Welcome to Mardi Gras Madness…

Santa Cruz style. This encompasses convening in a dark dive bar, wearing insane attire and swilling copious quantities of rotgut alcohol. This is a formula guaranteed to make even the most dedicated party-goers in New Orleans envious and possibly somewhat fearful.

However, be that as it may, that is precisely what the denizens of the Surf City H3 attempted on the frigid night of February twenty-fourth. With the mercury soon to fall below the fifty degree mark, only L’eggs braved the cold to display seldom-seen areas of her torso. This may simply be yet further proof of her half-mindedness. At least she did not pilot her arrest-me-red motorbike to the hash this night.

The majority of the pack (foolishly) shunned the warm interior of Callahan’s Bar and drifted to the outdoor drinkin’ area, AKA ‘A Parking Lot’, where they found room to move and socialize all the while attempting to keep their joints from freezing solid. This continued well past our traditional 6:33 hares-out time. This may have been an effort on the part of our hare-pair, dBASED and (second) wife Occasional Rapist, to turn the pursuing pack into a viscous mass of protoplasm thus decreasing the likelihood of their being snared. It did not enamor us of them to put it mildly though. Eventually they did spit-up what they considered pertinent aspects of their trail. To most of us it sounded more like a sales manual for their trail and little more that propaganda.

After the passage of the requisite fifteen minute lead time, co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for Circelup for Introductions and heard responding barks from the following cold canines: Cum You Will Not, Wicked Retahted, My Little Bony, Baker’s Dozen’t, Steamy Baanorrhea, Chippin’ Ballz, L’eggs, Accuprick, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Clearly Not A Hooker, Just Nicole, Penis Horn Deformity, Dicky Wacker, Courtesy Flush and Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

On-out took us eastward from Callahan’s to the intersection with Market Street. Here we were pointlessly pointed across Water Street and on-up the hill to the intersection with Branciforte Avenue. Here were were coerced into crossing right back over Water Street to the side we were previously on to complete a totally pointless jaunt. Trail continued on-up Branciforte and then on-left onto Rose Avenue. For an unknown reason, the FRB’s took an on-right when Rose ends one block later and onto Linden Street. Half a block later we determined this had been another poor choice made by half-minded hashers and we reversed course. We passed Rose Avenue (again) and continued to the end of Linden where a locals-only blocked-off street leads onto Berkeley Court (not the kind of ‘court’ most of you will one day visit) and which feeds onto Berkeley Way where Clearly Not A Hooker was proud to loudly yell On-right! though the pack was a scant twenty-five feet behind her. She seemed quite proud of her FRB status. From this episode, I believe she has a bright future as a half-mind.

Berkeley Way was taken to it’s end point…and beyond by utilizing the pedestrian bridge above the concrete confines of Branciforte Creek. At Market Street, for the second time tonight, marker pointed us on-right and soon on-right again and onto the walkway beside Branciforte Creek. This is a deathly dark and dangerous diversion from the purpose of hashing so we’ll fast forward to the other end of this trail to where Liquor Check was staged and was ably anchored by co-hare Occasional Rapist. As this was an early salute to next week’s Mardi Gras, Hurricane cocktails were served. Hurricane, consisting of light and dark rum as well as Grenadine, is little more than sucrose syrup and was rejected by Accuprick on the grounds he did not wish to add diabetes to his list of medical concerns.

Upon the conclusion of our business here, trail proceeded to Market Street (yet again) and on-right to the locals-only bridge spanning Branciforte Creek and onto the Market-Lee Walkway which took the troops under Highway 1 and on-left onto Lee Street. It doesn’t matter how well lit this pathway is because there’s no one around to hear you yell for help after being jumped by highwaymen. Consequently, everyone was overjoyed to safely negotiate this section of trail and get to Emeline Avenue where an on-left was dictated.

At Fernside Street the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. I anticipate a series of unpleasant occurrences occurring on the Eagle trail this night. Let’s gobble with the Turkeys.

