Four hares,

And not a trail to be seen. We’re been down the dead end of a three hare trilogy before and rendered the verdict is not a viable option for us. So, in typical half-mind modus operandi, let’s go ‘one better’ with FOUR hoppers to see if that changes the outcome. Well, in THAT respect we were correct, but only on the dark side.

Let’s begin this trip down the rabbit hole from the Hyatt Place on Broadway. Sounds like a visit to the Big Apple! A high end hotel, not a place hashers are accustomed visiting, and here we are. At 6:15, we had only one half of the hare contingency, that being Pink Cherry Licker and Fap Jack. We were told the other hares might(or might NOT) appear somewhere along trail or maybe we would merely see evidence of their existence due to pre-lay. As if that is not enough to supply you with an more than ample supply of trepidation, we have also discovered the bar, such as it is in it’s minuscule configuration, is not a full service lounge. TIMMY!! was heart-broken. He was not alone in those sentiments, there were sufficient reasons for all those present to be in a high state of dismay.

Though there were precious few articles of data to support any optimism pertaining to impending trail, a few illuminated areas did exist. Let’s peruse them, shall we? Occasional Rapist’s sister, Just Lisa Marie, graced us with her presence; Circle Gherkin’ has returned after a prolonged absence, I believe he has been cleared by his ‘counselor’ to return to ‘active duty’; both International House of Pussy and Cunt Double have presented their snouts for our perusal; Wicked Retahted donned his LA pimp attire and strode amongst us; The Arabian Goggler and Today Is Monday managed to find their way over-the-hill for a tryst with us and lastly but not least, there were some stellar attire on display for the titled Dress to the (Sixty) Nines Hash. Sorry, that’s about all on the positive side of this Hash.

After admitting to themselves none of their other purported co-hares would hop on-in, Pink Cherry Licker and (only?) co-hare Fap Jack finally delivered Instructions of Trail. They were a mishmash of a mess. Sometimes it seemed the hares were arguing back and forth with each other, yet to completely finalize trail. Unsettling, to understate the gravity of the situation. Hares-away.

After the passage of the allotted fifteen minutes, dBASED corralled the attendees just in time to see one of our GMs, Broke Bench Mountain, sauntering on-up the driveway claiming parking was difficult in this area. It’s 6:50, where did ya park, the damn Boardwalk?!? BBM took over and received responses from the following hounds: Hareless, Just Lisa Marie, Occasional Rapist, TIMMY!!, Cum You Will Not, Flours For Anal Bum, Wicked Retahted, The Arabian Goggler, Today Is Monday, dBASED, Circle Gherkin’, Steamy Baanorrhea, International House of Pussy, Cunt Double, Cold Smegma Kamikaze and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency this week was a full force; Junk Puncher, Spot’d Dick and Scratch and Sniff. Pack away.

We were directed on-left onto Broadway and had the displeasure of waiting for an extended period to continue on Broadway by crossing Ocean Street. The crossing of Ocean at this particular venue, especially in the dark, is an unsettling experience. When hares write ‘DGK’ at such a place, I find it ludicrous at best and insulting at worst. Who goes out on trail with the desire to get killed?!? Who even wishes to be HURT along trail? However, hares frequently wish to tell us to not get injured on their trail. Maybe it’s just the guilt they would feel, either that or they would not wish to get caught chuckling.

Once (safely) across the Ocean, we proceeded on-up the Broadway hill and continued until reaching Pennsylvania. A solved check here pointed the pod pretty much as expected, on-left and up to the home currently occupied by Hand Over Piss, Snake Me Anywhere and purported co-hare Dung-Fu Grip. Sure enough, operating without a license, was Dung-Fu playing bartender and tossing around libation as would a drunken sailor in port on payday.

