Run #435 El Mariachi
The
Gypsies’ answer to Batman and Robin, Wankers Island
and Scarlett O’Hairy, were at it again last Thursday night.
As Yogi Berra said it was “Deja vu all over again” as the dynamic
duo called the hounds out at El Toro Loco in Pacifica. In her attempt
to achieve the same pink glow that Dick Chick has
lately acquired Scarlett is no longer waiting for newboots to
arrive she’s actively cruising *un starts and grabbing any male
civilian in anything that resembles *unning clothes. She spotted Just
John in the restaurant yanked him away from his guacamole and
sent him on trail planning to leave him weak then fill him full of
alcohol and use him as a sex toy. Glory Hole the
outgoing Grand Masseur of the Whine & Chowder Society tossed the
future Grand Mattress into the pot to provide a suitable religious
experience for the evening. Sniff My Box took hold of the
Sacred Missal and left the crowd begging for more of
Kelli, Nanci, and Cyndi. She also had Grim Rimmer
desperately trying to live out her name. She must have found it hard
to *un with his head between her legs. From a distance they could
easily have been mistaken for a Satyr. Trail took the pack toward the
ocean and into the ubiquitous fog. While those hashers with their
brains in their feet were trotting uphill into oblivion those with
their brains located somewhat higher were heading for the beer check.
Enter The Gerbil proved to have a nose for flour and
led a mini pack of Bitch In Heat, Fits In, T/BC,
and Bigfoot unerringly into the beer check. Wet Clam,
visiting from Long BeachH3, and Pet da Cooter still excited
from the reading decided to nip into the bushes for a little furrow
plowing and found themselves trapped on the cliffs of the eagle trail
while the likes of Broken Trojan and LCB ignored
their promises to exchange sex for rescue in their desperate duel to
win the hash. D’anglin Anglin finally came to
their rescue by hauling them to safety via his tail. Wet Clam
in her desperation grabbed the wrong tail and it’s yet unclear
whether D’anglin’s ear splitting scream was one of pain or
pleasure. More rumpots than chevaliers the Gypsies have never
enjoyed a reputation for “women and children first.” Living down
to the Gypsy code Uncle Fucker abandoned
Charlene, the woman he’d made cum, to the tender mercies of
King Rongjon who exercising droit de seigneur made sure she
wouldn’t be doing a “virgins” down-down. The beer check was
soon followed by the obligatory Jell-O check where T/BC in his
best Planet of the Apes style was busily scooping up the stuff with
his hands and slurping it off his fingers. Not to be outdone Bigfoot
was face first into the pans inhaling the fruit and vodka like a
vacuum cleaner. The sight was enough to leave Comes Slowly
the same shade as the lime flavor and turn her into the reigning (no
pun intended) queen of projectile vomit. Once drained Nutless
Sac tossed her by now limp form into his truck and brought her
back to the start. Happily she had plenty of red wine to wash away
the taste and when last seen she was speeding into the night albeit
with Sadie behind the wheel. Back at the start a mariachi band
playing for Wankers’ Bday greeted the pack. Just Alison
had hired them to serenade her affianced. One wonders why she
bothered when it turns out she got the name Doesn’t Cum Often
when Wankers couldn’t explain why. While the band played on
the Sacred Bucket was filled with Margaritas and chips
and salsa flew through the air with abandon. At this point the pack
was joined by Meat Pie who never met a cocktail she
didn’t like. Tonight was no exception and she left having poured
many new friends down her throat. Huevos Rancheros,
Wankers’ cousin and cook, once again did a meal fit for the
Gypsies. Chili with rice and corn bread, beef hearts on a
skewer, and a potato salad were soon filling bellies while alcohol
emptied heads. Broken Trojan was drunk enough to
suggest that newboot Just Clement focus his attention not on
drunken harriettes but on the spandex dollies of the TNT and we don’t
mean the hash in Edinburgh. On the other hand Clement seemed
to enjoy following BT’s butt so spandex might not be his cup
of tea. Enter The Gerbil was soon clothed in his Fools
Cap doing the King’s foolery. The circle was convened
inside the restaurant and jibes and jests sailed through the air like
the weapons grade cornbread. No Hands launched a
preemptive strike against I R Stupid who quickly retaliated.
Only the mutual emptiness of their plates ended the conflict. Once
the majority of his red cells had been replaced with tequila
Chickless Boner announced that his foray into
bestiality had netted him no willing partners and he’d returned to
necrophilia to satisfy his twisted urges. On the bright side it had
expanded his horizon and sparked an interest in taxidermy. Speaking
of animals, Dick Chick got a down-down for receiving a
dozen red roses from her latest jockey. He liked his ride so much
that if she can get her speed up we’ll be seeing her in the “Run
for the Roses” next year. This set Scarlett to thinking
about saddling up newboot Just Robert for a quick furlong. She
was forced to change horses when Just John was found
floating in his chili thwarting her original plan. Voyeur was
there living up to his name. He must have sensed tits in the air as
the famous man with a camera was there ready to record the slightest
protuberance in a *unning bra. Lucky man as four of the finest were
proffered to the delight of the pack. Just Lauren had done the
three-day walk for breast cancer and always supportive of a bouncy
brace T/BC had promised her a check for her efforts. The
walker and the check writer were brought into the circle and Lauren
was made aware that the check was tied to the string of “Tits out
for the boys.” Getting that pert pair exposed was like, excuse us
Open Wide, pulling teeth. Moaning and groaning that she was too
embarrassed (as though there is any such thing) she kept flashing the
lower quadrant but Likes To Lick was not fooled and kept
yelling, “Nipples for nickels.” Sisterhood was not proving very
powerful as all her sisters left her twisting slowly in the circle.
Even Just Monica the woman Lauren made cum abandoned
her in Lauren’s hour of need. The King’s tits were
hooted down as an unacceptable accompaniment. Just as all seemed lost
Sniff My Box rose to the occasion challenging Lauren to
join her in areola arrogance. With haughtiness befitting their bounty
the two bimbos raised their shirts and sent the pack to hooter
heaven. Sucks Donnie Osmond swallowed his tongue
and Bitch In Heat painfully jammed himself under the table.
Only the King offering to extricate him using the Sword Of
Power returned him to flacidity. Lauren earned the check
and the name Tits For Hire. Sniff My Box earned
the pack’s undying thanks. Wankers pounded a piñata in
search of Bday loot and King Rongjon closed the ceremony with
a prose poem in honor of the Bday boy and a stirring rendition of
those verses of Clint Meets the Gay Caballero that he could remember.
Those who could still crawl made their way to Winters for more drink
and a *un in the DUI Derby. Ole! Cheers.