Run #432 Arrows Here, Arrows There, the Fuckin’ Trail Goes Everywhere

The siren song of martinis kept the pack forging onward last Thursday night. There is nothing like the promise of alcohol to make a hasher forget parking problems. Since most hashers have a dearth of brain cells to start with I R Stupid and Bigfoot couldn’t go wrong. Instead of bitching about the lack of parking on Bosworth at the entrance to Glen Canyon Park the hot topic was whether the hares would be supplying double olives with the promised cocktails. In a bid to quiet Throbbing Vessel’s ceaseless lament that the Gypsies are childish macho sexist pigs with no redeeming social value Fits In eschewed (take that TV) the Sacred Missal for an educational foray with a reading from the Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices. Hearing Fits In explain the intricacies of penile ligation seemed to satisfy Throbbing Vessel’s lust for culture and sophistication, at least the vein in his forehead seemed to throb a tad less rhythmically. Chickless Boner needs to clean out some of that waxy buildup since he was thrilled to hear about penile litigation and planned to see if he could work on any for his firm. The unpleasant task of explaining his error fell to Hung Juror. Once the commotion died down the pack was on-on. Trail started down O’Shaughnessy with the pack turning down a flight of stairs and back into the park. At this point the pack had no trouble finding trail. Trail leapt up and bit Gypsies on the ass. There were arrows everywhere the confusion was so massive that Bitch In Heat collapsed in a heap with smoke coming out of his ears. There was more trail than the pack could compute. Pied Piper suggested selling some to the Whine & Chowder Society and Fucking Pesto Chicken offered to broker the deal. How much would a few dozen arrows go for? Piper stuffed a few in Zack’s stroller to bring home to Cold Cuts as proof he’d been on trail. Every arrow had its mirror image. Flour flowed both upstream and down. While the majority of the pack chose to exit the park and find trail a small group of mindless malcontents insisted that the trail in the park could be deciphered. Ben Gay found trail up one side of the park then Handjob For Humanity found it up the other side. Bone Marrow found it in the middle. Trail was eventually found and followed. Oddly it went up. The Pharaohs had less problem building the pyramids than Whippet In and Whippet Out hauling T/BC’s enormous bulk up the hill. At one point Gets It In The End offered to tether Leo to the blimp as well but Fits In just mushed those husky pooches a little harder and eventually they raised the Titanic to street level where they faced an arrow directing them back from whence they’d cum. Clap Trap insisted that they follow the arrow’s directions and trail be studiously followed until Drill Me pointed Badger at her throat and suggested that the trail just be followed backwards. Those flecks of foam at the corner of Badger’s jaws were certainly convincing. It wasn’t long before this version of the pack made eye contact with those on true trail and like ships passing in the night the two packs passed at the bar staffed by Bigfoot and I R S. Looking like a Tom Cruise with tits Bigfoot was shakin’ up a storm of martinis while the Gypsies own ugly coyote I R S speared olives. Nutless Sac was standing at the side doing quality control on each drink as it passed him. As official taster he quaffed enough vodka to qualify for Russian citizenship, clearly Fits In would be driving back to Marin. A very toasted Open Wide was standing on the other side of the bar toothpick in hand giving a lecture on its use in dental hygene. Wishing to avoid bloodshed Likes To Lick finally tucked her under his arm and scooted on in. While half the pack had cum up the on in trail the whole back went back on it anxious to continue it’s vodka consumption from the Sacred Bucket. Vodka and limeade sat well on top of the martinis then Enter The Gerbil donned his Fools Cap and began administering down-downs of rum mixed with brandy. This mixture not only didn’t sit well but in Scarlett O’Hairy’s case got the vodka to march right back up and out. In his advanced state of alcohol abuse Wankers Island mistook Scarlett’s eruption for Krakatoa, somewhat closer than Java, and skittered into the street to avoid the lava. Also skittering was No Hands who tossed his bod between Sammy and the local harpy who was trying to flog him with her broom for pissing on her porch. Under the influence of strong drink and Clap Trap’s inquisition Naked Hasher and Das Poop finally copped to the time they shared a bed while on a ski trip. Yes they slept head to foot but insist that they 96d. Shaggy Dog seemed fine until Shithead pointed out that Shaggy was involved in a heated debate with his motorcy. It would have gone easier on Shithead if no one had noticed that he was trying to calm them both down. LCB arrived late but with some two fisted drinking was soon as big an ass as anyone. Sucks Donnie Osmond proved that Fate herself had bestowed his hash name when he proferred a boarding pass he’d “somehow acquired” in Donnie Osmond’s name. Only Jackoff was cruel enough to point out the cum stains on the paper. Sword of Power in hand our liege lord King Rongjon acting, as the bard of booze waxed poetic on Fits In’s birthday. When the candles were lit SCAF foolishly mumbled that they reminded him of the burning of Atlanta. He’s having Fits In’s foot surgically removed from his ass later this week. Those still able eventually moved on to the Miraloma Club. The Gypsies are Absolut fun. Cheers.