After depleting as much as we were allowed, it was back to Pennsylvania and on-left to a check at Soquel Avenue. Traveling along Pennsylvania, missing co-hare Baker’s Dozen’t was observed…running TOWARDS Dung-Fu’s! Many of us have inadvertently been guilty of RUNNING trail in reverse but we have now witnessed a hare LAYING trail in reverse! What would appear to be a hare arrow led the litter on-left but by the time FRB Steamy Baanorrhea arrived at the next intersection, that with Pine Street, it became painfully obvious we had been misled. Meanwhile, back at the check…hounds had spread on-right and across Soquel sniffing around the Double-Oh, all to no avail. Eventually on-on was sounded maybe beside the Bicycle Trip, maybe down the alley beside the Double-Oh, only the FRBs know for sure. But trail did, however, proceed on-left on Doyle Street and then take an on-right on North Branciforte Avenue. We didn’t know it then but you can settle back and take a long pull on your beer, we gonna be truckin’ along this street for a hell of a long time.

We’ve just dragged tail past Fairmount Avenue, the last possible exit from Branciforte before crossing over Highway 1. Our next stop is now obvious, the penthouse suite belonging to the hare-pair of Pink Cherry Licker and Fap Jack. Sure enough, flour forced the flock on-right onto Gilbert Lane, on-left onto Rooney Street and on-left into the backyard of a certain hare-pair. Here we were treated to champagne with plant seeds in them of which I have of course forgotten the variety. This was a festive affair and stretched out quite a ways as the walkers were well behind those FRB types. Eventually though it was on-out onto the next leg of this trail which appeared to be stretching beyond it’s advertised 3.5 mile length. We were told on-out would be on-left at Rooney, this alone threatened to extend trail will past the stated length.

We DID on-out on-left on Rooney but only a short distance. Upon reaching Elk Street it was on-left and one short block later on-left onto Goss Avenue. You can settle back in your seat again, Goss will take a while. Once Goss terminates at Market Street/Branciforte Drive, we went on-left onto Market and continued along it’s dark, no-sidewalk length until Grant Street where a solved check took the troops on-right onto Grant. Eventually it was on-left onto Berry Street, on-right onto Coulson Street and then on-left onto May Avenue. Finally, we can see the end in sight, or at least so we hoped.

As we reached Water Street, many assumed Beer Check would be staged at Callahan’s as we’d been told to bring money and ID. However, we were led by Callahan’s and told to cross Water Street and continue along May. That being said, Cum You Will Not, TIMMY!!, The Arabian Goggler and Today Is Monday opted for a Gorilla Beer Check nonetheless. More on them later. Trail proceeded along May and took an on-right down an alley exiting onto Ocean Street just behind The Jury Room. So THIS was our beer Beer Check location. Inside we found our two surviving hares with pitchers galore awaiting our arrival. Not far into Beer Check, the determination was made this would be a far more pleasant place for Religion than the outdoor location previously announced. Phone calls were placed, changes were related and agreements were reached. Food was ordered and delivered from Taqueria Jalapenos. Pink Cherry Licker then fired up her Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs issued this night: Pink Cherry Licker and Fap Jack as the only two hares to make it to Religion; cum You Will Not and Steamy Baanorrhea for refusing to use the indoor bathroom offered at Fap and PCL’s hose and peeing outdoors; backslider’s were punished; best costume competition; those that attended the Gorilla Beer Check at Callahan’s and the hares for starting a hash from a high-end cocktail bar. That was about it. Oh. Except for the (surviving) hare-pair. Fap Jack and Pink Cherry Licker were thanked for moving Religion indoors but I heard no Thank You! over their trail. On-on-on? Well, we were already there!!

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

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-28.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Circling the drain,

A brief but accurate synopsis of Hash Twelve-27. To carry the circling of the drain one gurgle farther, the flushing of hare TIMMY!! should be of the highest priority. Elucidation to follow.

We began this particular fiasco from Mission West/Ye Olde Watering Hole/Paul’s Place, all depending on your longevity in the area. Or your ability to drink and remember. As those of you that have darkened the door of this den of iniquity of late, you are cognizant ownership has changed. The result thereof is a fresh coat of paint after banning smoking, refurbishing the restroom and acquiring some exquisite pictures of the bygone days of Santa Cruz. Improvement? Well, yeah, but merely a facade. The same creepy creeps and dirty denizens inhabit the bar stools as they did prior to the makeover. If you believe you see a pattern beginning to develop prognosticating the direction this trail is going to take, consider yourself perceptive.

After ingesting a sufficient quantity(but not QUALITY) of alcoholic lubricant, TIMMY!! stood, with only a slight wobble, and delivered Instructions of Trail. Reputedly, Turkey was 3 miles and Eagle around 1 mile more. Lies!

