Run #476 Can’t Tell the Players without a Score Card
Last
Thursday night the Hashing Gods smiled on the Gypsies, well,
would they do anything else, and provided the new weightless King
Rongjon with weather worthy of his majesty. The King
called his minions together at the parking lot at Land’s End to
open the festivities for Bay to Breakers 2002. Emissaries traveled
from far and wide to touch the hem of his garment and drink deep from
his Sacred Bucket. TorontoH3 sent Sex Toy, H2Ho,
and Rose’eh, AtlantaH3 sent Bagless, CharlotteH3 sent
Cums On You (he tried desperately to live of up to his name
but even Me Me Me turned him down and that alone staggers the
imagination) and New York CityH3 sent Scott (he volunteered
looking forward to another hangover like he was provided last year)
who brought Offensive Discharge (who did live up to his name).
McTaco’s eye, and judging from that bulge in his tights
other parts of his anatomy, was caught by Wet Clam on a
diplomatic mission from Long BeachH3; clearly he was interested in
sementing relations. Wet Clam’s squire Victoria’s
Secretion stayed close at hand should she need assistance in
assuming some bizarre positions with our man from the east bay. It
was a night to dream, even Snakeless, that testosterone free
tiger, was evincing an interest in At Your Cervix. To cheap to
buy Viagra Snakeless was busy collecting twigs to wrap around
and harden his withered member. Of course this was all to no avail as
she was busy vamping Pump Fake who was showing an unseemly
interest in 3 Ball J from Silicone ValleyH3 who was hoping
that Manhandler would make a man of him but Manhandler
seemed more into herself. Oh the tangled web of hashing. Not to be
out done by Long Beach San DiegoH3 sent Magic and Magic
User who had some sort of, don’t even ask, living arrangement
with Bag Lady and Doctor Kimble and we all know what
they’re like. Speaking of living arrangements there was Bigfoot
having to tell Grim Rimmer that with Enter The Gerbil out of
town he couldn’t stay at their place as she couldn’t be alone
there with another man. Imagine how drunk Bigfoot would have
had to be to mistake Rimmer for a man. And this all happened
before the Sacred Missal was even read. The evening’s
religious experience was well handled by H2Ho one of Toronto’s
Traveling Bimbos whose elocution popped Broken Trojan.
By the time she’d finished her sermon Motor Mount was purple
with apoplexy and screeching that all the sinners would surely burn
in Hell….it was time to hit the trail. Trail led out of the parking
lot across Point Lobos and through Sutro Heights Park back onto 48th
Ave. From here trail went downhill via enough poison oak to make
Naked Hasher wish he hadn’t decided to forego the homeless
chic to flaunt his body. As usual Just Doesn’t Get It
didn’t and flung himself down the hillside caring more about being
an FRB than scratching himself into oblivion. Delirious with the
thought of dragging Tongueless through the noxious weed
Whippet Out flung himself after Just Doesn’t and in
his desperate effort to save himself Tongueless pulled his
hamstring. Fits In observing him writhing on the ground
announced with her usual warmth “Well it’s better than what I
usually have to watch him pull.” Some swear there was a smile on
Whippet In’s face. The King and his co-hare Snakeless
had set a monumental circle jerk as trail turned toward Ocean Beach
and up the Great Highway past the Cliff House. It dropped towards the
remnants of the Sutro Baths on the cliffs below Seal Rock Inn. Trail
then scrambled back up the cliff to continue on the trail along the
cliffs below the start. Splat was saved from going splat as he
clung to the sheer wall of the cliff by the lens of Voyeur’s
35mm prodding his ass. The thought that Voyeur might be
suggesting something gave Splat just the boost he needed to
put him over the top. The pack moved briskly along the cliffs
enjoying the superb views to finally arrive at a beer check at the
Palace of the Legion of Honor. The King surrounded by his
courtiers and with Open Wide and Phone Sex his favorite
courtesans held court or at least a bottle of Sam Adams. Open Wide
was nursing a beer as well as a sore hip flexor and swearing she had
no idea how she’d injured it. Likes To Lick just smirked and
rolled his eyes. Phone Sex had no excuse for riding rather
than *unning but in her fishnet tights no one seemed to care. It was
clear from his flagpole that D’anglin Anglin would have
traded his left nut to be caught in her net. Thirst quieted the pack
hit the trail for home. A straight shot brought them back to the
parking lot and the Sacred Bucket. The Sea Breezes filling the
Bucket were considerably more powerful than those cuming off
the Pacific. After a few mugs of punch Shithead found himself
renewing old acquaintances with women he’d never met before. New
boot from the Whine & Chowder Society Just Matt questioned
whether there was actually alcohol in the mix. Old hand The Ripper
was standing close enough to catch the body as the alcohol content
made itself known, ah the folly of youth. Youth wasn’t the problem
as Clothes Horse and Thurston Bowel The Turd sat in
their chairs wrapped in blankets discussing their favorite
experiences with Metamucil. A very toasted Scarlett O’Hairy
was busy trying to convince a barely able to stand Tits 4 Hire
to help her slip Viagra in among their liver pills. Only Mammaries’
anger stopped them as she lectured them on the possible deadly effect
with lads so ancient. The clearly off the wagon King swinging
the Sword Of Power circled the serfs and meted out his brand
of justice. As hours passed and he droned on Comes Slowly
dropped to her knees and begged him to let her confess to something,
anything just to stop him. Sadie eventually led a weeping
Comes mumbling to herself back to her car where Meatpie
covered her with a blanket and left her to sleep it off. Not that
Meatpie was in much better shape. When last seen she was
trying to get Rhett Butthole to arm-wrestle her for pink
slips. No Hands eventually slipped some meds into her
vino and she calmed down. The Bucket had Wankee Doodle
announcing that he was cuming out of the closet. Glory Hole,
drink in hand, threatened to slam the door on his ugly gob. I R
Stupid arrived late and with a torn Achilles Tendon. As he made
the rounds of women seeking some solace it was clear that he’d be
forced to pull his own weight once again. By now Son Of Shit
was casting longing glances at Beats Me but the Bucket
had already made her blind. 5150 was another late arrival who
found himself drowning his sorrows in the Bucket. Never
knowing when to quit he was barely saved from really drowning by a
vigilant Just Vincent although there are those who
claim he enjoyed getting that mouth to mouth a little bit too much.
Twinkle Dick was yet another late arrival and when last seen
was headed for the on-on-on firmly strapped to the hood of the King’s
own Bronco. Lucky he’s got such a big truck there was room on the
roof rack for what the Bucket left of Nutless Sac.
Nutless needs to pare down some pounds. Go Nad got a
hernia hauling all that dead weight. Who’d of guessed that deadly
sperm overload could weigh that much? The venue was moved to Lada
Thai where Drill Me badly bitten by the Bucket lay face
down in her dish as D’anglin Anglin tried to bribe Bite
Size to drive back to Napa with dog biscuits. Umm, Umm good.
Cheers.