys. Together both clans motivated 30th until arriving at Brommer Street Park where Beer Check was illegally staged.

Upon the conclusion of this fun little interlude, we went down/stumbled down/ fell down a hill back to Brommer and then undertook an (exceptionally) dreary three-quarter of a mile on-in to Pee Skool’s place of employment to stage Religion. (She was wise enough to skip trail)

Upon collecting everyone, RA Accuprick fired up his Religion machine. Here is a sampling of down-downs, justified or not, issued this night: those that adhered to the hare-mandated theme of French attire; Cold Smegma Kamikaze for bursting his zipper while running; backsliders were punished; Pee Skool for hosting Religion; Rainbow Butthole for hashing trail backwards; Dung-Fu Grip as DFL and Boneless Shelter was awarded the hashit. Oh, I almost forgot. The hare trio. Everyone enjoyed Beer Check at Brommer Street Park but no kind words were issued pertaining to trail. Dealing with the hares made Accuprick decide to issue the edict This Hash is over! 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 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 1198.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Happy Birthday to dBASED,

And let’s hope it’s his last one! He’s not such a bad guy, it’s just that his trails leave a lot to be desired. Such as being a source of enjoyment, beautiful scenery, events that leave a pleasant memory or, bluntly speaking, possess any redeeming social value whatsoever.

But enough compliments for this trail, let’s delve into the nuts and bolts that comprised such. As long as we’re speaking of nuts, let’s start with dBASED himself. As we know, he celebrated his 150th haring for Surf City just last week. We mourned. He hared yet again this week, this makes those that attended two-time losers. At least we get a respite this week, a much needed break.

We started from Robbie’s Pizza and Subs, formerly Joe’s Pizza and Subs and if you’re really old (like TIMMY!!) you will recognize this building was originally a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Enough of history though, let’s move into the 21st century. There was a small band playing on the patio and we noticed members of the audience, obviously followers, brought their own instruments and accompanied the band. This gathering coerced the clan into the indoor area which had the beneficial side effect of placing us nearer the bar. How serendipitous.

A Mismanager’s Meeting pertaining to this month’s Wharf to Barf started somewhat late, the GM’s were late. Consequently, the rank and file members were able to participate as well. Only trips to the bar and the music disturbed this interlude. Oh, and then there was the hares, all three of them. Occasional Rapist, dBASED and Junk Puncher arrived and put an end to the festivities. dBASED delivered an acceptable Instructions of Trail…if you were in the market for Fantasy or possibly Science Fiction. A number of promises were made, the vast majority of which proved to be either out-and-out fabrications or merely out of reach for dBASED to deliver on. Be that as it may, the hares hopped away, or trotted in Junk Puncher’s case, and social activity resumed at a high rate. Eventually though, fifteen minutes passed and this necessitated co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain to call for a Circleup for Introductions which resulted in responding barks from: Chippin’ Ballz, Leaky Rubber, Dung-Fu Grip, Rainbow Butthole, Pink Cherry Licker, Steamy Baanorrhea, Wines Like A Bitch, Cum You Will Not, Just Sam, TIMMY!!, Accuprick, My Little Bony, Courtesy Flush and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Boulder was our lone four-legged hound.

Trail took the troops to the intersection of North Branciforte Avenue and Water Street where we ended up going kitty-corner and then being pointed on-left onto Stanford Avenue. Stanford was used until an on-right onto Keystone Avenue was indicated. At the next intersection, Poplar Avenue, it was soon decided the pack had missed a mark. Backtracking, marker was located utilizing Arbor Avenue leading to Chilverton Street. During Religion, this oversight would be blamed on TIMMY!! and Puff as they are elders and unable to defend themselves.

Chilverton was an on-right bringing us to Morrissey Boulevard and an on-left there. Morrissey was abused for quite a distance, so far in fact, that as it curves on-right after crossing over Highway 1, Pink cherry Licker curved on-left onto Rooney Street and went the hell home. The remaining merry members of this madness plodded forward on Morrissey until an on-right was indicated onto the locals-only walkway connecting to Holway Drive and La Fonda Avenue beyond. It was on-right onto La Fonda and back over Highway 1. A short distance later an arrow pointed the pod on-right into a Eucalyptus grove and on-up onto school grounds.

Once we wove our weary way through school grounds, we took an on-left onto Park Way to Roxas Street where we discovered Liquor Check.

We continued along Roxas until making an on-left onto San Juan Avenue followed by an on-left onto Fairmount Avenue, on-right onto Trevethan and then on-left onto Eastgate Avenue. Just prior to the end of Eastgate, a narrow alley on-right brought us to Soquel Avenue where we were directed across and on-right. This lasted until Fredrick Street.

At Fredrick, the pod was pointed on-left and then onto holy ground at Star of the Sea Catholic Church. We went through the church park and on-left on Darwin Street, on-right on Windsor Street, across Seabright and sn immediate on-right to Broadway and then on-left. Some serious circle-jerking going on there. One block later we were led on-right onto Cayuga and all the way to Soquel Avenue. It was directly across Soquel, through a parking lot and on-right on Benito Avenue. When Benito reaches school grounds, that’s where the hares staged Beer Check.

