Run #456 Another One Bites the Dust

Last Thursday the Gypsies kicked 2001 onto the trash heap of history. Ben Gay being environmentally conscious foolishly assumed that a bunch of rum pots could deal with the concept and laid a trail using orange surveyors tape. Six of Nine was lost before he left the parking lot at Storey and Lincoln in the Presidio. The weather weenies were at it again predicting the skies would fall in on the Gypsies but the weather weenies never count on the luck of the Gypsies. Sure it was pissing rain at 6:00pm on Thursday but it was as dry as Likker Crotchy’s sex life by 6:15. McTaco having never met a blonde he didn’t lust over arrived with Snow White of the BarnesH3 in tow. Feigning disdain for the Sacred Missal Ms. White read in a dry and toneless British accent. McTaco seemed quite surprised since she’d been down and dirty in the car. By evening’s end Snow White was riding with Six of Nine and if that didn’t soil her soul nothing will. The Gypsies were also graced by the presence of Flying Dutchman from the EdinburghH3 who lived up to his name by making a spectacular arrival. Mammaries, quintessential Whine and Chowder harriette, fearing contamination never even slowed down as she plowed her mechanical conveyance through the pack booting Flying Dutchman out the door and into space. Luckily Bone Marrow broke his fall. When he saw who he’d landed on FD must have thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Once the chaos was under control the pack was off in search of orange ribbons. Used to never looking higher than their feet the pack found it a tad hard to find marks tied to branches over their heads. Thumper was the first to realize that he had to turn his gaze to the stars if he wanted to find trail. Unfortunately the firs ribbon he found was attached to the rather large branch his head collided with. Ever vigilant Likes To Lick noticed the falling body and seeing the ribbon guided the pack onward. Drill Me had no end of trouble keeping Badger from dining on the recumbent Thumper. How sad that he’ll never know just how much Phone Sex enjoyed the fact that conscious or not Thumper still has a woody. Of course he’d probably rather not know how much Rhett Butthole also enjoyed that fact. Shithead and D’anglin Anglin kept themselves busy looking for trail in all the wrong places but at least it kept them out of mischief. Eventually the pack decided that slogging through the wet and soggy Presidio was less fun than getting blotto at the Sacred Bucket and returned to do the later. Rum and cider were quickly transferred from the Bucket into Gypsy throats and soon into Gypsy blood streams. Returning to the fray as his own Fool King Rongjon wielded the Sword Of Power with his usual wavery aplomb. The circle seemed wider than usual but that may just have been the pack’s desire to stay out of the King’s range. In honor of her dicing with Rottweilers last week Badger was inducted into the Order of the Sleepless Knights, Dog Brigade, as Bite Size. Both Bite Size and Drill Me did their own down-downs sadly for Drill Me Bite Size seems to hold her liquor better. Speaking of holding his liquor there’s sure to be an official inquiry into how Dipsea Shit could have ended up in Oakland when he was headed for Marin. Not that Just Hans was doing that much better, when last seen he was locked in a passionate embrace with his motorcy and it looked like the bike was going to end up on top. Bigfoot, Enter The Gerbil, Nutless Sac, McTaco, Fits In, and Tongueless were all non*unners but proved themselves true Bucket Masters. In keeping with the end of the year both Bigfoot and Gerbil decided to be designated drinkers hoping that the newly installed autopilot in the Saturn would bring them home safely. One wonders just how drunk Bigfoot was when Gerbil convinced her that there was an autopilot on the car. The party eventually moved to the India Clay Ovens where enough curry was consumed to guarantee those present would have a very regular morning. Out with the old in with the new.