As much attention was given to them as the hare exhibited in delivering them. This is code for zilch-point-shit! Hare out.

The next 15 minutes were consumed with consuming and wondering why so many of our usual kennel mates had opted to skip this trail. This was the first day without water falling upon our little heads in a week or so, why would so many not avail themselves of this opportunity? The consensus arrived at is that many hounds fear at the least and loathe at most a TIMMY!! trail. Personally, I fall somewhere in between as I do not wish to dedicate that much energy on TIMMY!! OR one of his accursed trails. Time did pass though and bar tabs were cleared followed by the mini-pack clearing out of the bar. We passed one of the ubiquitous taco trucks on our way to the parking lot, some of us wishing we had visited previously. Once assembled in the parking lot, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain requested those present to announce their names. Here is what they heard in response to their request: Flours For Anal Bum, Steamy Baanorrhea, Pink Cherry Licker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, dBASED, Cum You Will Not and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Somewhere along trail we traded Pink Cherry Licker for Courtesy Flush. Intriguing exchange I dare say. Our canine contingency was at full strength; Scratch and Sniff, Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. (Small) Pack away.

An arrow at McPherson Street pointed the pod on-right to a check at Swift Street. Thus began a series of miscalculations. Crossing to Mission Street would have garnered you false trail markings though it took dBASED and Steamy Baanorrhea a while to ascertain such. Towards the Bay on Swift yielded nada. The remaining exit, that of crossing Mission Street proved correct. Once across Mission, it was on-up Grandview Street. Grandview curves on-left and a few blocks later the back check mark was observed. This took the troops on-back to the locals-only dirt path into Arroyo Seco Canyon. Mercifully, a hundred yards in, an even smaller and darker locals-only path veers off on-right to terminate at Escalona Drive. We plodded along Escalona for a really…long…way. All the way to Laurel Street as a matter of fact where we went on-right and were then coerced into undertaking the dangerous crossing of California Highway 1. Even with a pedestrian light this is a precarious position. We were successful though.

Down Laurel we ventured and then it was on-right onto California Street. Once to Bay Street we cut a jig across and on-right on Bay but only until the Rail Trail where it was on-left. Now that we’re approaching the Circles, a compass will spin as will my head. The following is an approximation as to where we were dragged. Bellevue Street was utilized on-left which morphs into Walk Circle. At California Avenue, we crossed and pulled into Santa Cruz Market for a Gorilla Beer Check courtesy of Courtesy.

Trail continued on Walk Circle until a back check sent the troops traipsing on-back to a narrow, dark locals-only bumpy pathway between homes that led the litter to Wilkes Circle where a solved check pointed the pack on-left. At Pendegast Avenue, marker made us turn on-left. A quick jig at Surfside Avenue and we remained partaking of Pendegast. Pendegast brings one to Garfield Park where, on the southwest corner on Almar Avenue, the hare was finally found swilling away.

Having reached the level of abject desolation, it was quickly decided by unanimous decision that Religion would be staged here rather than migrating back to the normal location beside the tracks on Swift Street. Pink Cherry Licker, having bailed; Dung-Fu Grip, a no-show and Accuprick MIA, poor old dBASED was saddled with playing Religious Adviser. Well, at least it would be quick with only a single-digit number of hounds here. This is what passed for Religion on this night: Courtesy Flush punished as a backslider and Steamy Baanorrhea celebrated his 250th hash with us. Yes, only TWO down-downs! Oh, wait. That damned hare. TIMMY! was thanked for the nice park setting for Beer Check but nothing else. After the hares’ punishment down-down, the RA dismissed the pack. We reconvened at Upper Crust Pizza next to the start for on-on-on and a well-deserved face feed.

