One hundred harings,

This is where Dung-Fu Grip has dragged us behind him and frequently begging for mercy. From high school history, many of you may remember The Hundred Years War between the French and British and Napoleon’s Hundred Days. Neither of these were especially audacious occurrences and we must now group Dung-Fu Grip’s Hundred Harings into this group of infamous events.

As many of you will remember, Dung-Fu was passing through Santa Cruz 9 years ago and his visit serendipitously(for him, not us) coincided with Red Dress. He never left. It appears we are stuck with him. He played co-GM through COVID restrictions. While you may believe that to have been challenging, remember that for over a year we had no in-person hashes. He was lauded for hand-holding us through those trying times when in actuality he had to do less than a REAL GM. And now we have been subjected to One Hundred Harings. Oh, I almost forgot, he now has the audacity to claim he’s been shorted in the Hash Count and has actually led the litter a hundred and ONE times. I assure you there’s more than ONE of his trails I’d prefer to forget. The factors that influence the parameters of a Dung-Fu trail are complex, dynamic and, sadly, perverse. The random volatility of his unwise actions has climaxed in a number of injuries, mercifully none serious, over the years. Many of these injuries were of a psychological nature and endure to this day. But enough of his past glories, let’s rehash Hash 1183.

We began this outing from Wagner Grove in Harvey West Park. Wagner Grove, as most of you know, was closed by the City years ago for fire safety reasons. So, what better place to start a Hash than from a closed park. The only drawback here, other than the illegality involved, is stand-in Beermeisters Pink Cherry Licker and Fap Jack were too damn lazy to cart the beer here so the start was moved to a more easily accessible spot but nonetheless still illegal. Then a pizza was delivered.

Once the libation situation was settled socializing took center stage and would remain so even during Instructions of Trail delivered from on high(or is that WHILE high?) owing to the fact they are seldom ever true, let alone be informative in the slightest. Once the hare was dispensed with, pack socializing returned to it’s normal dull roar. While awaiting on-out, co-GM Broke Bench Mountain gave the Chalk Talk to Virgin Jenna…on the leftover pizza box! Having no chalk(how can a GM not have chalk?) a few rude etchings were scratched into the pizza box lid and Broke Bench finished by telling Jenna to stay close to someone. Sadly, she chose Bestiality Interruptus to attach herself to this night and we all know how challenged HE can become with trail.

After the passage of the requisite fifteen minute lead time, something no one believes Dung-Fu truly needs, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circelup for Introductions and heard from the following fools: TIMMY!!, Banana Basher, Virgin Jenna, Butt Balls, Little Anal Annie, Steamy Baanorrhea, Occasional Rapist, dBASED, Cum You Will Not, Chippin’ Ballz, Baker’s Dozen’t, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Bestiality Interruptus, International House of Pussy, Driponya, Clearly Not A Hooker, Pink Cherry Licker, Fap Jack, Snake Me Anywhere and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. I should not fail to mention our four-legged hounds: Boulder, Spott’d Dick, Farley, Posey, Pokey, Wobbles and Junk Puncher. The soldiers are on the field, let the war begin.

As we’d seen the hare exit the scene via Wagner Grove, we opted to do the same. As most of you know, storms a few years ago have rendered the trail on-up from Wagner Grove treacherous at best and downright dangerous at worst.

Partway on-up, the Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. It appears the Eagles are headed into Pogonip. Scribe ain’t goin’ into Pogonip as dark approaches, he will Turkey trot tonight. Turkey’s continued on-up Wagner Grove Trail to Meadow Court which soon morphs into Meadow Road. Meadow terminates at Spring Street where an on-left was indicated giving us a pleasant but short-lived on-down followed by an on-right onto Quarry Lane. This scenic tour of the Upper Westside and it’s multi-million dollar abodes was followed by an on-left onto Quarry Court which ends at a locals-only pedestrian path that dumped us out on Limestone Lane.

Limestone Lane is a quaint little street that smacks of domesticity and family values. The Hash shattered this placid environment as we hooped and hollered down the street tossing flour, chalk and drinking from beer cans. Traipse along Limestone far enough and a shaded, unused dirt track on-right will allow you the opportunity to trespass onto private property, desecrate church grounds and illegally enter an abandoned quarry via a conveniently cut fence. What an occasion! Once surrounded by homes, the steep walls of the quarry and a semi-intact fence, Beer Check was staged.