Emeline was used until Grant Street where a one block on-right was followed by an on-left onto Berry Street was followed one block later by an on-right onto Coulson Avenue. One block later an on-left put us on May Avenue which conveniently runs right beside Callahan’s where this tale of torture began. Sadly, we passed right on by. We were then coerced into crossing Water Street but were rewarded by successfully completing this dangerous undertaking by viewing the BN mark. And there, across the street from Dig Gardens and beside a tall fence protecting the Ramada Inn parking lot, Beer Check was illegally staged on a public street.

After having pushed our luck as far as we though we could, we strolled over to the parking lot of a closed restaurant beside Callahan’s and (foolishly) assembling under a security light, Religion was convened. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued by Religious Adviser Accuprick: As this was our Mardi Gras salute, anyone that has ever been to New Orleans was commended; backsliders were burned; Baker’s Dozen’t was mocked for short-cutting over a fence and jamming a tree limb up his nose upon landing; we had two analversaries, that being Chippin’ Ballz at 75 hashes and dBASED has reached the incredibly lofty height of one-THOUSAND Surf City hashes. And with that momentous milestone in the books, the RA declared an 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. 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 first 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

With apologies to The Bard,

The Winter of our Discontent has returned. And I refer not just to the precipitous temperature drop we are experiencing but the cold feeling we have towards last week’s trail. We have Pink Cherry Licker, an extremely experienced hare, and Pee Skool whom is, well, extremely experienced in other areas. You’d expect a trail full of the sights and sounds of a Santa Cruz evening. Well, there WERE sights, none of which do we wish to ever see again and there WERE sounds, the sounds of hounds begging for a termination to trail. None of what transpired is what we had anticipated receiving from these two harriettes.

We began our trials and tribulations from 133 Rooney Street, the current flop of Pink Cherry Licker and her (second) husband Fap Jack. As an aside to this, I took note of the fact Fap Jack chose to make himself scarce this night and vacate his own home. Make of that what thou willst.

We had a visitor, Roscoe Pee Cumstain, a friend of Cuntjungle’s from Vermont. He was not a Dukes of Hazzard fan but rather a former law enforcement officer in the Green Mountain State. I see he’s traded his badge for a beer! He sold his house, bought a travel trailer and now he and canine companion Ginger travel the globe on a quest for the perfect trail. When asked what he thought of tonight’s offering, he stuttered for a few seconds and then said, I won’t be anywhere near THIS place next Thursday! Again, make of that what thou willst.

Enough of the bad stuff though, let’s list the good points of this night.

Well, that was the quickest paragraph I’d had to pen in quite a while. Movin’ on…

We are now post-quaffing and ready to withstand Instructions of Trail from our hare-pair. It was generally accepted all the trail was a prelay. While usually condemned as an unacceptable form of hashing, the upside is that this should insure a screw-up free trail. In another break with tradition, this did not prove to be the case tonight.

Hares away was closely followed by co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose call for Circleup for Introductions. Their call to arms was answered by: Cum You Will Not, dBASED, Dicky Wacker, Wicked Retahted, Roscoe Pee Cumstain, Occasional Rapist, Rubik’s Pube, Hugh Heifer, Steamy Baanorrhea, Accuprick, Rat Pussy, Just Bryant, Deadliest Snatch, Just Sara, (still)Just Holly(but soon to change), Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Clearly Not A Hooker and Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

There’s the cast of characters (and I do mean CHARACTERS!) for tonight’s play in one act. The curtain has been raised, let the play begin.

We vacated 133 Rooney Street on-left and eventually made the on-right onto Morrissey and crossed over Highway 1. We groped along Morrissey until reaching Parnell where an on-right was indicated. This dumped us onto Poplar Street on-left and to a check at Hammond Avenue.

