Run #1555 Every Diamond Has a Flaw!

Backside Banger is a volunteer on the SS. Jeremiah O’Brien one of the two fully functioning Liberty ships from WWII. It is in the National Liberty Ship Memorial located at Pier 35 in San Francisco and con man that he is BB convinced them to let the Gypsies have the ship for the start of their trail and for their on-on. Should you be interested BB has quite a bit of underwater acreage available for purchase! With his able assistant, Adopt A Pussy acting as doorman they raised the steel door and allowed the Outbeer to enter into the bowels of the pier. Pastel Gazelle and Just Fuck Off tailgated their way in.  Once inside our hare popped the keg of Lagunitas Little Sumpin Sumpin on a motorized cart and with Daffy Fuck riding shotgun moved it to the open space at the entrance where AAP was acting as bouncer. This was when Tongueless received the first of 5150’s plaintive whining calls about being lost! Even when the hare took the phone and tried to bring 5150 in on radio control, well, you know the story! The keg was tapped and the little lost sheep was soon forgotten. Our hare pointed out that well, he’s a shitty hare so the pack should keep their expectations low, preferably in the gutter. He did say that should they become lost early they could head to the first beer check at the San Francisco Brewing Company or later to the second beer check at The Red Jack Saloon. The thought of two beer checks, the keg and Sacred Bucket had Wash This Asshole glad that he keeps a list of AA meetings on his phone. While religion was clearly called for it was eschewed, the Sacred Missals were in the Outbeer and the Outbeer was a long way off! Our hare sent the pack off and prepared to load the keg, and usual crap on the ship. The pack took off across the Embarcadero and its Muni tracks. The pack went around the corner to the right and the Lost Patrol, um, T and Fits In were busy with a whining 5150 phone plea! At their feet was a check and T assumed, you know what assume does, that he knew where they were and anyway the SF Brew Co was close. By the time they got to Chestnut, FI was fairly sure that T was even more full of shit than usual and what a surprise the SF Brewing Co. was no longer on Columbus, oops! Now the fact that they’d not seen any marks helped convince FI. The wiser head assumed control and they headed to the Red Jack Saloon, easy for them to find since the first place they lived in SF was across the street. As they approached there was A, 5150 and B, a beer near mark. They actually followed trail backwards until they decided to just have a pint. The rest of the pack began to drift in from every point on the compass. Blowfish asked if Guinness was on tap, the pints in front of T and FI should have been a clue. Blowfish, MarinH3, asked about the temp of the piss since Don’t Kill Bill, MarinH3 was a stickler for the perfect temperature. DKB told the barback he’d had Guinness in Ireland, so he knew. The barback replied that HE WAS FROM Ireland and what DKB had drunk was Irish Guinness. ‘Nough said although several fists were stuffed in mouths to conceal the laughter. Cuming Mutha’s adventure was vastly different from Jack The Ripper, who admitted to finding at least one mark before bagging it. AAP was still being the bouncer when they returned to the pier and were directed up the gangway to the deck. Our hare was amused to make everyone ask permission to cum aboard, but he drew the line at Dr. Kimble who is after all an Annapolis alumnus. Once on deck the keg was tapped and our hare fired up a grill for hot dogs and chicken satay skewers. The Sacred Bucket wasn’t filled but the Stone Fences it would have held were still poured from their bottles. There was yet another problem with the tap and T insanely defended it blaming incompetence by the tappers. Our hare moved it to a jockey box and it still wouldn’t work and then WTA pointed out it might help to turn on the CO2, oops. Hand Pump took the tap to diagnose its problem. Lois Lame explained that Bitches Bitch was on duty at home pondering something. Pondering is a BB forte. The Vitamin J was disappearing as usual. The pack was sucking down the hot dogs and satay as fast as it was cooking and there was enough alcohol that Closet Twitcher had to be stopped from trying to ride down the gangway on his bike. The keg farted and died, and all the “Bucket” went down the hatch. Hose Blower mounted his motorcy alongside the ship and roared off towards the street, happily the gate was open before he became a gatecrasher! Our hare oddly enough was truthful in that he’s a shitty hare but he is also an outstanding party planner! Cheers.