Run #478 Hole? Who Said Hole?

Many Gypsies will go any length looking for a good hole -- or a good pole, for that matter. Hare Boulder Holder magnanimously satisfied at least one of those urges, starting her trail on the outskirts of the former Letterman Hospital. Now little more than a deep cleft in the earth, the construction site was surrounded by heaps of sand irresistible to Just Doesn't Get It and Rhett Butthole, who went pile diving with more enthusiasm than they have ever managed with real women, and who are now known as the Buttsore Surfers. The sad loss of the parking lot where so much Gypsies revelry has taken place brought tears to the eyes of D'Anglin Anglin, who realized he'd never again be lost there on trail. Even Tongueless was seen blinking frequently; though he claimed to be revolted by recalling the time Snakeless showed off his wrinkled but uncut root for the ladies (producing spectacular and repeated hurling by Spanky), it was clear he was fondly recalling Better Than Silicone's victory in the women's grand circular piss-off and his own efforts to improve community relations with the sale of a few Gypsies T-shirts to an officer of the law. Visitor Mossy Patch insisted on showing her secular side -- and it's far from her best -- in declining to read from the Sacred Missal, despite the encouragement of Pump Fake and Just Jim, who kept urging her to "speak in tongues" as they enacted some of the tome's more spiritual liturgies. The task instead fell to Fucking Pesto Chicken, making his farewell tour before departing in a peyote haze for Santa Fe. Pesto's impassioned reading stirred unfamiliar feelings in the hearts and loins of many present; Thurston Bowel the Turd immediately recognized the sensation from the last time he offered candy to a Catholic schoolgirl. By contrast, Beats Me and Open Wide found the experience so depressing they disappeared with Phone Sex for a girl's night out that brought a smile to more lips than three. The sheer sense of desolation -- one not witnessed since Likes to Lick last pondered his Cisco stock options and the Grim Rimmer his love life -- could not keep the pack down for long. The hare warned of thorns, difficult ground and nasty, sharp thorns, but was roundly ignored and the pack was off, led by Naked Hasher and No Hands. Manhandler was but a few steps behind, sensing an opportunity too good to pass up. Boulder Holder was soon redeemed when the first beer check materialized no more than ten minutes from the start, producing a shoving match between Tits 4 Hire and Scarlett O'Hairy over who would get the first longdick, er, longneck. Jethro Up deemed the local Sierra Nevada "too bitter" for his Texan tastebuds and was rewarded with a faceful of fumes from Bigfoot, who reasoned if the visitor couldn't drink the beer he'd better just breathe it. Trail resumed, though the pack's vigilance had waned to the point that no one witnessed 5150 running off after a Presidio police cruiser, mumbling something about a rematch. A second beer check materialized, prompting Dipshit to complain that he wasn't getting enough exercise. Drill Me obligingly snapped the muzzle off Bite Size and the hasher was soon a fast-moving speck set against the Sausalito skyline. Eager for the Sacred Bucket, the pack stumbled on in, and soon enough alcohol was sloshing around that even Whine and Chowder visitors Gumballs and Tiny Limb were pawing one another and drooling with the best of them. Too virtuous for such shenanigans, Shithead headed home to make sure his porn collection didn't get lonely. Splat waved goodbye and returned to explaining the Doppler red-shift to Dick Chick, who was soon fantasizing about some red-shifting of her own. Enter the Gerbil, arriving late in a rented banana-yellow truck, proceeded to throw it into four-wheel drive and plunged into the depths of the excavation, where the keen-eared Bag Lady swore she later heard satanic laughter miles beneath the earth. King Rongjon took up his sword and, having abandoned the wagon for other modes of transportation, proceeded to punch his own ticket to ride as he feted Boulder Holder with a poetic disquisition on her ethereal grace. The harriette giggled and cooed as Rongjon paid her iambic homage, then lodged a delicate but forceful forefinger into his chest and stepped aside as our monarch plummeted head-first toward the earth. Only the quick intervention of Dr. Kimble saved Rongjon from taking the Sacred Bucket with him. Fits In stepped in to take custody, ensuring that Jack the Ripper and virgin Just John received enough libation to keep their long, smoldering staring contest going long into the night. As the Bucket ran dry and the beer ran low, the pack adjourned for the Final Final, where the booze ran until Nutless Sac trudged off to sleep in his car and Scabass Faggott and Handjob for Humanity collapsed in a heap, the closest anyone could remember seeing them for some time. On on.