Run #435 El Mariachi

The Gypsies’ answer to Batman and Robin, Wankers Island and Scarlett O’Hairy, were at it again last Thursday night. As Yogi Berra said it was “Deja vu all over again” as the dynamic duo called the hounds out at El Toro Loco in Pacifica. In her attempt to achieve the same pink glow that Dick Chick has lately acquired Scarlett is no longer waiting for newboots to arrive she’s actively cruising *un starts and grabbing any male civilian in anything that resembles *unning clothes. She spotted Just John in the restaurant yanked him away from his guacamole and sent him on trail planning to leave him weak then fill him full of alcohol and use him as a sex toy. Glory Hole the outgoing Grand Masseur of the Whine & Chowder Society tossed the future Grand Mattress into the pot to provide a suitable religious experience for the evening. Sniff My Box took hold of the Sacred Missal and left the crowd begging for more of Kelli, Nanci, and Cyndi. She also had Grim Rimmer desperately trying to live out her name. She must have found it hard to *un with his head between her legs. From a distance they could easily have been mistaken for a Satyr. Trail took the pack toward the ocean and into the ubiquitous fog. While those hashers with their brains in their feet were trotting uphill into oblivion those with their brains located somewhat higher were heading for the beer check. Enter The Gerbil proved to have a nose for flour and led a mini pack of Bitch In Heat, Fits In, T/BC, and Bigfoot unerringly into the beer check. Wet Clam, visiting from Long BeachH3, and Pet da Cooter still excited from the reading decided to nip into the bushes for a little furrow plowing and found themselves trapped on the cliffs of the eagle trail while the likes of Broken Trojan and LCB ignored their promises to exchange sex for rescue in their desperate duel to win the hash. D’anglin Anglin finally came to their rescue by hauling them to safety via his tail. Wet Clam in her desperation grabbed the wrong tail and it’s yet unclear whether D’anglin’s ear splitting scream was one of pain or pleasure. More rumpots than chevaliers the Gypsies have never enjoyed a reputation for “women and children first.” Living down to the Gypsy code Uncle Fucker abandoned Charlene, the woman he’d made cum, to the tender mercies of King Rongjon who exercising droit de seigneur made sure she wouldn’t be doing a “virgins” down-down. The beer check was soon followed by the obligatory Jell-O check where T/BC in his best Planet of the Apes style was busily scooping up the stuff with his hands and slurping it off his fingers. Not to be outdone Bigfoot was face first into the pans inhaling the fruit and vodka like a vacuum cleaner. The sight was enough to leave Comes Slowly the same shade as the lime flavor and turn her into the reigning (no pun intended) queen of projectile vomit. Once drained Nutless Sac tossed her by now limp form into his truck and brought her back to the start. Happily she had plenty of red wine to wash away the taste and when last seen she was speeding into the night albeit with Sadie behind the wheel. Back at the start a mariachi band playing for Wankers’ Bday greeted the pack. Just Alison had hired them to serenade her affianced. One wonders why she bothered when it turns out she got the name Doesn’t Cum Often when Wankers couldn’t explain why. While the band played on the Sacred Bucket was filled with Margaritas and chips and salsa flew through the air with abandon. At this point the pack was joined by Meat Pie who never met a cocktail she didn’t like. Tonight was no exception and she left having poured many new friends down her throat. Huevos Rancheros, Wankers’ cousin and cook, once again did a meal fit for the Gypsies. Chili with rice and corn bread, beef hearts on a skewer, and a potato salad were soon filling bellies while alcohol emptied heads. Broken Trojan was drunk enough to suggest that newboot Just Clement focus his attention not on drunken harriettes but on the spandex dollies of the TNT and we don’t mean the hash in Edinburgh. On the other hand Clement seemed to enjoy following BT’s butt so spandex might not be his cup of tea. Enter The Gerbil was soon clothed in his Fools Cap doing the King’s foolery. The circle was convened inside the restaurant and jibes and jests sailed through the air like the weapons grade cornbread. No Hands launched a preemptive strike against I R Stupid who quickly retaliated. Only the mutual emptiness of their plates ended the conflict. Once the majority of his red cells had been replaced with tequila Chickless Boner announced that his foray into bestiality had netted him no willing partners and he’d returned to necrophilia to satisfy his twisted urges. On the bright side it had expanded his horizon and sparked an interest in taxidermy. Speaking of animals, Dick Chick got a down-down for receiving a dozen red roses from her latest jockey. He liked his ride so much that if she can get her speed up we’ll be seeing her in the “Run for the Roses” next year. This set Scarlett to thinking about saddling up newboot Just Robert for a quick furlong. She was forced to change horses when Just John was found floating in his chili thwarting her original plan. Voyeur was there living up to his name. He must have sensed tits in the air as the famous man with a camera was there ready to record the slightest protuberance in a *unning bra. Lucky man as four of the finest were proffered to the delight of the pack. Just Lauren had done the three-day walk for breast cancer and always supportive of a bouncy brace T/BC had promised her a check for her efforts. The walker and the check writer were brought into the circle and Lauren was made aware that the check was tied to the string of “Tits out for the boys.” Getting that pert pair exposed was like, excuse us Open Wide, pulling teeth. Moaning and groaning that she was too embarrassed (as though there is any such thing) she kept flashing the lower quadrant but Likes To Lick was not fooled and kept yelling, “Nipples for nickels.” Sisterhood was not proving very powerful as all her sisters left her twisting slowly in the circle. Even Just Monica the woman Lauren made cum abandoned her in Lauren’s hour of need. The King’s tits were hooted down as an unacceptable accompaniment. Just as all seemed lost Sniff My Box rose to the occasion challenging Lauren to join her in areola arrogance. With haughtiness befitting their bounty the two bimbos raised their shirts and sent the pack to hooter heaven. Sucks Donnie Osmond swallowed his tongue and Bitch In Heat painfully jammed himself under the table. Only the King offering to extricate him using the Sword Of Power returned him to flacidity. Lauren earned the check and the name Tits For Hire. Sniff My Box earned the pack’s undying thanks. Wankers pounded a piñata in search of Bday loot and King Rongjon closed the ceremony with a prose poem in honor of the Bday boy and a stirring rendition of those verses of Clint Meets the Gay Caballero that he could remember. Those who could still crawl made their way to Winters for more drink and a *un in the DUI Derby. Ole! Cheers.