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

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide their kennel mates with entertainment. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor remains a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-27.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Rejected,

By the Crepe Place, the Creepy Place in Hash lingo. Arriving at the announced start, it was as dark as my last girlfriend’s feelings towards me. A leaking roof necessitated their turning out the lights Thursday. So, there we were, (there we were) all dressed up with no place to go. The hare-pair soon sauntered up and the decision was made to relocate across Soquel Avenue to Charlie Hong Kong. The pack crossed the street to find: 1) The beer selection is pathetic 2) There’s somewhere close to zero room to stand. So, those of us still reasonable drinkers stayed while those of us far down the lane of heavy drinkin’ ambled down the street to the recently-opened Gilman Brewing in the former location of Tony and Alba’s beside Whole Foods. This group of ne’er-do-wells consisted of Pink Cherry Licker, (second) husband Fap Jack, TIMMY!! and Hareless. They were soon joined by Dung-Fu Grip who ran back and forth to Charlie Hong Kong’s carrying messages. So while the Hash progressed these jokers drank away the evening. Eventually these five finished their drinking here and decided to see what was going on with the hash. Upon returning to Charlie Hong Kong, they learned the hares had outed and it was almost time to Circleup for Introductions. Co-GM Broke Bench Mountain, making a guest appearance, soon called for said circleup and witnessed responses from the following: TIMMY!!, Pink Cherry Licker, Fap Jack, Hareless, Thmp-Thmp, Princess Di(arrhea), My Little Bony, Cum You Will Not, Flours For Anal Bum, Snake Me Anywhere, Bailas Con Burros, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, dBASED, Dung-Fu Grip and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our four-legged hounds this week were Junk Puncher and Spot’d Dick. Pack away.

Marker made the merry members of this madness motivate east on Soquel Avenue, cross Seabright Avenue and continue for quite a distance before, sadly, passing Sante Adairius without stopping and continue across Morrissey Boulevard and still keep going. We continued trudging along Soquel Avenue until reaching Park Way where an arrow turned the troops on-right across Soquel Avenue onto South Park Way.

South Park Way has but one noticeable quality, it’s dreary. The die has been cast, Arana Gulch is our destination. Upon reaching Agnes Street, an arrow led the litter on-right and to the entrance to a (very) dark (and [very] dangerous) Arana Gulch. The mob gelled to provide herd immunity against a prowling coyote pack or a rogue mountain lion. Luckily, there’s no option as to how to proceed through here as the hare arrows were smaller than those on Valentine’s Day cards. The trail through Arana Gulch will eventually eject you onto Fredrick Street and we crossed Fredrick and boogied along Broadway. The first on-right, Darwin Street, was our destination. Darwin comes to climax at Hanover Street, except for the recently refurbished locals-only walkway that emerges onto Gault Street beside the library.

Here a check so kindly solved by the Eagles let us know on-right was right. We proceeded along Gault Street until seeing our favored BN mark leading us into the parking lot behind a building facing Soquel Avenue. It was here, foolishly under a bright light, the hare-pair were finally cornered as they swilled away.

Upon concluding our appointed task here, we proceeded back to Gault Street and went on-right to cross Seabright Avenue after dealing with Bacon Queef and Just Foot Pussy who stood in their front yard and watched the pack parade past. Once across Seabright we continued into the parking lot behind Lillian’s and there Dung-Fu Grip set up shop for his vindictive Religion machine. Here’s are but a few of the down-downs, justified or not, issued by our RA this night.

Anyone affected by the storm that inundated the area this past week; backsliders were duly punished; Just Foot Pussy who was not wearing his Foot Pussy shoes; Banana Basher for mistaking a jogger for a hasher on the walkway beside the library and hiding his bulkiness; analversaries were recognized; TIMMY!! for blindly running across Soquel Avenue with careless regard for approaching traffic. That pretty much did it for…oh, wait. The accursed hare-pair. We thanked them for keeping trail a respectable length though trail itself was FAR from respectable. The RA then dismissed the pack 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 become the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-26.

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 January in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Begin from a bar,

In a grocery store! A bizarre beginning to a trail that proved our hare, too, is bizarre. Actually, even more so. My desire to forget, or better yet completely avoid, a Dung-Fu Grip trail is deep and abiding. Hell, it’s damn near become a religion for me. However, being aware rain was forecast, I (foolishly) assumed Dung-Fu would shorten trail as appropriate. As I said, foolishly.

There we were(there we were) sitting in a grocery store drinking and eating (possibly) stolen veggie chips from the store. Dogs were winding in and out of our legs hoping for dropped food. The regulars were sitting at the bar wondering who we were and why we had chosen their regular abode to victimize.

Virgin Slim, who is far from true virgin status, promised us a real virgin. She appeared but barely in time for Circleup for Introductions. Old kennel mate My Little Bony made a rare guest appearance visiting from his upper crust residence in Santa Barbara. Cumz Out My Nose, our resident robo-human hybrid, ambled in under her own power and made for the bar. Once there, she was somewhat disappointed with a short pour of warm wine. Fap Jack declined to hash upon hearing whom the hare was. Broke Bench Mountain sported a new ‘do but upon interrogation admitted he’d cut his hair himself and may have missed a few spots. Clearly Not A Hooker brought a large umbrella indicating she had no intention of even walking quickly and then announced she wasn’t even drinking. Can she still be deemed a hasher? It would appear obvious to even the most casual of observers that Dung-Fu Grip has an adverse effect upon his kennel mates even BEFORE on-out.

Fashionably late, our hare strode to the front of the pack and delivered Instructions of Trail. Reputedly, trail has been shortened due to inclement weather but when reaching the original Turkey/Eagle split location, Dung-Fu would reinstate the Eagle trail weather permitting. No one cared. Hare-away.

The next fifteen minutes passed rather quickly. The beertender walked over to the mob and said he was obligated to close the place at 7. We promised to be gone by then. The regulars began crab-walking out the door, not taking their eyes off us. We bused our table. Those feeling capable, or at least desirous, chugged one final pint before zero hour approached. It did, however, arrive just as promised so it was out the door with us for Circleup for Introductions. The following hounds answered this call issued by co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain: TIMMY!!, Pink Cherry Licker, Steamy Baanorrhea, Flours For Anal Bum, Clearly Not A Hooker, My Little Bony, Snake Me Anywhere, Cum You Will Not, Virgin Slim, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, dBASED, Virgin Claire and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. We had a canine contingency tonight consisting of Junk Puncher, Scratch and Sniff and Spot’d Dick. Pack-out.

Trail proceeded past Raley’s Grocery and on-up into Peery Park and on-right across the twin bridges past the (still) unopened Rispin Mansion to Wharf Road. At Wharf Road, a hare arrow pointed the pod directly across onto Clares Street. Let the jerkin’ begin. Just across the intersection is the new Capitola Library. We were directed on-right beside the building and then on-left onto a little-known locals-only walkway leading to Trotter Street. Trotter ends at Derby Avenue where we went on-left and back to Clares Street. Thanks for the scenic circle-jerk, hare. At Clares the troops were taken on-right a short distance.

At 42nd Avenue we were directed on-left all the way to Capitola Road, DGK across to remain on 42nd. 42nd ends at Jade Street and marker here led the litter on-left past Jade Street Park to make a quick on-left on-right transition onto Topaz Street. Topaz terminates a scant two blocks later where an on-right pointed the pride onto 49th Avenue and ended at the railroad tracks. Here it was on-down the hill to Cliff Drive and on-left on-down into Capitola-by-the-Sea. Along this stretch of asphalt, TIMMY!! and I were passed by the Eagles consisting of dBASED, his trusty sidekick Junk Puncher and Steamy Baanorrhea. Just across the Soquel Creek Bridge, a hare arrow guided the gang on-left and onto the Soquel Creek Park Footway. This heralded the most exercise any of us would get this trail as we jumped, side-stepped or hopped over huge puddles of water, some almost as large as Soquel Creek itself. When the walkway ends, we were led on-left onto Riverview Avenue and one short block later on-left onto Riverview Drive.

Riverview Drive feeds directly into Peery Park where we visited previously tonight. Just before entering the darkness of the park, our favored BN mark was observed and it was on a bench in the park we discovered our hare calmly slurping beer.

The Eagles joined the party and were soon followed by the remainder of the Turkeys. It soon became obvious the pack had no inclination to on-down to the parking lot to the usual site Religion is staged so Beermeister dBASED stole…uh…I mean BORROWED a shopping cart from Raley’s and carted the Beer Trough on-up into the park. This was soon followed by a set of bright headlights(Who said ‘Head’?) coming on-up into the park. We prepared to make a break for it fearing police intervention but it turned out to be Broke Bench Mountain’s car delivering the infirmed Cumz Out My Nose. It was here Religious Adviser Pink Cherry Licker turned on her Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs she issued: Dung-Fu Grip for calling this Hash 1125 in his Trail Announcement rather than 1225; Virgin Slim as a backslider; My Little Bony for not placing so much as one rear paw on trail; Virgin Claire was welcomed and Clearly Not A Hooker(huge umbrella in hand) was recognized for completing her 50th hash. Oh, yeah, the accursed hare. Everyone appreciated the start at ‘Raley’s Bar’ and the food opportunities but had little good to say about trail. It was now raining profusely, the gods of the Hash just missed cutting this trail short. The RA dismissed the pack allowing us to swim away. I dismiss the pack at this time as well. On-on-on was at Village Host Pizza and drew half a dozen stalwart hashers.

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

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-25.

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

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Picture this…

Five hares and eight hounds equally split between harriers and harriettes. A combination both rare and bizarre. Then again, the annual Picture Hash has always proven somewhat bizarre, most of which in reality is the fault of our hare-pair, dBASED and (second) wife Occasional Rapist. More on these two jokers later, we have other matters to attend to first.

The assembly process began at the abode of our hare-pair in their backyard. It was quite warm for a late December evening, some hashers even decided they were overdressed for this event. There was some minuscule stripping performed. The family’s new fire box was stocked with wood knowing that upon our return it would be a requisite item. A small pack slowly evolved made even smaller upon the revelation we would encounter FIVE hares over the course of the evening. This may well be a club record and not really the kind of which we will be proud. The again, I have taken note of the fact many of our records are not the kind you will brag to Mom and Dad about anyway. Many hares and hounds sported their Christmas finery which led me to believe there was not to be many runners this night. Sensing no more hounds would appear and wishing to avoid further embarrassment, dBASED delivered this year’s version of Instructions of Trail and noted there would be a Turkey/ Eagle split. Sounds dangerous, let’s see how THAT develops.

The hares stated 5 minutes would be sufficient lead time which pretty much gave away the first Beer Check, directly across the street at WomenCare. Hare(s) out.

Five or so minutes later, Broke Bench Mountain called for Circelup for Introductions and heard from the following: Flours For Anal Bum, Steamy Baanorrhea, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Pink Cherry Licker, Cum You Will Not, Snake Me Anywhere, Jizziki and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. No canine contingency this eve. Also, it should be noted Broke Bench Mountain decided he would be better served assisting Cumz Out My Nose with her rehab from double-knee replacement and exited the vicinity at a high rate of speed once introductions were completed. Pack(walking) out.

True to our surmise, WomenCare was our first stop. There we encountered the hare-pair of Princess Di(arrhea) and (current) husband Thmp-Thmp. Libations were distributed and the next picture was distributed, obviously the entrance to New Brighton State Beach so it was down Park Avenue we journeyed. Steamy Baanorrhea searched in vain for the opening in the fence beside Highway 1 only to discover our highly efficient CalTrans crew have repaired this. Well, that’s understandable. It’s far easier to knit a fence back together than repair any of the damn potholes in the highway. We circled around.

Upon arriving at the park entrance, we encountered Occasional Rapist leaning against the sign swilling away on the alcoholic offering she had for us. She handed Steamy a picture and it was quite obviously campsite 69 in the campground area. Uh…it’s really dark, if one did not bring a torch they will most likely fall a great distance. But off we went. We went on-up from the road along a trail we took a few months ago and entered the campground, a surprising number of RV’s in attendance, and stumbled through the dark until finding dBASED at campsite 69.

The next picture was that of the intersection of Park Avenue and Coronado Street which is across Park from the tracks where we have started multiple times. Another trek into the darkened depths of the park was undertaken. Eventually we found the parking lot and from there it was a treacherous on-up to Park Avenue. As soon as we crested the hill, we were treated to the sight of Princess Di(arrhea) and Thmp-Thmp leisurely lounging and passing a huge flask back and forth.

After partaking of the offering here, Steamy Baanorrhea took off on the Eagle trail. Puff decided to follow him in case he needed medical assistance. The Eagles went back down the treacherous hill to the parking lot for the park and then on-down to the trail beside the beach heading back towards the campground. At the bottom of the long set of steps leading on-up to the campground, dBASED was observed. We were somewhat surprised to see him, and then he handed Steamy the picture. It was the intersection of Park Avenue and Coronado! The Eagle trail was, basically speaking, a YBF! Curse these hares. On-back we went.

