Run #492 First I Did the Long Stroke
While
the pack gathered at the base of the steps at California and 32nd
Ave. last Thursday our hare, Handjob For Humanity, was off to
a typical Gypsies start by losing the key to Muff
Snatcher’s truck. Normally it would just have been tough luck
Muff but in this case the fact that his truck contained the
alcohol that she planned to use as an incentive to get the pack
around her trail was reason to panic. Happily Drill Me and
Bite Size were present to save the day. After burying her
snout in Muff’s crotch to get the scent Bite Size
was able to produce the key. Paying close attention to the look on
Muff Snatcher’s face while Bite Size was doing her
thing Glory Hole and Just Doesn’t Get It announced
that they had also lost their keys. Hey, they were happy and Bite
Size was too. Napoleon Bonerdog on the other hand
was insanely jealous. Speaking of Just Doesn’t Get It, in a
politically correct frenzy he produced Just John as a bit of
bimbo bait to offset Beats Me’s seemingly endless production
of bimbos for the boys. Beats’ effort to provide for the
sexual satisfaction of fellow hashers has been a true inspiration.
Overwhelmed by her selflessness Open Wide decided to follow
suit by forking over Just Catherine to the tender mercies of
the Gypsies. Even DipC Shit got into the act by
bringing his wife Susan. Unfortunately he was somewhat unclear
on this concept along with so many others and ended up leaving with
her again. Placing herself on the altar of Gypsy lust Just
Catherine with a veddy veddy British accent and a fire engine red
face gave the Sacred Missal its do. Her rendition stirred even
the cold ashes of lust in Splat’s shorts and so excited Mr.
Poopy Pants that he lived up to his name thus assuring that he
would live the life of the loneliness of the long distance *unner.
Oddly, Libby seemed to understand the reading and the
activities described since she barked her approval throughout the
entire performance. Enquiring minds wonder just what Fuck Me;
Father has been teaching her. Speaking of Libby her
barking led King Rongjon to name her, appropriately,
Fucking Shut Up. With all the preliminaries completed it was
time to be on-on. Handjob being environmentally sound used a
thimble to put down those marks she bothered to drop and mixed the
arrangement beautifully with tastefully dark chalk that disappeared
in the twilight. While one would think that the lack of checks would
cause the pack to disperse the clever paucity of marks kept it
together. Some say trail went to Mountain Lake Park while others
swear it led to the old hospital at 15th Ave. and Lake but
only the hare knows for sure. Regardless the seekers found the first
drink check just inside the Presidio past the old hospital.
Tongueless doing his best Snakeless impression, not hard since
he is as miserable a human being, loudly denounced the hare until
Fits In unceremoniously grabbed him by those shriveled things
he laughingly calls balls and silenced the senseless tirade. Our hare
did much to calm the situation by doling out a drink that had enough
vodka to drop a mastodon and enough sugar to send the pack into a
diabetic coma. Hours later Mr. Bone Jangles was still
twitching on his sugar high and trying to get Sniff My Box to
let him. Trail continued through the Presidio. Whippet In and
Whippet Out were so ashamed of Tongueless that they took off
through the bush on their own only to spot Drill Me and
D’anglin Anglin who have some big time explaining to do
about what was really happening in those bushes. Have all those hours
driving back and forth from Napa finally paid off and who’s gonna
pay for the therapy for the Whippet boys? Showing both good
sense and an understanding of the terrain our hare chose to mark
trees making the trail easier to follow. This easier to follow trail
finally led the pack to Baker Beach where the *unners were reunited
with the walkers and in a maudlin moment the pack watched the sun
set. Having consumed more than enough of HJH’s alcohol at
the first beer check Nutless Sac consumed even more and was
overcome by both the booze and the moment. Tears streamed down his
cheeks as he announced “I really love you guys.” Bigfoot
reacted to this emotional outburst in the only sensible way and blew
every cookie she’d ever consumed. So embarrassed was she by his
behavior that Just Esther appeared on the verge of ritual
suicide until a more sober Enter The Gerbil pointed out that
she was Chinese not Japanese. The moment passed and the pack was back
on trail towards home and the Sacred Bucket. Back at
the start the table was set and the Bucket filled with Fits
In’s own version of Sea Breezes. Scarlett O’Hairy
and Rhett Butthole dropped in for cocktails before heading for
Tahoe. Rhett felt he should pound down enough alcohol to give
the CHP a fighting chance. By the time they left he was steering and
Scarlett was working the pedals with her hands. The Sacred
Bucket teaches teamwork. Speaking of taking off, the temperature
having dropped below 90 degrees Naked Hasher disappeared into
the night. Up to his usual consumption level 5150 decided that
the pack should see how he planned to pass the firefighters’
fitness test and Jackoff was soon slung over his shoulder as
he stormed up the California steps. While we can’t be sure it’s
doubtful that passing out at the top is considered good form. Luckily
Jackoff’s head didn’t hit too hard. Go Nad and Just
Sean were circling Just Laura and Just Maeve like a
couple of hungry lions and the smell of sex was in the air. How sad
that they decided to have just one more drink to build their courage
and instead found themselves kissing the sidewalk instead of the
bimbos. Likes To Lick just shook his head and commented
sadly on the folly of youth. Pump Fake still reeling from the
Drill Me – D’anglin episode just sat in corner drinking
and rocking gently back and forth. Rumor has it that SF’s finest
found him that way the next day. How sad. There is also the rumor
that the Ripper was there but disappeared in a haze of
alcohol. The caravan moved on to the Tee Off where legends were born.
May the Sun never set on a sober Gypsy. Cheers.