Run #476 Can’t Tell the Players without a Score Card

Last Thursday night the Hashing Gods smiled on the Gypsies, well, would they do anything else, and provided the new weightless King Rongjon with weather worthy of his majesty. The King called his minions together at the parking lot at Land’s End to open the festivities for Bay to Breakers 2002. Emissaries traveled from far and wide to touch the hem of his garment and drink deep from his Sacred Bucket. TorontoH3 sent Sex Toy, H2Ho, and Rose’eh, AtlantaH3 sent Bagless, CharlotteH3 sent Cums On You (he tried desperately to live of up to his name but even Me Me Me turned him down and that alone staggers the imagination) and New York CityH3 sent Scott (he volunteered looking forward to another hangover like he was provided last year) who brought Offensive Discharge (who did live up to his name). McTaco’s eye, and judging from that bulge in his tights other parts of his anatomy, was caught by Wet Clam on a diplomatic mission from Long BeachH3; clearly he was interested in sementing relations. Wet Clam’s squire Victoria’s Secretion stayed close at hand should she need assistance in assuming some bizarre positions with our man from the east bay. It was a night to dream, even Snakeless, that testosterone free tiger, was evincing an interest in At Your Cervix. To cheap to buy Viagra Snakeless was busy collecting twigs to wrap around and harden his withered member. Of course this was all to no avail as she was busy vamping Pump Fake who was showing an unseemly interest in 3 Ball J from Silicone ValleyH3 who was hoping that Manhandler would make a man of him but Manhandler seemed more into herself. Oh the tangled web of hashing. Not to be out done by Long Beach San DiegoH3 sent Magic and Magic User who had some sort of, don’t even ask, living arrangement with Bag Lady and Doctor Kimble and we all know what they’re like. Speaking of living arrangements there was Bigfoot having to tell Grim Rimmer that with Enter The Gerbil out of town he couldn’t stay at their place as she couldn’t be alone there with another man. Imagine how drunk Bigfoot would have had to be to mistake Rimmer for a man. And this all happened before the Sacred Missal was even read. The evening’s religious experience was well handled by H2Ho one of Toronto’s Traveling Bimbos whose elocution popped Broken Trojan. By the time she’d finished her sermon Motor Mount was purple with apoplexy and screeching that all the sinners would surely burn in Hell….it was time to hit the trail. Trail led out of the parking lot across Point Lobos and through Sutro Heights Park back onto 48^th Ave. From here trail went downhill via enough poison oak to make Naked Hasher wish he hadn’t decided to forego the homeless chic to flaunt his body. As usual Just Doesn’t Get It didn’t and flung himself down the hillside caring more about being an FRB than scratching himself into oblivion. Delirious with the thought of dragging Tongueless through the noxious weed Whippet Out flung himself after Just Doesn’t and in his desperate effort to save himself Tongueless pulled his hamstring. Fits In observing him writhing on the ground announced with her usual warmth “Well it’s better than what I usually have to watch him pull.” Some swear there was a smile on Whippet In’s face. The King and his co-hare Snakeless had set a monumental circle jerk as trail turned toward Ocean Beach and up the Great Highway past the Cliff House. It dropped towards the remnants of the Sutro Baths on the cliffs below Seal Rock Inn. Trail then scrambled back up the cliff to continue on the trail along the cliffs below the start. Splat was saved from going splat as he clung to the sheer wall of the cliff by the lens of Voyeur’s 35mm prodding his ass. The thought that Voyeur might be suggesting something gave Splat just the boost he needed to put him over the top. The pack moved briskly along the cliffs enjoying the superb views to finally arrive at a beer check at the Palace of the Legion of Honor. The King surrounded by his courtiers and with Open Wide and Phone Sex his favorite courtesans held court or at least a bottle of Sam Adams. Open Wide was nursing a beer as well as a sore hip flexor and swearing she had no idea how she’d injured it. Likes To Lick just smirked and rolled his eyes. Phone Sex had no excuse for riding rather than *unning but in her fishnet tights no one seemed to care. It was clear from his flagpole that D’anglin Anglin would have traded his left nut to be caught in her net. Thirst quieted the pack hit the trail for home. A straight shot brought them back to the parking lot and the Sacred Bucket. The Sea Breezes filling the Bucket were considerably more powerful than those cuming off the Pacific. After a few mugs of punch Shithead found himself renewing old acquaintances with women he’d never met before. New boot from the Whine & Chowder Society Just Matt questioned whether there was actually alcohol in the mix. Old hand The Ripper was standing close enough to catch the body as the alcohol content made itself known, ah the folly of youth. Youth wasn’t the problem as Clothes Horse and Thurston Bowel The Turd sat in their chairs wrapped in blankets discussing their favorite experiences with Metamucil. A very toasted Scarlett O’Hairy was busy trying to convince a barely able to stand Tits 4 Hire to help her slip Viagra in among their liver pills. Only Mammaries’ anger stopped them as she lectured them on the possible deadly effect with lads so ancient. The clearly off the wagon King swinging the Sword Of Power circled the serfs and meted out his brand of justice. As hours passed and he droned on Comes Slowly dropped to her knees and begged him to let her confess to something, anything just to stop him. Sadie eventually led a weeping Comes mumbling to herself back to her car where Meatpie covered her with a blanket and left her to sleep it off. Not that Meatpie was in much better shape. When last seen she was trying to get Rhett Butthole to arm-wrestle her for pink slips. No Hands eventually slipped some meds into her vino and she calmed down. The Bucket had Wankee Doodle announcing that he was cuming out of the closet. Glory Hole, drink in hand, threatened to slam the door on his ugly gob. I R Stupid arrived late and with a torn Achilles Tendon. As he made the rounds of women seeking some solace it was clear that he’d be forced to pull his own weight once again. By now Son Of Shit was casting longing glances at Beats Me but the Bucket had already made her blind. 5150 was another late arrival who found himself drowning his sorrows in the Bucket. Never knowing when to quit he was barely saved from really drowning by a vigilant Just Vincent although there are those who claim he enjoyed getting that mouth to mouth a little bit too much. Twinkle Dick was yet another late arrival and when last seen was headed for the on-on-on firmly strapped to the hood of the King’s own Bronco. Lucky he’s got such a big truck there was room on the roof rack for what the Bucket left of Nutless Sac. Nutless needs to pare down some pounds. Go Nad got a hernia hauling all that dead weight. Who’d of guessed that deadly sperm overload could weigh that much? The venue was moved to Lada Thai where Drill Me badly bitten by the Bucket lay face down in her dish as D’anglin Anglin tried to bribe Bite Size to drive back to Napa with dog biscuits. Umm, Umm good. Cheers.