Our hare, knowing most hounds hated trail, provided a multitude of libations and various and sundry goodies for our dining enjoyment. While appreciated, it did little to remove the pain of trail. Hounds straggled out a various intervals, exiting via the pre-cut hole in the fence and back onto church grounds. A short driveway led the litter to High Street where the promised second Turkey/Eagle split was observed. As we are safely past Pogonip, Scribe will fly with the Eagles this time.

An on-right onto High Street was made followed by an on-left onto Cardiff Place. Just prior to a 7-11, we were pointed on-left, through a gate and into an apartment complex. Dung-Fu also laid trail through here last year, he must have a propensity for frightening little children. This will eventually bring you to Bradley Drive where a check was encountered at the intersection with Majors Street. We took an on-right onto Majors and took this dismally long stretch to Laurent Street and were pointed on-left. This, too, is an abysmally dreary section of asphalt with one notable exception. Laurel Creek, which the City has seen fit to hide for much of it’s trek on-down to Neary Lagoon, is visible at one very attractive locale on Laurent Street.

We can now fast forward along Laurent Street across High Street to Highland Avenue. Along Highland the two clans would merge and continue traipsing along in what is now complete darkness. Just prior to where Highland becomes steep, pitch black and dangerous, a conveniently located locals-only walkway bypasses that terror and brings us to the intersection with High Street. Our course is clear, it’s down to the walkway beside Highway 1 and back to Harvey West. And it was so done, albeit with a brief diversion through Evergreen Cemetery.

Once reassembled, RA Accuprick fired up his machine and delivered a number of down-downs and here’s a sampling: Non-runners were punished; the Hashit and it’s guardian, Clearly Not A Hooker, were brought up; backslider Bestiality Interruptus was punished; Virgin Jenna was welcomed; owners whose dog pooped on trail; Cum You Will Not for Spott’d Dick licking the food container at Beer Check, we grieved for TIMMY!! whose truck was totaled by a passing garbage truck; Analversaries, IHOP at 50 trails, Broke Bench Mountain at 450 trails and Dung-Fu Grip at 100 harings, were celebrated; Broke Bench Mountain who became lost on trail; Baker’s Dozen’t was thanked for saving Cold Smegma Kamikaze from going the wrong way on trail; lastly, dBASED was awarded the Hashit for making a false accusation.

That put a lid on this Hash and Accuprick declared, This Hash is over! And so is 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.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Greetings,

Welcome to Lampshade 2022. The sun was out and it was warm. The only detractors this year was having Occasional Rapist, Cum You Will Not and dBASED as our tri-powered hare team. I assume the reasoning is that if you’re stupid enough to been seen wearing a lampshade on your head in the town in which you reside, there’s no reason you should not allow the most treacherous trio of hares you could possibly think up to lead you around. And so we did.

Beginning from the traditional location of the Hindquarter affords us the opportunity of having the class photo snapped directly across the street at Riverside Lighting. Incidentally, this venue also provides notorious lushes, such as Surf City Senile Senior Citizen TIMMY!!, with an opportunity to break more martini glasses and Pink Cherry Licker to inhale more pink foo-foo drinks. But enough of them, while a hilarious diversion, it is not our main purpose here today. Our main thrust, at least in public, will be the donning of lampshades as chapeaus and prancing around Santa Cruz as if this was our normal attire.

The action moved from the bar area where, incidentally, we saw old harriette Banana Slut. She said no way would she plant a lampshade on her head and went back to her drinking alone. The herd migrated to the patio area and planted the flag of Hashdom for all to see. There were two patrons who stopped in after their dinner to ask what was going on. While they accepted our answer, they indicated they would not be joining us.

Other than this one encounter with mortals, prelube went amazingly well and waitstaff was wise(frightened?) enough to let us be, at least for the most part. Pat the beertender kept a close eye on us hoping he did not have to chase anyone to get the multitude of bar tabs paid. Assuming we will be allowed back in next year, no one attempted the proverbial dine-and-dash tactic. Instructions of Trail were attempted only slightly after the advertised time. Conceptually, they appeared to relate valuable pieces of information. However, once on trail I realized they were a huge misrepresentation of the actual trail. The flock then flew across Soquel Avenue(paying zero attention to oncoming traffic) for the annual class photo at Riverside Lighting.