On-on was sounded on-left onto Hammond. Sadly, we passed a filthy alley, long the haunt of hashers everywhere and continued on to make an on-right onto Harrison Avenue. Harrison terminates on the side of the Safeway that faces Morrissey and we were then pointed on-right and into the dark and empty parking lot behind Safeway. We circled on-left through the parking lot and stumbled into the parking lot between the thrift store and Sante Adairius Tasting Room facing Water Street. For many of the pack, this trail was proving a distraction from real life and was deemed requiring a Gorilla Beer Check to enable us to see it through.

Upon the completion of our business at Sante Adairius, marker led the litter on-left on Water Street and across Morrissey onto Soquel. One block later, we were pointed on-left onto Pacheco followed by an on-right onto Parnell Street. Parnell dies at Trevethan and it was on-left there and a short distance later on-right onto Almena Street. Almena dies at Park Way and we were directed on-left. As Park Way nears it termination point at Highway 1, the pod was pointed on-right onto a locals-only walkway which dumped us onto La Fonda Avenue and an on-left was indicated there.

La Fonda was abused until Prospect Heights was reached and there we were pointed on-left and past DeLaveaga Elementary School and once back to Park Way(again) marker actually turned the troops on-right and up in the forest dark and deep and then on-left onto Old Vineyard Trail. This trail is treacherous in the light, at night it can be an ankle-breaking death sentence. As I’m certain our hare-pair executed this section of trail prior to old sol setting, they gave a never-mind to our safety.

Eventually Old Vineyard Trail ejects one back onto Prospect Heights and, lo and behold, Beer Check was staged there. This was a dark affair made bearable only by the fact we knew trail end was at hand. We departed from this place and treaded upon the one-way, not to mention (very) narrow, section of DeLaveaga Park Drive until Elk Street was reached and it was then an on-left and on-down back to Rooney Street. This time, however, it was not 133 Rooney we were seeking but, conveniently located right next door, it was 129 Rooney Street that offered us solace. This is the abode of co-hare Pee Skool and her long-suffering partner.

Once safely within it’s confine, RA Accuprick called to order, such as it is, the 1176th edition of the Surf City H3 Religion. Here’s a sampling of the poor bastards he victimized: Roscoe Pee Cumstain as a visitor and Cum You Will Not and Occasional Rapist for completing 25 consecutive hashes. There was a minor monumental event. Just Holly has completed 23 hashes and not been named. Why, you may ask? Well, because of her dogged determination to avoid every haring opportunity presented to her. Well, her innate indolence may enter into the mix too but I’d never mention that to her. So, in the interest of hash harmony, the decision to name her without having a haring beneath her rear paws was made. While a number of very rude(and appropriate) titles were advanced, it was decided to saddle her with always carrying the shame of never having hared for us. Allow me to introduce our newest (half-assed) kennel mate: Hareless.

As quite a letdown after a great naming ceremony, the hares were dealt with and chided for throwing the pack to the pumas by making us traipse through the darkened wood.

After dispensing with the hares, RA Accuprick declared this hash to be over 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.

By Special Permission 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 February in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two(2/22/22).

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Welcome to the innermost Circle of Hades…

A Steamy Baanorrhea and Dung-Fu Grip trail of torture and terror. Both of whom are notorious long runners and, as any qualified psychologist will confirm, persons that run for extended periods(without being chased) are symbolically attempting to outrun the multitude of problems they face in their personal lives. THEIR problems have now become OUR problems.

Speaking for myself, I do not really care about the poor personal choices these two clowns have made in their wasted time on this earth. I DO, however, care about their pathetic attempt to shift the blame onto the gentle people of the Surf City H3 kennel. We have supported these two jokers through over a combined five-hundred-plus hashes and how are we repaid, what are the thanks we receive? A trail of Draconian proportions, that’s how.

Our hare-pair labeled their trail Steaming Dung Hill. I now believe this to be a typographical error on their part, Steamy Dung Hell is what I believe they intended to call this outing but, most likely due to their level of intoxication, they fat-fingered incorrectly. This, incidentally, is most likely the same stage of incapacitation they were in when they planned this trail. And, in retrospect, probably when they laid it as well.

