Run #1561 The Backside of a Manhole!

Manhole had never been to the premier dive bar in Marin, the Silver Peso so he and that master planner, not necessarily doer, Backside Banger decided to set a Gypsies’ trail starting just two blocks away, brilliant! They called the pack to the parking lot on Magnolia and Ward in Larkspur and their call was answered by those who dared to cross a bridge and come from San Francisco and the East Bay. The promise of cheap booze even summoned Princess Slut aka Me Me Me from Santa Rosa. The Outbeer arrived and its promise of great beer was fulfilled when the keg of Adobe Creek Red Whale Lager was tapped. Trail was set by MH since BB was only able to make it to the start in a desperate rush from the SFO. Rest assured that the excellent piss didn’t stop Squeeze Box from complaining that the *uns in Marin started too late since she couldn’t find her headlamp so the Gypsies should consider starting earlier. SB got the usual caring response from Tongueless, “NO”! The parking lot was full of locals who were clearly not used to sharing their space with people swigging from red cups. Popping over from the EBH3 were Bitch In Heat and Just Jukka. JJ is a nondrinker, so he was a nonpayer and out of the kindness of the keg BIH was granted his share! Being a true hasher BIH returned the kindness of the keg by providing a sermon from the Male Missal that touched the hards of many a hasher and left SB waving her hand and declaring a case of the vapors. MH provided a chalktalk and sent the pack into the fair town of Larkspur in search of marks. MH generously offered to lead the Lost Patrol. BB was off to do some “research” at the Peso and would “catch up.”  Our hare led his merry band of miscreants through the parking lot to where they could stop and smell no roses on Rose Lane. Eventually trail turned on Doherty Drive and came back down along the Larkspur Creek. By now the true cognoscenti were barely a memory as they set out to prove that elevation gain and slip sliding away on their asses was the epitome of a grand time. Lois Lame was torn between a need to fulfill the role of Bitches Bitch and push until a defibrillator would outweigh the siren song of the keg or act like a normal human being. In the end she split the difference by hanging with Hand Pump. The LP swept through the oldline neighborhood on streets named Heather Way and Chanticleer. Adopt A Pussy was getting concerned about BB so he used his iPhone to find his friend but no matter how many times he looked nothing showed but the Silver Peso, how odd! There was of course the insanely long and steep set of stairs the trail took the pack up and down. MH looked like he truly enjoyed the down go with one aching kneed leg sticking straight out so he hopped down the steps. Fits In flew down the stairs then turned and advised T as to which foot he should lower next, his lack of depth perception is even worse than T’s general lack of depth! Meanwhile the cool kids like Just Fuck Off and Pastel Gazelle were thundering over fire roads that allowed them to sweat copiously, or glisten, AND look down on the peasants below. BIH and JJ were fighting them for control of the narrow trails but, no worries, Marin General Hospital wasn’t that far away. Trail for the LP actually passed the Peso but no effort was made to extract the, um, co-hare! Once back at the start the packs were reunited and with the keg of Red Whale Lager tapped the serious part of the evening was begun. The keg stayed in the Outbeer but the Cloak Of Invisibility held a Sacred Bucket filled with Cuba Libre. When SB, fingering through the boxes of Vitamin J, thanked FI for getting good chips the rest of the pack was stopped dead wondering if SB would drop dead for saying something not a complaint. LL and HP finally arrived with no blood on trail to show. BB strolled over from the Peso to get his share of the Red Whale, and more, and the Bucket.  An on-on version of the Lost Patrol was formed by that triumvirate of deep thinkers, Wash This Asshole, PS aka M3, and SB. AAP was fascinated by the patting one’s self on the back contest that ensued. Beer fanciers decide to support their local brewery, Adobe Creek by asking their locals why it isn’t available. As the keg breathed it’s last and the Bucket emptied. The bar at the Left Bank Restaurant found itself with a sudden influx of reprobates. The rest melted into the night. One more wasted Thursday with the Gypsies. Cheers.