In the only fortunate event of this trail, Religion was held ten feet away. Accuprick called for Circleup and started his religion machine. Here is a sampling of down-downs issued: those with no whistle were punished; backsliders were taken to task; Broke Bench was punished for Boulder’s pooping on trail; short-cutting Eagles were chided; Wines Like A Bitch was punished for calling hounds that missed a mark ‘old people’; Steamy Baanorrhea was congratulated for finding a TARDIS(Time And Relative Dimension In Space of Dr. Who fame) on trail; My Little Bony’s 225th anniversary; hashit was awarded to dBASED as the only birthday present he deserves. Oh, yeah. Hares. Thanked for cupcakes at Beer Check but no mention of trail was heard. This prompted Accuprick to declare this hash as being over 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 I recounted the events that comprised Trail 1197.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Congratulations,

You have survived the carnal carnage of another Beat Your Meat. As if a trail co-hared by dBASED is not enough of a dangerous threat, we were then subjected to what Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain consider a party. While by definition parties are to be festive and occasionally raucous, this event bordered on debauchery itself. Depraved and immoral are also words that come to mind when reflecting back on Hash 1196 and the libertines that attended. If there had been just a few more in attendance, the neighbors most likely would have contacted authorities detailing lurid behavior and that a potential riot situation existed and the vice squad would have descended upon a certain Eaton Street address as would a plague of locust upon a field of wheat. But enough reminiscing for now, let’s deal with trail.

Starting from El Jardin on Capitola Road and Seventh Avenue has already been appreciated. Possibly not so much by the harried wait staff but certainly by all hashers in attendance. The bar area was maxed out by 6:30 and everyone was jockeying for position hoping to be the next to be served. We had a mini-FHAC-U invasion consisting of Today Is Monday, Worm and Arabian Goggler and Rainbow Butthole brought a Virgin, Sam by name.

At almost exactly 6:45 Broke Bench Mountain delivered Instructions of Trail with lapdog dBASED by his side. Where was Cumz Out My Nose though? Reputedly she would be delivering deceased animals to the scene of the party. This also had the side benefit of allowing her extra time at the bar.

At exactly 7PM, Accuprick called for Circleup for Introductions. His admonishment yielded replying yelps from the following pups: Arabian Goggler, Little Anal Annie, Today Is Monday, Wines Like A Bitch, Steamy Baanorrhea, Rainbow Butthole, Pink Cherry Licker, Fap Jack, Worm, My Little Bony, Virgin Sam, Cum You Will Not, Dung-Fu Grip, Rubik’s Pube and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Representing our four-legged contingency was Swamp Rat and Spott’d Dick.

Trail took us through the parking lot to Capitola Road Extension and on-right to Rodriguez Street. Rodriguez was used until it ends at Chanticleer Avenue. However, we were later to learn a certain hare did not place a Turkey/Eagle split on this street though the Eagle hare actually did lay the trail. I know this trail exists as I saw a portion of it walking a dog doing my volunteer work at the Animal Shelter. Be that as it may, everyone made it to Chanticleer and were directed on-right. Shortly thereafter our highly coveted LC mark was observed and we made an on-right for our first ever visit to Chanticleer Avenue County Park. BTW, it’s quite a nice park with two fenced dog parks(one for small dogs, one for large), picnic area and bike pump track. Liquor Check required crossing a fence or finding a way around but it was there. After such, it was back onto Chanticleer to Capitola Road where a Turkey/Eagle split was observed. The weather is nice, let’s fly with the Eagles.

It was on-right onto Capitola Road for the Eagles to begin a long, boring stretch of concrete. This would last until just across the street from the start on Seventh Avenue. Here we were pointed on-left onto Seventh until Eddy Lane where another on-left was dictated. This took the troops to Jose Avenue Park. We would desecrate the park grounds and cross the pedestrian bridge leading to Harper Court and then on-right onto El Dorado Avenue until it ends at the railroad tracks. Here the pod was pointed on-right and not far along observed the BN mark closely followed by a horde of hounds imbibing.

Business concluded here it was an arduous on-in to Seventh Avenue, on-left there and on-left at Eaton Street to the abode of Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain. Once preparations for the fiesta were completed, Accuprick moved the mob to Twin Lakes County Park and fired up his Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this night: Rainbow Butthole for 69 hashes; dBASED for his 150th haring; Puff for 275 consecutive hashes; My Little Bony for using a hasher’s mortal name; Virgin Sam was welcomed; a number of hounds bitten by wasps; Worm for his inability to get his wife to accompany him from over-the-hill; co-hare Broke Bench Mountain for not following his own trail map and Little Anal Annie as a backslider. Oh, the hares. They were thanked for the upcoming party but no mention was made of trail. As it was now time to eat, Accuprick declared an end to this hash and I do the same for this Trash as well.

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 1196.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe