Run #414 Next Time I’ll Buy My Own Jell-O!

Okay, lets get the bitterness, anger, and bile out of the way first. True, there are some, like Likes To Lick, who insist that the hares should be beaten with a buggy whip. Yes, that’s hares, Wankers Island. Stop hiding in the background. You are a very indictable coconspirator. There is no reason that Scarlett O’Hairy should suffer her punishment alone. Snakeless is of the opinion that they should be roasted over a slow fire but leveler heads are willing for them to just write “The Gypsies is a Drinking Club with a Running Problem not a Running Club with a Drinking Problem” until their fingers fall off. There was already an air of forbidding as the pack gathered at Lyon and Marina. Perhaps it was the wind howling through the Golden Gate or that it was colder than a tombstone. Huddling for warmth the pack assumed a position around the women’s toilet with Shaggy Dog standing in the entrance claiming to be the towel boy and offering patrons a chance to towel off on his shorts. Golden Receiver of the East BayH3 who did a splendid job delivering the service from the Sacred Missal generated some real heat. It’s the first time anyone can remember the preacher actually taking notes for future reference. Having achieved a state of grace and complete with assurances that the trail was well marked the pack was on-on. Less than five minutes into the trail chaos became the operative concept. The pack could be best described as hideously lost. Knowing that the pack would be *unning in the dark the hares, of course, combined dark chalk, half teaspoons of flour, hiding the flour, and changing sides of the street without warning to make the trail easy to follow. This of course, upset no one. True, Drill Me was last seen showing a picture of the hares to Badger and snarling, “Kill, kill, kill” to the already crazed pooch but let’s not quibble. The trail eventually took an eagle/turkey split that left the eagles feeling like turkeys. While it is true that it took D’anglin A’nglin twenty-five minutes to get out of Fort Mason more than ten of those minutes were spent with him trying to get his head out of his ass so he could follow the trail that existed. The hares had set a true “march or die” trail and those who fell by the wayside were legion. It can only be hoped that the bodies of Shithead and Naked Hasher will be found in the spring. MacTaco insists that he dropped out only when both legs cramped and he fell into an accommodating gutter. The faithful Elliot dragged him back allowing MacTaco to partake of the Sacred Bucket. While the pack was wishing a pox on the hares they were sitting snug in Nutless Sac’s truck atop Macondray Street waiting to hand out Jell-O and gleefully congratulating themselves on their own cleverness. Nutless, taking a more objective view and having driven the distance between the start and the Jell-O check was sweating profusely and praying that the pack would realize he was just an innocent bystander. The first inkling that perhaps they miscalculated may have occurred when it took it took Camel Blower, T/BC, Duncan, and Parker to pull Fits In’s hands from around Scarlett’s throat. Only a few of the foolhardiest souls made it to the second beer check at Broadway and Lyon. Time passed and the pack minus the dead and dying regrouped at the start to assuage their pain in a Sacred Bucket of minted Mai-Tais. A kind hearted Shaft put a cup of punch into Glory Hole’s hand. Poor devil he could only stumble about clutching people and seeking assurance that this was Thursday and not Monday. For once LCB was glad that work had made him miss the start although in his heart of hearts he’s sure he still could have been the winner. Semenhole was a late arrival and sensing the bloodlust of the pack grabbed a drink and stood back to enjoy the show. With the King hors de trail and Enter The Gerbil spreading terror throughout Asia the task of delivering the down-downs fell to Snakeless. Swinging the Sword of Power with just a tad too much pleasure he called up the hapless Dickless Namehole as punishment for trying to keep Snakeless from spitting the hares. Punishment it was, since the down-downs were Ouzo. By the time it came his turn Boneless Chicken was so stewed on the Mai-Tais that he forgot to open his mouth and washed his face in Ouzo. Wankers Island was hiding in the background and weepily begging not to be called up to face his punishment. Scarlett on the other hand bared her head and strode forth to stand tall and die like a Gypsy. Suddenly Open Wide slapped Wankers across the mouth called him an “egg sucking, chicken stealing, cowardly peckerwood” and stepped forward to join Scarlett proving that sisterhood is powerful and some people will do anything when they are drunk enough. Speaking of drunk enough Dick Chick, having given up alcohol for Lent, will only drink down-downs and it seems that she’s been offering sex to get them. Is that strictly kosher? Back from the grave was Dead Dick a Whine & Chowder Society habitué who hasn’t hashed since dinosaurs ruled the earth. A couple of Ouzos and he was ready to head back to the grave. Only I R Stupid felt the trail wasn’t too long once again explaining why he has that name. Ambulances ferried the survivors to the Final Final where more beer and a few pizzas killed off the rest. It was certainly a long fucking way to Tipperary. Cheers.