Run #413 Buddy, Could Ya Spare Some Flour?

Happily the only people who got pissed on last Thursday night were the hares I R Stupid and T/BC and no one really cares what happens to those losers anyway. The pack gathered at the parking lot on the southwest side of the Polo Field at GG Park. It was definitely a night for flashlights and the skies looked ready spew at any moment. It’s hard to imagine how many Gores had to die to make all that gore-tex on the scene. Terrified at the idea that they might get wet the pack eschewed formal religion opting instead to try to beat the clock and the rain. The pack was off and *unning for ten seconds before the first cries of panic could be heard. Dickless Namehole dropped to his knees and began wanking as tears ran down his cheeks, being out of sight of the parking lot he was sure he was going to die. Only Drill Me’s threat to let Badger do the wanking got Dickless back on his feet. Eventually the pack sorted itself out and hurled itself back to the trail. The night was alive with the sound of whining as the pack found itself facing not only set checks but natural ones wherever trails diverged. Spell that not having enough flout. Fits In managed to consistently take the road less traveled. Next time she’ll either bring the pooches or pay the hare for inf. (T/BC didn’t ask for much). Lucky for her that Enter The Gerbil has the same fine sense of direction and they could be lost together. Ben Gay solved the problem by getting hideously lost almost instantly and returning to the start (never get far from the beer). Sadly Bone Marrow found trail and stayed on it so Ben lost his chance for a quick boff in the bushes. Dick Chick arrived fashionably late and dashed off in search of the pack, instead she found a potential ax murderer who she promptly disarmed and beat into dust using all her martial arts skills. Too tired from her Hannibal Lechter act she returned to the start. Hearing her tell the tale Hung Juror was impressed enough to inquire if she’d be interested in being his bully for hire. This was D’anglin A’nglin’s kind of trail, he could be lost and no one would know the difference. At least he was able to confine himself to San Francisco proper. The pack did eventually resurface grim faced and in need of alcohol but what’s new about that. Last in were Open Wide, Likes To Lick, and Camel Blower. Poor Open Wide once again without a flashlight and forced to depend on the menfolks. By the time they got in she had a big grim and they both looked tired.... hmmm. Fucking Pesto Chicken is wondering if that ploy might work for him but with his luck he’d end up with LCB instead of Open Wide. MacTaco just followed Elliott’s lead and arrived safe and sound . In exchange for guiding him Elliott ended up tied to the bumper of Mac’s car and whining for beer. If Elliott ever wises up MacTaco is in for serious trouble. Aside from the fashionably late starters there were those who arrived for cocktail hour. Phone Sex was her usual natty self. Neither rain, nor shiggy, nor *unning will keep her from her appointment with the juice of the barley. The Sacred Thermi produced hot buttered rum warming the cockles of Polly’s heart. He was on his way back to DublinH3 but was more than willing to substitute rum for Guinness. Doofuss White Boy visiting from Florida was also more than happy to suck down the rum. The more he drank the more he lived up to his name. By evening’s end Scarlett O’Hairy was volunteering to ship his dick back to Dixie. Enter The Gerbil assumed his Fool’s Cap Of Power and proceeded to make fools of as many people as he could. Not that there was any shortage of willing coconspirators. Nutless Sac made the tragic error of wearing shoes that were so white that they lit up the night, even T/BC noticed them. So the lad did a down-down one for shoes and one for snitching. The down-downs were particularly frightening as they were done with Dubbonet. T/BC dumped his into a sock and proceeded to pop the sock into his mouth and chew the alcohol out of it. Wankers Island fainted at the sight and Shithead announced that T/BC had lowered the limbo bar yet again. Manhole was oblivious to all this as well as to everything else as he napped on the tarmac. Bigfoot was too sick to *un but she did her best to poison the cold with as much rum as she could pour down her throat. The police, of course, came by to make sure that the Gypsies were having all the fun they could and when assured that we were they left. The masses then descended on Lada Thai and made the owners wealthy and LCB and Pesto played musical chairs. Sobriety is way overrated. Cheers.