Run #432 Arrows Here, Arrows There, the Fuckin’ Trail Goes
Everywhere
The
siren song of martinis kept the pack forging onward last Thursday
night. There is nothing like the promise of alcohol to make a hasher
forget parking problems. Since most hashers have a dearth of brain
cells to start with I R Stupid and Bigfoot couldn’t
go wrong. Instead of bitching about the lack of parking on Bosworth
at the entrance to Glen Canyon Park the hot topic was whether the
hares would be supplying double olives with the promised cocktails.
In a bid to quiet Throbbing Vessel’s ceaseless lament
that the Gypsies are childish macho sexist pigs with no
redeeming social value Fits In eschewed (take that TV) the
Sacred Missal for an educational foray with a reading
from the Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices. Hearing Fits
In explain the intricacies of penile ligation seemed to
satisfy Throbbing Vessel’s lust for culture and
sophistication, at least the vein in his forehead seemed to throb a
tad less rhythmically. Chickless Boner needs to clean
out some of that waxy buildup since he was thrilled to hear about
penile litigation and planned to see if he could work on any
for his firm. The unpleasant task of explaining his error fell to
Hung Juror. Once the commotion died down the pack was
on-on. Trail started down O’Shaughnessy with the pack turning down
a flight of stairs and back into the park. At this point the pack had
no trouble finding trail. Trail leapt up and bit Gypsies on
the ass. There were arrows everywhere the confusion was so massive
that Bitch In Heat collapsed in a heap with
smoke coming out of his ears. There was more trail than the pack
could compute. Pied Piper suggested selling some to the
Whine & Chowder Society and Fucking Pesto Chicken offered
to broker the deal. How much would a few dozen arrows go for? Piper
stuffed a few in Zack’s stroller to bring home to Cold Cuts
as proof he’d been on trail. Every arrow had its mirror image.
Flour flowed both upstream and down. While the majority of the pack
chose to exit the park and find trail a small group of mindless
malcontents insisted that the trail in the park could be deciphered.
Ben Gay found trail up one side of the park then
Handjob For Humanity found it up the other side. Bone
Marrow found it in the middle. Trail was eventually found and
followed. Oddly it went up. The Pharaohs had less problem building
the pyramids than Whippet In and Whippet Out
hauling T/BC’s enormous bulk up the hill. At one point Gets
It In The End offered to tether Leo to the blimp as well
but Fits In just mushed those husky pooches a little
harder and eventually they raised the Titanic to street level where
they faced an arrow directing them back from whence they’d cum.
Clap Trap insisted that they follow the arrow’s
directions and trail be studiously followed until Drill Me
pointed Badger at her throat and suggested that the trail just
be followed backwards. Those flecks of foam at the corner of Badger’s
jaws were certainly convincing. It wasn’t long before this version
of the pack made eye contact with those on true trail and like ships
passing in the night the two packs passed at the bar staffed by
Bigfoot and I R S. Looking like a Tom Cruise with tits
Bigfoot was shakin’ up a storm of martinis while the Gypsies
own ugly coyote I R S speared olives. Nutless Sac
was standing at the side doing quality control on each drink as it
passed him. As official taster he quaffed enough vodka to qualify for
Russian citizenship, clearly Fits In would be driving
back to Marin. A very toasted Open Wide was standing on
the other side of the bar toothpick in hand giving a lecture on its
use in dental hygene. Wishing to avoid bloodshed Likes To Lick
finally tucked her under his arm and scooted on in. While half the
pack had cum up the on in trail the whole back went back on it
anxious to continue it’s vodka consumption from the Sacred
Bucket. Vodka and limeade sat well on top of the martinis then
Enter The Gerbil donned his Fools Cap and began administering
down-downs of rum mixed with brandy. This mixture not only didn’t
sit well but in Scarlett O’Hairy’s case got the vodka to
march right back up and out. In his advanced state of alcohol abuse
Wankers Island mistook Scarlett’s eruption for
Krakatoa, somewhat closer than Java, and skittered into the street to
avoid the lava. Also skittering was No Hands who tossed his
bod between Sammy and the local harpy who was trying to flog
him with her broom for pissing on her porch. Under the influence of
strong drink and Clap Trap’s inquisition Naked
Hasher and Das Poop finally copped to the time
they shared a bed while on a ski trip. Yes they slept head to foot
but insist that they 96d. Shaggy Dog seemed fine until
Shithead pointed out that Shaggy was involved in a
heated debate with his motorcy. It would have gone easier on Shithead
if no one had noticed that he was trying to calm them both
down. LCB arrived late but with some two fisted drinking was
soon as big an ass as anyone. Sucks Donnie Osmond proved that
Fate herself had bestowed his hash name when he proferred a boarding
pass he’d “somehow acquired” in Donnie Osmond’s name. Only
Jackoff was cruel enough to point out the cum stains on the
paper. Sword of Power in hand our liege lord King
Rongjon acting, as the bard of booze waxed poetic on Fits
In’s birthday. When the candles were lit SCAF
foolishly mumbled that they reminded him of the burning of Atlanta.
He’s having Fits In’s foot surgically removed from his ass later
this week. Those still able eventually moved on to the Miraloma Club.
The Gypsies are Absolut fun. Cheers.