The hares inserted a rather disjointed stab of dire-erections into us about trail and it’s myriad of incarnations. As of yet, I have been unable to ascertain if this was a ploy on their part to confuse the pack or whether the hares themselves were just actually that friggin’ confused. Sadly, the bottom line here is that the hares hopped on-out not exactly sure how events would unfold and the pack outed certain they would not LIKE how events would unfold.

Once resigned to our fate, co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for our perfunctory Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from: Just Holly, Dicky Wacker, Courtesy  Flush, TIMMY!!, Wicked Retahted, Leaky Rubber, Pink Cherry Licker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Occasional Rapist, Cum You Will not, Clearly Not A Hooker, Ska-Skank Redemption, dBASED, Rubik’s Pube, Hugh Heifer, Virgin Alexandria, a passel of four-legged hounds and Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

I admit I’m jumping to a conclusion with no basis in fact to substantiate it, but I believe most hounds that hashed this trail will aspire to forgetting it in record time so the recap thereof will be mercifully brief. Trail description would be quite succinct but there was a major cock-up right at the start. 

Trail led the litter to the intersection of Commercial Way and Mission Drive. Here’s where the pack erred. Trail was located on Commercial Way towards Soquel Drive and Broke Bench Mountain sounded the on-on. The packs response?  Follow Cold Smegma Kamikaze onto Mission Drive towards Soquel Drive to allow us the opportunity to 1) Be way-the-hell off trail and 2) To add more distance to a trail that would eventually prove to be too damn long anyway. And it was so done which only goes to prove the old Hash adage: Never underestimate the stupidity of the pack.

Once the (less) stupid hounds were reunited with the (exceptionally) stupid ones at the intersection of Soquel Drive and Paul Sweet Road, a check had to be dealt with. After unsuccessful sniffing of Paul Sweet(the ROAD, not the PERSON), true trail forced the flock to undertake the dangerous crossing of the on-ramp to Highway 1. When the green light signals the traffic on Soquel Drive can enter the highway, these speedsters put the pedal-to-the-metal and balls-to-the-wall head(who said head?) for the on-ramp as would a NASCAR driver exiting the pits. If you’re the poor bastard crossing at that point in time, you’re destined to become someone’s hood ornament.

 

Fortunately, no one was lost and all completed the crossing of the Highway 1 bridge and transitioned onto Soquel Avenue. A check at the Soquel Avenue crossing was sniffed unsuccessfully. The was not an error on the part of these hounds but rather the fact they recoiled upon seeing dBASED had continued along Soquel Avenue rather than crossing. We are all cognizant of the closest admonishment to a maxim in Surf City: Never follow dBASED! Consequentially, most of the herd migrated across Soquel Avenue to find true trail actually DID continue on Soquel Avenue exactly as had dBASED. We crossed back over.

Another check was encountered at Seventh Avenue. This check was easily solved but mainly due to the fact no one wished to cross Soquel and takeoff down Seventh Avenue.

Trail continued along the crumbling cliff towering over Arana Creek and overlooking Harbor High School athletic field. At La Fonda Avenue, the drove was directed on-right, back over Highway 1 and on-left onto Holway Drive. Not far along Holway, a rousing chorus of El Camino, El, El Camino was crooned as the pack passed an El Camino in a driveway. This fun ended as we reached Morrissey Boulevard and were pointed on-right to begin a gradual on-up.  

At the intersection with Prospect Heights, the promised Turkey/Eagle split was encountered. I contemplated my options. The next section of trail was obvious; Eagles would employ Old Vineyard Trail on the southern boundary of DeLaveaga Park and Turkey’s would trot Prospect Heights to Brookwood Drive to rejoin with the Eagles. As I consider DeLaveaga prime puma hunting territory, I opted to turkey trot. After making the on-right onto Brookwood Drive, I was passed by Leaky Rubber for the second(third?) time this evening. I asked him how the Eagle trail was and he said, The dark was comprehensive, all encompassing. He shuddered and took off.