Once back at the Liquor Check, the Turkeys had arrived and the place was in full-on party mode. Finally dragging ourselves on-out, we continued along Coronado and went on-left onto Sir Francis, on-right onto Cortez Street, on-left onto Columbus Drive, on-right onto Elinor Street which brought us to Monterey Avenue. Taking an on-right here brought us to a check at Kennedy Drive which was universally ignored. We proceeded along Kennedy to Park Avenue and hooked an on-left there. We believed we were finally on-in but the hares had one more dastardly deed to dump on us. Just prior to our starting point, another Beer Check was staged in a business parking lot. Finally, FINALLY, the hare pentagon was done jerking us around and we proceeded back to the start. The fire box was fired up and beers grabbed as Religious Adviser Pink Cherry Licker cranked up her Religion Machine. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs she issued: Steamy Baanorrhea was awarded a congratulatory down-down for marking trail; Flours For Anal Bum staring into a hole which had nothing inside it; Cold Smegma Kamikaze for refusing to believe a picture(!) and insisted trail went down to the Bay; Cum You Will Not was awarded Best Costume; dBASED and Pink Cherry Licker for screwing-up a hash song; Junk Puncher for his 275th hash with us; Cum You Will Not, Pink Cherry Licker and Snake Me Anywhere for saying they were doing fine and immediately became lost on trail and Flours For Anal Bum for not knowing even one small hash song. That concluded Religion. Oh, the pentagonal hare ensemble. Uh, thanks for the tamales, that’s the best we can say about ya! The face-feed finalized Hash Twelve-24 and I so do 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 that I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-24.

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-eighth day of December in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Road Trip!

Our annual trip to copulate with the FHAC-U at their Christmas Hash in Los Gatos where we would (again) desecrate the hillside hacienda belonging to Worm. He must have a short memory or excellent homeowner’s insurance to continue allowing us ingress to his palace.

The first responders were, oddly enough, all Surf City hashers. We take the potential disasters that may befall us on treacherous Highway 17 and always leave far earlier than necessary. Soon the local denizens began slithering in though. Skid Mark was queen of the kitchen arranging the cornucopia of food that was arriving and Worm poured his winery’s latest release. The Arabian Goggler was testing the limits of his liver as usual. Little Anal Annie abandoned husband Butt Balls who had a business meeting. Driponya has made a rare quest appearance as has Gunga Dick. Chopped Liver, Ramrod and Just Gwen were in attendance. Chopped Liver also carried her yet-to-be-birthed with her. (Congratulations!) Dual Tools and Missile Anus stayed close together as if still on their honeymoon. Mr. Wiggly came all the way up from Monterey, I was not aware his probation officer allowed him to leave Monterey County. No Film was fashionably behind schedule, probably working late again. Baker’s Dozen’t wore a stunning jumpsuit but it proved more fashionable that feasible, damn difficult to unzip when time to visit the little boys room.

Some of the food intended for the face feed had already been violated when co-hares Missile Anus and Today Is Monday delivered a quick Instructions of Trail. Bring flashlights and money were the bottom line from their little speech. Well, there may have been other assertions but I spoke with no one that remembered any. Hares-away.

The next fifteen minutes, or something like that, were consumed with consuming. Name your drug of choice; beer, wine or food. I took note of the fact most hashers chose at least two of the above while some managed to find a third or even a fourth to add to their list of sins. No film at 11. Eventually though, the walkers walked out followed but a few minutes later by the runners. The runners received a complete Chalk Talk from Ramrod and then exited a long set of extremely treacherous steps on-down to Villa Avenue.

Before we light out on this trail, I’ll attempt a list of those that attended: Skid Mark, Fap Jack, Hareless, Pink Cherry Licker, Baker’s Dozen’t, The Arabian Goggler, Flours For Anal Bum, Clearly Not A Hooker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Worm, Little Anal Annie, Gunga Dick, Driponya, Ramrod, Chopped Liver, Just Gwen, No Film, Hugh Heifer, Gary the Shitstain, Dual Tools(Up My Ass), Just John, Loose Lips, Back Door Boys, Shanghiney, Automated Penis Mover, Mr. Wiggly and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. There’s your list of losers, pack-out.

Well, we’re here, somewhere along Villa Avenue sniffing for trail. On-on was finally given a block away on-left on East Main Street. This lasted until we were forced to undertake the dangerous crossing of East Main and onto Church Street. This crosswalk was a tad short on lighting but miraculously every hound made it. This would bring us to Los Gatos Creek Trail where we were directed on-left onto a section of trail that have no damn lights at all. After passing under Main Street, trail continued in the darkness. This was where Skid Mark stopped and said this section of trail is two miles long before looping back to town, that can’t POSSIBLY be where they intend to take us! Soon, Cold Smegma Kamikaze came back towards us saying, Back Check! Trail was discovered on-up a small path and on-left onto West Main Street. This was followed by an on-left onto Montebello Way, on-right onto Broadway and on-left onto South Santa Cruz Avenue. A short distance later we were directed on-right across the street onto a driveway that dead ends at the front door of Hapa’s Brewing Company. First Beer Check for the runners.

After concluding our business here, it was on-out back to south Santa Cruz Avenue and on-left back to West Main where an arrow pointed the pod on-left. This is where the runners left civilization behind and entered the land of multi-million dollar mansions and Christmas decorations galore. My Los Gatos geographical knowledge being subpar, I can only make guesses as to where our hideous hare-pair dragged us. Here goes.

On-up West Main, on-right onto Bayview Avenue followed immediately by an on-right onto a pedestrian walkway beside Bayview Court. This would drop us into Fairview Plaza, a small neighborhood park. After this it was on-right onto Fairview Avenue. We then crossed Pennsylvania Avenue onto Peralta Avenue. Peralta ends at Hernandez Avenue and we turned on-right. One block later, Hernandez ends at Glen Ridge Avenue where we were pointed on-left. One block later it was on-left onto Nicholson Avenue. After another one block jaunt, the troops took an on-right onto Massol Avenue. There seems to be a one block theme developing here and it’s beginning to make me somewhere between dizzy and motion sick. One block later, yes, ONE block, it was on-left onto Bean Avenue. Bean was actually used more than a block, quite a few really. We traipsed all the way on-down into town to the bizarrely-monikered Victory Lane. It’s a damn dark alley, people!! We survived though. A short distance along we made an on-right to North Santa Cruz Avenue and then on-left past some high end restaurants. Many a concierge moved to block the entrance as the pack passed. Our destination had become apparent.

Liters of kamikazes flowed like the water in nearby Los Gatos Creek which prompted Ramrod and Missile Anus to lead the litter in a few rousing hash songs. No one seemed perturbed by our vocalizations though. Then again, it appeared a substantial percentage of the patrons were intoxicated. We completed our task and evacuated.

It was on-left a short distance and then on-right onto Royce Street and one block later, but of course, it was on-right onto University Avenue. Rumor Central contends there was another Beer Check at Carry Nation’s but I fell into with a band of teetotalers and missed such. Nonetheless, it was on-in this point forward.

Once back to destroying Worm’s abode, the face feed hit in force. Everyone strapped the feed bag on and I heard no complaints about anything from anyone. I did hear a few hashers say they were pretty sure they’d stuffed too much down their gullet though. I make the assumption they were referring to food as no one ever admits they’ve had too much to drink.

Next came the tradition White Elephant gift exchange. This is always the most anticipated event of the evening and went off well considering everyone’s condition, the cramped quarters and the swapping/stealing of gifts and the resulting selection of another gift by that person. It’s impossible to keep a lid on the festivities but Chopped Liver did a pretty damn good job. This continued until the living room floor was inundated with wrapping paper and the area beneath the tree was vacated.

This basically brought an end to FHAC-U hash 480 and Surf City hash twelve-23. Religion was skipped due to all the other activities on tap.

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 FHAC-U Hash 480 and Surf City Hash Twelve-23.

By Special Appointment of His Royal Majesty ‘G’, this Hash Trash has been compiled in Los Gatos, Ca. and printed in Santa Cruz, Ca. by permission of no one other than the author, on this, the Winter Solstice, the twenty-first day of December, in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe