Run #483 KABOOM!

While the rest of the cuntry was celebrating Independence Day the Gypsies were busy celebrating themselves but then isn’t being self absorbed one of the true essences of hashing? Our hares for the occasion were Dr. Kimble and Bag Lady who chose to start the trail in Blacky’s Pasture in Tiburon. This was particularly fitting since it allowed a bunch of live horse’s asses to start the trail by *unning over a dead horse’s ass. The sun was high and hot as opposed to the near arctic conditions of the last few weeks as the pack gathered at the start. Sunscreen was mixed with Technu as our bravos suited up for the day’s trail. Apparently unused to an A-B trail Tequila Sunset and Honeybush brought a *un bag containing all their worldly goods. If it had been any larger Dr. K would have had to charge them for excess baggage in the bag wagon. $50 Bitch from the White HouseH4 performed her duties as priestess reading the Sacred Missal with a gusto that attracted a number of civilians. When some of those kids get home won’t mommy and daddy be surprised by what they learned while biking in beautiful Marin? Her reading was almost enough to get Just Clark a Whine & Chowder Society power poofter to straighten up and fly right. This would have devastated Rhett Butthole who had his eyes on the prize. Not that Rhett was the only one out trolling for fresh meat, Beats Me, best known for her kissing cousins activities (and we always thought she was as wholesome as apple pie) and Just Maeve weren’t slow to bait the hook. Clearly Just Mark and Just Dave were interested in tossing them more than a Frisbee. Johnny Apple Seed from the HonoluluH3 wasn’t exactly hiding his desire to plow the furrow either. And all this before the *un even started. Lost in a fog of hormones the pack was off. Trail led through the pasture and across the drainage canal but true to form no one actually went that way. Preferring dry feet the pack stayed on the road until it arrived at the first stoplight where Holy Tit of the Everyday is WednesdayH3, Duckjob, and $50 Bitch of the White HouseH4 stopped traffic with a suicidal strut into the roadway. The screech of brakes and tearing of sheet metal were music to our visitors’ ears. Trail led onto Jefferson then up a set of stairs to join Ring Mountain. Sad to report that it was somewhere on Ring that The Ripper was last seen and there is concern that his whitening bones will soon be found. Trail led straight up the mountain, well where else would a trail go? Half Pint from the ColomboH3 was off like a shot quickly abandoning her husband Pint, children Quarter Pint and nameless along with an assorted entourage to meet their fate under the blazing sun. Enter The Gerbil showing unusual compassion actually looked over his shoulder once to make sure they were still on the mountain. Not wanting to harm his reputation he did snatch the only water bottle away from the baby. While the rest of the pack was negotiating the hill Nutless Sac and Just Esther were back guarding the barbeque pit at B and negotiating something a tad more primal. Nutless could not have been more annoyed to find out that she didn’t take Master Card. By this time Whippet In and Whippet Out who’d gone off at the start like a couple of Saturn’s were feeling the heat and whining to be carried. Their plaintive whines were, however, drowned out by those of Tongueless who, at least in terms of being self absorbed, is a true hasher. Only the baleful gaze of Fits In kept these lads in line. Not saying a word, simply pointing over the hill and tapping her foot impatiently was enough to instill more fear of her wrath than that of the sun’s and our heroes cringed onward and upward. Trail took the pack over to the Corte Madera side of the hill and down to an eagle/turkey split. While some soared others chose to gobble booze back at B. Heading down the trail the turkeys were met by Ben Gay and Bone Marrow who had decided to *un the trail backwards when, realizing it went up hill, they decided that eating and drinking were really the better part of valor. The pack finally reassembled at B a small park on Granada Park. The cool, lush green grass was the perfect place for a band of overheated lushes to end their trail. Entering the park they found their *un bags neatly lined up and thoroughly rifled (well the day was FREE so money had to cum from somewhere). Fuse Blower and Pubic’s Cube supplied two small kegs from their Ross Valley Brewery and the pack was soon downing pints of Kolch and IPA. The Sacred Bucket was filled with icy cold vodka tonic with fresh sliced limes and lemons and suddenly all was right with the world. Dr. K donned his apron and assumed chef’s duties bringing forth excellent barbequed chicken, hot dogs, and sausages. He also provided guacamole for the chips and canned peaches for desert. Half in the bag Bag Lady was busy strolling around wearing her camo pants under her Martha Washington as a slut majorette costume. Naked Hasher had a full body blush when she sidled up and asked if she could twirl his baton. At Your Cervix was soon mainlining the Bucket and telling Just Doesn’t Get It that he wouldn’t be getting it unless he banished Napoleon Boner Dog from his bedroom. As she put it, “You’re only entitled to one bitch in your bed!” Needless to say Napoleon’s position is safe and Just will continue earning his name. A very toasty and died in the wool golfer Scarlett O’Hairy was offering to carry Ball Buffer’s clubs, well at least his driver. Bitch’s Bitch scanned Scarlett and announced that he thought she might be a par three but with enough of the Bucket Ball Buffer could probably get in under par. This set Shithead to accepting bets on just how many shots it would take. Bigfoot was in heaven. Using the vodka tonic as a solvent and really cramming her mouth with food she was able to masticate a combination of food groups never before seen by humankind onto the tip of her tongue Twinkle Tits was so overwhelmed by the feat that as Bigfoot flicked said tongue back and forth with the precision of an anteater on a termite hill Twinkle fainted dead away landing face first in Rainman’s salad. All in all a colorful time was had by all. Early on Thumper had announced that he was trying to get back in shape and the Bucket certainly changed the shape he was in. It was left it to the CHP to decide if it’s a better shape. King Rongjon, Sword Of Power in hand convened his circle of lameness doling out down-downs to those who like LCB were too drunk to appreciate them. Enter The Gerbil in keeping with the satiric theme of a Kingly circle made a valiant but vain attempt to name Just Vincent. There is nothing quite as exquisite as forty drunks who can’t remember their own names trying to give a creative or at least meaningful one to someone else. Still it was worth the time just to see the dance Just Vincent put on at the end of the attempt. That lad has a future in the Castro. Bigfoot became even more ecstatic when Lois Lame arrived with homemade peach salsa and her tongue assumed even more colors. As night fell the cooler was restocked and those who could still move made their way back up Ring Mt. From the summit, their view obscured only by the beer bottles held in front of their faces, the survivors watched the fireworks shows in Sausalito and San Francisco. Rumor has it that some made it back down alive. Ain’t we swell? Cheers.