A hare arrow at Brookwood and Paul Sweet Road(yes, we’re back there) turned the troops on-left. A distance along Paul Sweet maker made us on-right onto Dominican Way, one of the many roads through the Dominican Hospital complex. We trotted the complete length of Dominican Way to Mission Drive. I took a brief excursion as we passed the Emergency entrance to see if any of us had landed there yet. Lots of COVID protocols in effect but mercifully no hashers. At Mission Drive we were turned on-right and then across Soquel Drive. We continued on Mission Drive to Commercial Way. Incidentally, along this stretch of macadam, I witnessed Courtesy Flush on his mobile. He claimed he was on a Zoom meeting. That does not explain why he had his hand in his pants though. That being said, he did NOT divulge with whom he was on the phone.

Once we reached Commercial Way, a slight on-right was immediately followed by an on-left onto 17th Avenue which was followed by the highly sought after BN mark. We survived!

And it was there, in the parking lot of B&B Small Engine Repair(Trivia: formerly co-owned by Slonad) that Beer Check was staged in a public place. 

The gang soon migrated back to the start where Dung-Fu Grip assumed the role of Religious Adviser. Here’s a partial listing of down-downs he unjustifiably issued: dBASED for being correct in his trail choices multiple time this night, definitely a Surf City first; Broke Bench Mountain over his confusion about trail marks during the Chalk Talk he delivered; Leaky Rubber for not being able to come up with a song for the above crime, Virgin Alexandria was welcomed, Steamy Baanorrhea for (more or less) completing his tenth haring for us. Oh, yeah. The accursed hares were roundly reamed as well. After the hares were sent away, the RA declared 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.

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 February 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 Trash for Trail 1173,

It’s the only welcoming you will receive.

Ever witnessed a pack of foxes conspire to take down a gopher or a rabbit? No. However, how about a pack of wolves band together to snare a deer? Yes. Such is the story of Trail 1173 as wolves in hare’s clothing, Broke Bench Mountain and Pink Cherry Licker, stalked Surf City hounds under cover of black light at night. Extreme dietary flexibility enabled this dastardly duo to devour us. Like the head chef(who said head?) their adaptability allowed them to consume the clan. The level of sophistication they possess to poison the pack is unparalleled.   

Harsh judgment? Undoubtedly. Then again, so was the injury inflicted on us. Let’s get to it.

Beginning this quest from Mission West, Ye Olde Watering Hole for really old people like Surf City Senior Citizen TIMMY!!, was  legerdemain on the hares’ part, an attempt to lull us into complacency. The hares’ casual appearance concealed the treachery that was afoot.

Black light flashlights were provided for those that refused to kneel to the hares’ request that we purchase one. Everyone enjoyed shining them on their kennel mates to see what piece of apparel would be illuminated. Of course, there’s always that small percentage of nonconformists, contrarians if you will. This week it was Ska-Skank Redemption wearing a cloak straight from the song Rhinestone Cowboy. Were it to have rained, she would have fried like a earthworm on a sidewalk.   

Eventually the hares completed assembling the components required for the hounds to employ and moved on to the instructional segment of trail. They provided us with exasperating details as to the placement of trail marking…along with the usual list of exceptions to the rule. When Broke Bench was asked if this trail would be an improvement over his previous attempts at haring, he raised his upper lip to reveal his canines much as would a bank robber pull open his coat to reveal a firearm.

Mumblings and rumblings followed hares-out as hounds compared notes in an effort to arrive at a consensus as to what the hell the hares actually said. None was forthcoming.

By virtue of the fact I was more concerned with finding (very) small marks with my (very) small black light flashlight, what follows will be an incomplete and (most likely) inaccurate description of our route but I believe even the hares will not remember where they took us so it truly does not really matter.

