Run #456 Another One Bites the Dust
Last
Thursday the Gypsies kicked 2001 onto the trash heap of
history. Ben Gay being environmentally conscious foolishly
assumed that a bunch of rum pots could deal with the concept and laid
a trail using orange surveyors tape. Six of Nine was lost
before he left the parking lot at Storey and Lincoln in the Presidio.
The weather weenies were at it again predicting the skies would fall
in on the Gypsies but the weather weenies never count on the luck of
the Gypsies. Sure it was pissing rain at 6:00pm on Thursday
but it was as dry as Likker Crotchy’s sex life by 6:15.
McTaco having never met a blonde he didn’t lust over arrived
with Snow White of the BarnesH3 in tow. Feigning disdain for
the Sacred Missal Ms. White read in a dry and toneless British
accent. McTaco seemed quite surprised since she’d been down
and dirty in the car. By evening’s end Snow White was riding
with Six of Nine and if that didn’t soil her soul nothing
will. The Gypsies were also graced by the presence of Flying
Dutchman from the EdinburghH3 who lived up to his name by making
a spectacular arrival. Mammaries, quintessential Whine and Chowder
harriette, fearing contamination never even slowed down as she plowed
her mechanical conveyance through the pack booting Flying Dutchman
out the door and into space. Luckily Bone Marrow broke his
fall. When he saw who he’d landed on FD must have thought
he’d died and gone to heaven. Once the chaos was under control the
pack was off in search of orange ribbons. Used to never looking
higher than their feet the pack found it a tad hard to find marks
tied to branches over their heads. Thumper was the first to
realize that he had to turn his gaze to the stars if he wanted to
find trail. Unfortunately the firs ribbon he found was attached to
the rather large branch his head collided with. Ever vigilant Likes
To Lick noticed the falling body and seeing the ribbon guided the
pack onward. Drill Me had no end of trouble keeping Badger
from dining on the recumbent Thumper. How sad that he’ll
never know just how much Phone Sex enjoyed the fact that
conscious or not Thumper still has a woody. Of course he’d
probably rather not know how much Rhett Butthole also enjoyed
that fact. Shithead and D’anglin Anglin kept themselves busy
looking for trail in all the wrong places but at least it kept them
out of mischief. Eventually the pack decided that slogging through
the wet and soggy Presidio was less fun than getting blotto at the
Sacred Bucket and returned to do the later. Rum and cider were
quickly transferred from the Bucket into Gypsy throats and
soon into Gypsy blood streams. Returning to the fray as his
own Fool King Rongjon wielded the Sword Of Power
with his usual wavery aplomb. The circle seemed wider than usual but
that may just have been the pack’s desire to stay out of the King’s
range. In honor of her dicing with Rottweilers last week Badger
was inducted into the Order of the Sleepless Knights, Dog
Brigade, as Bite Size. Both Bite Size and Drill
Me did their own down-downs sadly for Drill Me
Bite Size seems to hold her liquor better. Speaking of holding
his liquor there’s sure to be an official inquiry into how Dipsea
Shit could have ended up in Oakland when he was headed for Marin.
Not that Just Hans was doing that much better, when last seen
he was locked in a passionate embrace with his motorcy and it looked
like the bike was going to end up on top. Bigfoot, Enter
The Gerbil, Nutless Sac, McTaco, Fits In,
and Tongueless were all non*unners but proved themselves true
Bucket Masters. In keeping with the end of the year both Bigfoot
and Gerbil decided to be designated drinkers hoping that the
newly installed autopilot in the Saturn would bring them home safely.
One wonders just how drunk Bigfoot was when Gerbil
convinced her that there was an autopilot on the car. The
party eventually moved to the India Clay Ovens where enough curry was
consumed to guarantee those present would have a very regular
morning. Out with the old in with the new.