After photographic proof of our foolish nature was recorded, and no surprise here, the pack, minus the hare-trio, returned to the bar. Waitstaff had been informed we would return, much to their dismay, and our drinks had been allowed to await our return. After our glasses had been emptied, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose(cradling new puppy Boulder) and Broke Bench Mountain(cradling new wife Cumz Out My Nose) called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responses from the following hounds: Bacon Queef, Pink Cherry Licker, TIMMY!!, Baker’s Dozen’t, Wicked Retahted, Leaky Rubber, My Best Friend’s Cock, Just Foot Pussy, Pretty Fly For A Pi Guy, Steamy Baanorrhea, Clearly Not A Hooker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Accuprick, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, Driponya, L’eggs, Virgin(?) Caty and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. The actors have assumed their positions, let the game begin.

There was mass confusion immediately. No one had the intelligence to observe the direction the hares outed so hounds hot-footed in all directions and seemingly all to no avail. Hounds went onto the river levee, down Riverside Avenue and onto the bridge over the river. They all returned empty handed. Or should that be empty headed? Whatever. Eventually on-on was given along Dakota Street to on-left into San Lorenzo Park and take the pathway on-right over the pond and exit back out onto Dakota Street. Try as we did, we were unable to fathom the reasoning for such a pointless circle jerk so early on trail. Then again considering who the hares were…

Dakota brought the gang to Ocean Street where the mark DGK implored us not to be exterminated crossing the street. The logic behind taking the troops to a place where they may die and then telling them NOT to be killed escapes me. Wouldn’t the most prudent course of action be NOT taking inebriated persons into the danger zone to begin with? Then again, as previously mentioned, considering who the hares were…

Once across Ocean, a solved check led the litter on-right to Soquel Avenue, on-left and on-up the Soquel Avenue hill(paying our respects to fallen hashers Last Norm Norm and Pearl Necklace as we passed their abode) and then on-right onto Ocean View Avenue and then immediately on-left through the parking lot behind Shoppers Corner. We crossed over South Branciforte Avenue and were led onto Hanover Street. Hanover is only one block long here and we were directed to on-right onto Pine Street. Once to Broadway, we were pointed on-left a mere one block to Pennsylvania Avenue where we went on-right and across Broadway onto Pennsylvania. Again, what would appear to be a pointless circle jerk. Now across Broadway, Pennsylvania was used until it ends at Windham Street. Here we we pointed on-right and past historic Windham Street Market, now a private residence, but was a working family-owned neighborhood market when Puff moved two blocks away in January of 1977.

Once (back) to Pine Street we went on-left a short distance and then on-right onto Pleasant Street. While LIVING here may be pleasant, DRIVING on this road is anything but. This must be a private street as there are no curbs or gutters and it has more holes than DeLaveaga golf course. After stumbling through Peasant Street’s one block length, it was on-left onto Caledonia Street who one block later turns on-right and morphs into Peck Terrace. This brought us to South Branciforte Avenue(again) where an on-left was made. At the end of South Branciforte, the mob utilized the locals-only path that skirts along beside a fence guarding an apartment complex and dumped us out on East Cliff Drive. Here was the promised Turkey/Eagle split. It appears the Eagles are headed towards Beach Flats. Scribe ain’t going there as it nears dark, I’ll be Turkey trotting today.

Trail turned us on-right a very short distance and then pointed us on-right again and into the inappropriately named Jessie Street Marsh. The City of Santa Cruz, in it’s infinite wisdom, put an end to the ‘marsh’ part of Jessie Street marsh decades ago so that now it can sit idle and useless and the wildlife that called it home was evicted. (The preceding was Editorial Opinion) Once we stumbled to Lemos Avenue and a quick on-right into Alley 938. When this alley ends at Barson Street, we went on-left, across Ocean Street(again) and on-left onto Bixby Street which brought us to East Cliff Drive again. We went directly across to our only shiggy of trail, a quick but steep climb on-up of a hillside to the top of the river levee. Here it was on-right. The Eagles rejoined at the Riverside Avenue bridge and then one and all hot-footed it to Mimi De Marta dog park on Broadway beside the river levee. In strict non-adherence to the sign at the entrance, the hares hosted Beer Check here. Clearly Not A Hooker (foolishly) pointed out where she sleeps at night, I noted many a harrier making a mental note of such. Upon the completion of our appointed task here, the mob migrated back to Riverside Lighting and, in the most well lit area RA Accuprick could find, we staged Religion in plain view from Soquel Avenue.

Here’s a sampling of down-downs Accuprick issued this night: Those whom were insanely attending their first Lampshade Hash; Leaky Rubber for not only remembering to bring the Hashit this week but for the salacious item he found to attach to it(visit the Flash for further info); Clearly Not A Hooker for sanitizing the item Leaky Rubber acquired to attach to the Hashit; those that set not one rear paw upon trail; Driponya as a backslider. Oh, yeah. The accursed tri-powered hares. There was some thanks for Beer Check but nothing good was said of trail. After dispensing with the hares and immediately after a black-and-white slowed to take in the proceedings, Accuprick declared, This Hash is over! By the same token, that brings an end to 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.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Greetings,

After last week’s fiasco, Scribe found it necessary to take a vacation to recuperate from the atrocities perpetrated against the pack. I made my escape to Palm Springs where, serendipitously and strictly by coincidence, my visit coincided with the fourth (semi)annual Hash Springs. As the only Surf City hasher in the general vicinity, I felt it incumbent upon me to represent our kennel. And I did. And there was much rejoicing. With no dBASED, Dung-Fu Grip, Baker’s Dozen’t or Steamy Baanorrhea in attendance, Scribe felt obligated to undertake Saturday’s Eagle trail. The few of us that foolishly did such in mid-ninety degree heat saw an elevation gain of over seventeen hundred feet and six and a half-plus miles passed beneath our rear paws. In this matter, there was NO rejoicing.

It did, however, vanquish the memories of Hash 1181 from my memory. That DID create rejoicing.

This event began placidly enough from Rat Pussy’s (current) place of employment, Steel Bonnet Brewing. In retrospect, I believe his employer was more than happy to 1) Welcome a large group of known beer-swillers to their business and 2) Give Rat Pussy some unpaid time off. Let’s hope they did not notice how much more efficiently the business operated when he was NOT working.

Instructions of Trail were incompetently conveyed by co-hare Dung-Fu Grip. Many promises were made and, knowing we no longer trust him, Dung-fu Grip was able to make outlandish promises aware of the fact that 1) Very few hashers were paying attention to his pronouncements and 2) The few that did waste time listening felt them to be more of a comedy routine than actual details of trail. At some point after he started talking, he stopped and then hare-pair Dung-Fu Grip and Rat Pussy left. I do not know exactly when this happened because, like I said, few persons were listening. Co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain put the clowns on the clock though and that’s all that really matters.

Upon the completion of the fifteen minute lead time, these same co-GM’s called for and received Circleup for Introductions, the results of which are recorded here: Banana Basher, Baker’s Dozen’t, Hareless, My Little Bony, Wicked Retahted, Pretty Fly For A Pi Guy, dBASED, Fap Jack, Pink Cherry Licker, Shallow Hole, Deadliest Snatch, Steamy Baanorrhea, Just Bryant, Just Sara, L’eggs, Cum You Will Not, Clearly Not A Hooker, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, International House Of Pussy and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Everyone has taken their position, let the game begin.

It was across Scotts Valley Drive and into a large business complex to begin our travels this evening. Hacienda Drive was our destination where an on-left was indicated which began a rather unpleasant on-up. When Hacienda takes an on-left, the troops were told to on-right onto Casa Way. Casa Way eventually makes a turn on-right and on-down to Glenwood Drive where we were pointed on-left and on-out of civilization. The Turkey/Eagle split was observed at Scotts Valley High School. It’s obvious the Eagles will traipse on-up into Glenwood Preserve. Let’s fly with them tonight.

Just past Scotts Valley High School, we were led on-left onto K Street and immediately on-right to begin yet another arduous on-up into West Glenwood Preserve. We started on Blue Trail and then illegally transitioned onto Orange-Blue Trail via a cordoned off hillside. So much for preserving the Preserve.

Let’s ignore that transgression and move farther along Orange-Blue Trail before park rangers arrive. We continued the on-up and eventually reached the splitting of Orange and Blue back into separate trails. We went with Blue which, mercifully, began an on-down and eventually, again via an illegal trail, dumped us back onto Glenwood Drive and on-right back towards Scotts Valley. We pedaled along narrow Glenwood until making an on-left onto Deerfield Drive, on-right onto Meadow Drive and ALMOST back to Glenwood but were directed on-left into some minor shiggy. At first it appeared easy but then a six-foot high chain link fence presented itself. There was no quick way around so it was up-and-over. This put us on Shugart Park Pathway which brought us onto Vine Hill Elementary School grounds where Beer Check was staged. Knowing it would be a good idea to leave prior to the arrival of local constabulary, the pack powered on-out with the Turkeys taking Vine Hill School Road while the Eagles continued through school property to on-right onto Tabor Drive. Tabor leads to Scotts Valley Drive which took the Eagles back to the start and then on to Religion on Butler Lane.

Accuprick took the reins for Religion. Here is a sampling of the down-downs deemed deserved: Banana Basher as backslider, Fap Jack and My Little Bony learning the colloquial meaning of an upside-down pineapple; Cumz Out My Nose for falsely accusing Banana Basher of wearing new shoes; Pretty Fly For A Pi Guy as a backslider, Deadliest Snatch for celebrating her 169th hash with us; Shallow Hole as a backslider, Cum You Will Not and Shallow Hole whose dogs pooped on trail; dBASED for harassing Broken Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose’s neighbor and welcome back to Just Sara and Just Bryant. Oh, yeah, the hare-pair. No one had good things to say about them so let’s just move on. After dispensing with the hares, the RA declared, 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.

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 at Palm Springs, Ca. and printed at Santa Cruz, Ca. by permission of no one other than the author on this, the thirtieth day of March in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Greetings,

While St. Patrick’s day may have featured our annual party, the only ones happy when it climaxed would have been the hares. At least THEY knew where trail was going. The rest of us, not so much.

Beginning the festivities at The Mediterranean, colloquially called The Med, alerted the hounds to the distinct possibility we would be visiting Accuprick’s garden paradise. What may HAPPEN there concerned us but not the visit itself. The Med was the hub of social activity in Seacliff this evening. The pack became a focal point and many of us we photographed by the regular denizens of this long-established watering hole. They seemed surprised people actually dressed-up and got in the spirit of the day for a reason other than just an excuse to drink Guinness and Jameson to excess.

Hashers were so spread out throughout the establishment and onto the surrounding streets, few if any heard Instructions of Trail. The few I spoke with who actually were lucky enough to hear them claimed they were almost incomprehensible due to Accuprick’s level of intoxication. This was a trail feature that would figure prominently in the tragic events that would befall the pack this night.

The hares have vanished, much to the pack’s delight, and fierce socializing has resumed it’s typical dull roar. Seeing that no good could come from allowing the herd to graze at The Med for much longer, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and (future husband) Broke Bench Mountain coerced the clan into a Circleup for Introductions configuration. The result was a follows: Clearly Not A Hooker, My Little Bony, TIMMY!!, Riff Raff, Steamy Baanorrhea, Womb With A View, Finger Nips, My Sister’s Dildo, dBASED, Occasional Rapist, Pink Cherry Licker, Snake Me Anywhere, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, Baker’s Dozen’t, Dung-Fu Grip, Leaky Rubber, Princess Di(arrhea), Thmp-Thmp, L’eggs, Hareless, Penis Horn Deformity, My Little Penis, Queen and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. The players have taken their places, let’s raise the curtain on Trail 1180.

Center Avenue was taken but a few feet until we were turned on-left onto Broadway. Broadway, a somewhat misleading moniker as this street is unpaved, barely passable as a matter of fact by any vehicle not possessing all-wheel drive and a minimum of six inches of ground clearance. dBASED, being a huge fan of railroad tracks, immediately headed towards the nearest ones. Mercifully, he was incorrect and returned. We took North Avenue on-right and continued until it ends at the intersection with Center Avenue. Here we were pointed on-right onto Center and back towards The Med. However, just a few houses along, the LC mark was observed and, as we had assumed, we entered Accuprick’s backyard garden paradise.

Here Accuprick was dispensing all manner of intoxicants but mainly Bailey’s and Guinness. If you were lucky enough to gain access to his infamous ‘gardening shed’, as he euphemistically calls it, you’d have found various brands of whiskeys and possibly some Scotch as well. We spent an inordinate amount of time here; some of us hoping the remainder of trail would be called off and the others wishing to become desensitized realizing trail would most likely continue. And it did, but there was no rejoicing.

Upon leaving Accuprick’s, it was on-left on Center and then on-left at the next street, Santa Clara Avenue and on-right at the next opportunity, El Camino Del Mar. this street was utilized until it’s point of termination at Monterey Bay where an on-left put the pack on Seacliff Drive. Seacliff Drive was trotted until a small field gives access to a treacherous trail that drops 125 feet down an escarpment to the parking lot for Seacliff State Beach. Mercifully, some kindly locals have repaired the deteriorated steps and filled the numerous holes in this trail making it far less life threatening than in some of our previous visits.

Once safely on-down, we turned on-right. Trail marking, or more precisely the lack thereof, became problematic through the parking lot. My Little Penis and Queen tried the hideously long set of stairs leading to the top of the bluff to no avail. We were unable to find maker at the next intersection as well. Just when we thought all was lost, we happened across retired harriette Katman Douche who pointed us towards the trail that leads on-up to Coates Drive and Beachgate Way. Now there was some rejoicing.

Once to the top, we headed on-left on Coates Drive. This was followed by on-left onto Seacliff Drive and on-right onto Mar Vista Drive. This is a rather unpleasant road with few lights and even less for sidewalks. Mercifully, it was not far to Pine Street where an arrow turned the troops on-left which was followed by our highly favored BN mark and we pulled into the driveway of co-hare Cold Smegma Kamikaze’s abode. There we found a keg conveniently residing in the refrigerator in the garage. What a great idea!

I believe it safe to stay on-in back to the start was a rather free-form affair with a number of routes being chosen by various mini-packs. Let’s dispense with any description thereof and fast forward to Religion staged, appropriately enough, on Santa Cruz Avenue a block behind The Med. Accuprick initially assumed the reins in the absence of Dung-Fu Grip but, mercifully, Dung-Fu soon appeared out of the darkness and ascended to Religious Adviser.

Here’s a rundown of some of the down-downs issued by our RA: visitors My Little Penis, Queen, Riff Raff and Finger Nips were welcomed; Leaky Rubber was punished for forgetting to bring the hashit; Thmp-Thmp and Pink Cherry Licker were chided for following dBASED; Pink Cherry Licker and Clearly Not A Hooker were punished for dumping their Irish Car Bombs;(Editorial opinion: Hooker should have received TWO down-downs for saying the drink looked like Monistat); Dung-Fu Grip, Baker’s Dozen’t and TIMMY!! celebrated analversaries; Snake Me Anywhere, arriving after on-out, asked on Facebook where trail went, this was deemed to be a retarded action so she was joined by Wicked Retahted, all the ‘retahted’s together; co-hare Cold Smegma Kamikaze for laying a very confusing check mark, he was, of course, joined by fellow hare Accuprick and lastly, the hares themselves. After pubic service announcements were completed, the RA stated, This Hash is over! I hereby do the same for this Trash. Thank you for joining me, I only wish I had a worthwhile trail to report upon.

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.

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 twenty-second day of March in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Greetings,

I suggest we avoid the harbor area for a period of time until the frightening memories of this past Thursday’s escapade fade. Just as Stephen Spielberg made us afraid of the water with the movie Jaws, dBASED and Occasional Rapist have now renewed our trepidation pertaining to that liquid medium with Trail 1179.

While everyone was happy to heed the call of the trail announcement and convene at Johnny’s Harborside beside the harbor, we obviously did not know what was awaiting us. Had we an inkling, the crew would have arrived in a life raft or, better yet, have Harbor Patrol haul the hares off in leg irons and be tossed in the brig.

The get-together began innocently enough with libations for all and even featured raw oysters for a few of our more adventurous souls. Dicky Wacker sat enjoying the view and consuming an entire plate of fish ‘n chips celebrating the anniversary of the day he was hatched seventy-five years ago. (The man doesn’t look a day over eighty, agreed?) This lulled us into a false sense of security though. Things soon became so disjointed I remember but few hounds attending Instructions of Trail. dBASED had declared this a ‘M’ Word Hash in honor of soon-to-be-wed Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain. dBASED is quite an authority of such events as he has had two himself.

The time between hares-out and Circleup for Introductions was a blur with hounds randomly drifting away from Johnny’s second floor restaurant and calmly and complacently meandering towards the parking lot where we reassembled. Eventually, as many hounds as assumed would actually attempt this trail were present, we were welcomed by co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain. They heard responding barks from the following hounds: TIMMY!!, Wicked Retahted, Pink Cherry Licker, Fap Jack, Just Foot Pussy, Dicky Wacker, Steamy Baanorrhea, My Little Bony, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Cum You Will Not, Dung-Fu Grip, Ska-Skank Redemption, Hareless, Bacon Queef and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. The actors have assumed their positions, time for the play to begin.