We were turned on-right onto McPherson, on-left onto Swift, sadly passing Humble Sea Brewing, and then on-left onto the Rail Trail. This was utilized to, oh, let’s say Rankin to Wilkes Circle where an on-right delivered us onto one of those hideous little locals-only walkways that are both dark and strewn with uneven sections guaranteed to twist an ankle if you do not remain eternally vigilant about where you place your rear paws. 

Once safely through that danger zone, it was on-left onto Walk Circle and then on-right onto Naglee Avenue and then on-left on Bethany Curve. Bethany Curve greenbelt was used until Oxford Way(thus depriving us of the beautiful view on West Cliff Drive) and then on left on Fair then on-right on Wanzer. Wanzer morphs into Modesto Avenue after crossing Swift Street. Now we’re way-the-hell outta town and still trucking along. A few blocks farther along, minuscule marking made the merry members of this madness motivate on-right onto San Jose Avenue. Just as San Jose makes a mandatory on-left, Broke Bench Mountain would jump out of the darkness from a locals-only entrance to Sergeant Derby Park. This park’s claim to fame is being home to one of the first public skateboard parks in the world and was built in 1976. This is where Beer Check was staged. After the conclusion of our business here, the obscenely long on-in was undertaken back to the Rail Trail across from Humble Sea Brewing where Religion would be staged.  

Here’s a brief rundown of the down-downs dispensed by Religious Adviser Pink Cherry Licker: Chippin’ Ballz for not being able to come up with even one verse of a Hash song; a down-down of well wishes for Accuprick who would undergo heart surgery the following day(Scribe note: successful); Fap Jack who called from Neary Lagoon, miles off trail, asking where should he be; Fap Jack, Just Foot Pussy and Bacon Queef for missing Beer Check; Virgin Steve was welcomed; analversaries were recognized for Broke Bench Mountain completing his 10th haring and Dicky Wacker his 69th hash with us; Yellow Prick Load, Ska-Skank Redemption and Today Is Monday received visitors down-downs. Oh yeah, the hares were recognized for making the effort to provide a trail. 

That pretty much did in Trail 1173 and does 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.

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 second day of February 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,

And welcome to the three innermost Circles of Hades courtesy this time not of Dante but rather the attractive and our purportedly innocuous Princess Di(arrhea). For her fiftieth(and hopefully FINAL) haring, our little Princess took the unusual tact of laying three separate trails, each working independently of each other but still sharing the common goal of perturbing a previously pleasant pack. Sadly, and I am disdainful of having to award her any credit whatsoever, I am forced to reluctantly admit she was successful in her endeavor. Much to everyone’s dismay too, I dare say.

However, as a standing edict from both past and present GM’s, Scribes must faithfully chronicle the deeds, or as in this case the MIS-deeds, of hares and their respective trails, I will continue shuffling through this mess trying to remain unblemished by it’s dirtiness.

This (mis)adventure began mundanely enough at old favorite Beer Thirty on the edge of beautiful downtown Soquel, California. There’s ample room here which pleased the mortals in attendance as they were able to safely separate themselves from our growing gang. 

A pack of thirty hashers raises quite a ruckus and even more so when they are accompanied by their four-legged canine companions. We had the usual contingency consisting of Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick but this week Just Jaime brought her animal as did Just Holly(will she EVER be named?) and Clearly Not A Hooker, both of whom toted their mangy mutts in their purses a la Paris Hilton. (AKA Handbag Hounds) Well, that just goes to prove the old saying, It takes all kinds. And we sure have our share of ’em here at Surf City.

Speaking of misfits, we welcomed back My Best Friend’s Cock and Twisted Fister to the fold after long absences. Not absent as long but still too long we also saw Bacon Queef and Just Foot Pussy. I could also mention we saw The Arabian Goggler as well but I don’t think anyone really missed him anyway. We will hear their flimsy excuses for their prolonged absences during Religion. Not that we really missed them anyway.

Not soon enough, lone hare Princess Di(arrhea) divested her current version of Instructions of Trail. Just to insure maximum confusion, she gave three completely different set of details although all three trails were reputedly carbon copies of each other. I must admit though that in that particular respect she was being truthful: all three were lousy.

After the passage of fifteen or so minutes, we assumed all trails were prelay, Co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from the following hounds: Just Holly, Occasional Rapist, Today Is Monday, TIMMY!!, Thmp-Thmp, Wicked Retahted, Dicky Wacker, My Little Bony, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Steamy Baanorrhea, Snake Me Anywhere, The Arabian Goggler, Jizziki, Courtesy Flush, Clearly Not A Hooker, Just Mike, Just Jaime, dBASED, Cum You Will Not, Twisted Fister, My Best Friend’s Cock, Ska-Skank Redemption, Just Foot Pussy, Bacon Queef and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Oh yeah, a dog house full of dogs too.  

The clan crossed Main Street and came to home base for all three trails at the intersection with Porter Street. I will only relate the section relating to trail one on-left. I remember most of it…sadly.

This group went on-left and under Highway 1 and then on-left through a gas station and into a parking lot for a nearby shopping complex. We soon came to Crossroads Loop(what the hell kinda name is THAT?!?) and then on-left onto the appropriately named Hill Street. When Hill intersected with Capitola Avenue, we made the anticipated on-left, crossed over Highway 1 and were directed on-left onto Bellevue(like the mental institution in New York) Street. This loops onto Lafeyette Street and then climaxes at Soquel Drive. Here the drove was directed on-left and on-down into Soquel Village. Soon after crossing Soquel Creek, the pod was pointed on-left towards The Heart of Soquel Park. I believe the hare did this prior to allowing us to reach J. J.’s Saloon and Social Club thereby preventing hounds from getting their rear paws stuck in the bar rail. That’s the most intelligent aspect of trail thus far. There, shielded by darkness, communal Beer Check was staged and was common to all three trails.  

Upon concluding my business here, I migrated back towards the starting point for the three trails. However, just shy of that spot, I intersected one of the two remaining trails, I haven’t a clue as to which one, and followed it’s instructional arrow on-right onto Soquel Wharf Road and then utilizing the locals-only walkway on-right onto Esta Lane. After completing the on-up on Esta, trail turned on-right onto Robertson Street to a check at West Walnut Street. I guessed incorrectly and continued forward on Robertson and was too lazy to turn back when I heard dBASED give the on-on on-right onto Walnut. I continued on-in to Soquel and wove my weary way back to Beer Check that way. By the time of my belated arrival, the area was literally a hasher heaven and filled to the brim with hounds. I opted to forgo the remaining trail, the first two had actually been rude enough that I felt no desire to suffer through a third insult.

After wasting enough time here we believed neighbors may have summoned one of the proverbial black-and-white vehicles, we pedaled back to the (sort of) vacant lot behind Beer Thirty adjacent to the open air market to instigate Religion.

Religious Advisor functions were ably handled by Pink Cherry Licker. Here’s a sampling of down-downs she issued: backsliders were first on her list and there was a beer can full of ’em such as…

Those that attempted and/or completed all 3 trails were mocked for their foolishness

Just Jaime, due to recent sexual exploits both salacious and obscene, morphed into…

   

We also celebrated two analversaries; Just Foot Pussy has acquired 175 hashes with us and Princess Di(arrhea) has, more or less, completed 50 harings for us.

Lastly, hare Princess Di(arrhea) was taken to task for laying three trails and still not getting it right. Three trails, three strikes, you’re out! She was, however, gifted a present for 50 harings.

After dispensing with the hare and her (numerous) transgressions, Religious Adviser Pink Cherry Licker declared, This Hash is over! and, taking my cue from her, This Trash is over!

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

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe