Run #413 Buddy, Could Ya Spare Some Flour?
Happily
the only people who got pissed on last Thursday night were the hares
I R Stupid and T/BC and no one really cares what
happens to those losers anyway. The pack gathered at the parking lot
on the southwest side of the Polo Field at GG Park. It was definitely
a night for flashlights and the skies looked ready spew at any
moment. It’s hard to imagine how many Gores had to die to make all
that gore-tex on the scene. Terrified at the idea that they might get
wet the pack eschewed formal religion opting instead to try to beat
the clock and the rain. The pack was off and *unning for ten seconds
before the first cries of panic could be heard. Dickless Namehole
dropped to his knees and began wanking as tears ran down his cheeks,
being out of sight of the parking lot he was sure he was going to
die. Only Drill Me’s threat to let Badger do the
wanking got Dickless back on his feet. Eventually the pack
sorted itself out and hurled itself back to the trail. The night was
alive with the sound of whining as the pack found itself facing not
only set checks but natural ones wherever trails diverged. Spell that
not having enough flout. Fits In managed to
consistently take the road less traveled. Next time she’ll either
bring the pooches or pay the hare for inf. (T/BC didn’t ask
for much). Lucky for her that Enter The Gerbil has the same
fine sense of direction and they could be lost together. Ben
Gay solved the problem by getting hideously lost almost
instantly and returning to the start (never get far from the beer).
Sadly Bone Marrow found trail and stayed on it so Ben
lost his chance for a quick boff in the bushes. Dick Chick
arrived fashionably late and dashed off in search of the pack,
instead she found a potential ax murderer who she promptly disarmed
and beat into dust using all her martial arts skills. Too tired from
her Hannibal Lechter act she returned to the start. Hearing her tell
the tale Hung Juror was impressed enough to inquire if
she’d be interested in being his bully for hire. This was D’anglin
A’nglin’s kind of trail, he could be lost and no one would
know the difference. At least he was able to confine himself to San
Francisco proper. The pack did eventually resurface grim faced and in
need of alcohol but what’s new about that. Last in were Open
Wide, Likes To Lick, and Camel
Blower. Poor Open Wide once again without a
flashlight and forced to depend on the menfolks. By the time they got
in she had a big grim and they both looked tired.... hmmm. Fucking
Pesto Chicken is wondering if that ploy might work for
him but with his luck he’d end up with LCB instead of Open
Wide. MacTaco just followed Elliott’s lead and
arrived safe and sound . In exchange for guiding him Elliott
ended up tied to the bumper of Mac’s car and whining for
beer. If Elliott ever wises up MacTaco is in for
serious trouble. Aside from the fashionably late starters there were
those who arrived for cocktail hour. Phone Sex was her
usual natty self. Neither rain, nor shiggy, nor *unning will keep her
from her appointment with the juice of the barley. The Sacred
Thermi produced hot buttered rum warming the cockles of
Polly’s heart. He was on his way back to DublinH3 but was more than
willing to substitute rum for Guinness. Doofuss White
Boy visiting from Florida was also more than happy to suck
down the rum. The more he drank the more he lived up to his name. By
evening’s end Scarlett O’Hairy was volunteering to
ship his dick back to Dixie. Enter The Gerbil
assumed his Fool’s Cap Of Power and proceeded to make fools
of as many people as he could. Not that there was any shortage of
willing coconspirators. Nutless Sac made the tragic
error of wearing shoes that were so white that they lit up the night,
even T/BC noticed them. So the lad did a down-down one for
shoes and one for snitching. The down-downs were particularly
frightening as they were done with Dubbonet. T/BC dumped his
into a sock and proceeded to pop the sock into his mouth and chew the
alcohol out of it. Wankers Island fainted at the sight
and Shithead announced that T/BC had lowered the limbo
bar yet again. Manhole was oblivious to all this as well as
to everything else as he napped on the tarmac. Bigfoot was too
sick to *un but she did her best to poison the cold with as much rum
as she could pour down her throat. The police, of course, came by to
make sure that the Gypsies were having all the fun they could
and when assured that we were they left. The masses then descended on
Lada Thai and made the owners wealthy and LCB and Pesto
played musical chairs. Sobriety is way overrated. Cheers.