The pack plodded south through the parking lot towards Monterey Bay and hit the beach behind the Crow’s Nest and on-left past the Palomar Cafe, site of a trail start just weeks prior. We continued on and took the same on-left onto Sixth Avenue as a few week prior as well. Unlike the previous trail through here, this lazy hare-pair dispensed with any variety on their trail though and Sixth was shot all the way to it’s termination point at Eaton Street. Here an on-left was indicated which gave us the pleasure of passing right by Johnny’s Harborside again. Thanks for the Circle Jerk, hares.

We crossed over the harbor and were then told to make the on-left on-down to the harbor parking lot. Once there, marker pointed the pod on-right through the entirety of the parking lot, on-up to Atlantic Avenue and on-right to Seabright Avenue. We passed by old favorite Brady’s Yacht Club though Rumor Central contends a Gorilla Beer Check was staged there. We crossed Murray Street and were directed to on-right onto the railroad tracks. While we despise sand for a trail, the railroad tracks in the dark are far more dangerous and present an intoxicated hound with numerous opportunities to twist an ankle or possibly worse. The only saving grace through here was the presence of the street lights on nearby Murray Street. Walking rather than running was a good idea as well.

Once back to the harbor(again) we headed on-down to the harbor walkway and went on-left through the upper harbor. Part way along this path, an arrow turned the troops on-left on-up a darkened staircase.

Nearing the top of the stairs, flour found the flock turning on-right onto a locals-only path precariously perched on the side of the hill overlooking the upper harbor and callously peering into the back yards of homes facing Fredrick Street. This pothole, tree root-lined trail unceremoniously dumped us into a dark, forlorn corner of Fredrick Street Park where further flour forced us to on-down right back to the upper harbor. Another pointless Circle Jerk. The mob made an on-left once back to the harbor and at the top of the harbor, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. By virtue of the fact the coyote pack residing in Arana Gulch where the Eagles are headed hunt at night, I elected to gobble with the Turkey’s. I would assume the Eagles went all the way to Soquel Avenue and utilized Seventh Avenue to get their tails back to the harbor area. Good luck, Eagles!

As for we Gobblers, we circled around the top of the harbor and took an on-right back down the other side. Part way through the parking lot, an large hare arrow pointed us on-left and on-up a set of stairs the emptied us out onto Mello Lane. (Trivia: Mello Lane is the former abode of Apple Bobber)

The only blessing of Mello Lane is that it’s short! Once to Seventh Avenue, we were turned on-right and were soon rejoined with those traveling Eagles. Just past the railroad tracks, our highly revered BN mark was seen and a few feet farther an arrow led the litter on-left into the small park across from Harbor Cafe. There, at the very back of the park, ensconced within the dark gloom, Beer Check was illegally staged on public property and after the park was officially closed.

After completely desecrating one of Santa Cruz’s beautiful parks, where Occasional Rapist and dBASED were randomly and haphazardly tossing powder on hounds as they arrived, we moved to the backyard of Cumz and Broke Bench’s(current) home via an illegal gate they installed giving themselves access to the park. Once safely ensconced therein, Accuprick assumed the reins and initiated Religion.

Here’s a brief, incomplete listing of down-downs, justified and unjustified, issued this night: Those that ignored the hares’ imploration to don white attire; backsliders were punished; Just Foot Pussy for being a (temporary) FRB with a bum leg; Wicked Retahted for worrying about what the hares would use to stain him with upon entering Beer Check, analversaries were recognized and TIMMY!! for returning to the pack after lounging on the Spanish Riviera for weeks. Oh, yeah, the accursed hare-pair were chastised for terrible trail. This was typical of dBASED/Rapist outings, more of a nuisance event than a Hash.

After dispensing with our horrible hares, RA Accuprick stated, 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.

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 sixteenth day of March in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Mardi Gras,

So the decision was made to go to the beach! This is typical of the half-minded decisions made by our trio-of-terror hares; Cum You Will Not, Baker’s Dozen’t and Dung-Fu Grip. Sprinkles and gale force winds were predicted for the darkness so what better place to assemble than It’s Beach?! It’s Beach is dog friendly and our canine companions were undoubtedly the only hashers that enjoyed our visit there. Assembly consisted of clotting together to share what warmth we could muster. None of this warmth, however, was imparted to the hares.

I will commend them on their effort to on-out on time. Needless to say, they did not succeed in this endeavor though as Cum You Will Not went flitting flower-to-flower ignoring her responsibilities. Failure to execute proved to be a recurring theme over the course of the entire evening as well.

Dung-Fu Grip rambled on explaining how trail would cross itself but instructions chalked at this intersection would be self-explanatory and nothing could possibly go wrong. Famous last words! I state for the record: Never underestimate the stupidity of the pack.

When asking if there were questions, the pack was so speechless after the trail-crossing story that they remained motionless thereby instilling a false sense of security in Dung-Fu Grip and Baker’s Dozen’t (we’re still missing Cum You Will Not) so two-thirds of our hare trio took off confident in their abilities as excellent hares and were happy to see how easily the pack was able to grasp their explanation of the trail-crossing scenario .

A chagrined pack mulled over the potential failure of this trail and, upon rendering it the most likely scenario, spent considerable time communing with the Beer Trough until GM Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from the following hounds: Hareless, Dicky Wacker, Virgin James, TIMMY!!, dBASED, Wicked Retahted, Chippin’ Ballz, Rubik’s Pube, Hugh Heifer, Clearly Not A Hooker, Steamy Baanorrhea, Ska-Skank Redemption, Penis Is Good For Me, Pink Cherry Licker, L’eggs and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. As if the aforementioned hounds were not a bad enough ragtag group of misfits and miscreants, along trail we would collect the likes of Courtesy Flush, Today Is Monday, Wines Like A Bitch and Rainbow Butthole.

Trail began on a sour note: sand and stairs. As if this was not enough, our first destination was across from the stairs and into the unlit darkness of Lighthouse Field. Unbeknownst to them, this would provide the hares with all the lead time they would need as hounds sniffed far and wide for flour in the deep dark and tall grass comprising Lighthouse Field. Eventually a small spot of flour was discovered and the trek across the entirety of Lighthouse Filed was undertaken. This emptied the troops onto Laguna Street. A few blocks later, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was observed. This is a rather scenic and domestic section of town, let’s fly with the Eagles and see what the hares have in store for them.

So, the Eagles went on-left onto Oregon Street and two blocks later on-right onto Centennial Street and across busy Delaware Avenue. What followed was a series of one or two block jerk-arounds consisting of National Street, Gharkey Street and finally Columbia Street which dumped us out at Bay Street. Here it was across Bay onto the pedestrian path located directly above the wastewater treatment plant. The only redeeming section of this trail was the fact we were upwind from said disposal facility.

This trail was used to it’s terminal point and we then joined with the sidewalk and were also reunited with the Turkeys and were pointed on-left through the parking lot across from the Dream Inn. After negotiating this vast stretch of macadam, we were directed to cross West Cliff Drive and head on-down to the wharf. It was along here we would encounter the lost pair of Wines Like A Bitch and Rainbow Butthole. They had just encountered the trail-crossing mark and, having not a clue as to what it meant, they were headed on-in. They turned around and joined us though and, ignoring the No Dogs On The Wharf sign, headed onto the wharf. It was also here that they encountered two of our hares exiting the wharf. Baker’s Dozen’t was laying the Turkey on-up Beach Hill and duplicating the on-in trail while Dung-Fu Grip turned on-right onto Beach Street laying the new section of the Eagle trail. Little attention was paid to them as we smelled Beer Near.

Beer Check was staged at the common area on the wharf where music can be heard in the Summer. We also had the pleasure of finally seeing the third leg of the hare trio, Cum You Will Not. She was dancing and prancing a tipsy jig from one group of hounds to the next.

Upon the successful completion of our business here, we adjourned to Point Santa Cruz(it’s official name), colloquially called Lighthouse Point in these here parts. This was a continuation of the hares’ policy of subjecting the pod to misty and windy conditions…as if trail had not been enough physical abuse.

Once reassembled, Dung-Fu Grip assumed the reins as Religious Adviser. To the accompaniment of Cum You Will Not’s boom box, Religion was conducted. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs issued this night: Visitors, Today Is Monday and Penis Is Good For Me, were recognized. (How was Ska-Skank Redemption able to avoid the RA?)

Continuing, Virgin James was welcomed, birthday baby Cum You Will Not was congratulated(spanking to be conducted in privacy); Courtesy Flush chided for biking trail; Ska-Skank Redemption punished for auto-hashing; backsliders were punished.

Continuing, Cum You Will Not was honored for completing her 250th hash with us. Lastly, the hares were chided for the darkness of Lighthouse Field and following it up with a rude example of verboten trail-crossing. The half-mile out-and-back wharf excursion wasn’t much appreciated either. After having been informed his trail was not well liked, Dung-Fu Grip unceremoniously wielded his power as Religious Adviser and terminated Hash 1178. 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. 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 March in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe