Run #1601 Going Dutch

E=MC Fucked drew the short straw and popped the cherry on the Gypsies sixteen hundreds. A week after Blow Queen initiated the era E= stepped to the plate and set *un #1601. Being Quixotic where better to start than the Queen Wilhelmina Windmill in Golden Gate Park on JFK Dr. Blow Queen pointed out that it was still sunny and mild! The pack as usual forgot that they were in San Francisco with its notoriously “hot” Mays. Dr. Kimble wasn’t ready for a night out on Everest but by the end of the evening he would be sorry he wasn’t! Backside Banger and Adopt A Pussy attempted the tried and totally untrue method for staying warm by lowering their internal temps to equal their external temps by swigging endless pints of cold Lagunitas Island Beats Tropical IPA. Apparently, the word “Tropical” carried the day for them. Pied Piper showed he was good for more than providing Jerky with his sermon from the Male Missal. PP preached that old time religion, and it had Magnum, Not I rethinking his name! On that note our hare suggested the pack be off in search of his marks. His chalktalk consisted of “there is a trail or, um, was earlier and it’s a distance of which I have no idea, and finally, Don’t Get Killed!” Really who could ask for more. Trail for one and all went through the Queen Wilhelmina Garden and into the bowels of the park. Fulton St. provided the first DGK mark and, while Closet Twitcher did his best, he still managed to survive crossing the street. Jack The Ripper pointed out that to really appreciate that feat one would have to know CT. Marks led down 48^th Ave. through the parking lot of the La Playa Music School and turned back towards the Great Highway. Going through the parking lot on Cabrillo and the Great Highway gave the flying by autos another chance to pick off a Gypsy or two. Trail turned south along the walkway above Ocean Beach and the common assumption was that trail would go down to the beach and through the sand. There was no need because any trail on the beach was coming up to meet the pack as the wind and sand were giving all there a free dermabrasion session. The hare suddenly appeared and admitted that any trail he’d laid on the beach was kaput! Still, when he found an arrow pointing down the steps to the beach, CT had to see for himself. He was airlifted by the sail he called a jacket and landed back with the windswept ones. Not that the pack was a unit, some had turned at La Playa and reentered the park. Still a few hardy souls, that’s hardy as in ‘dumb” stayed the course with Tongueless insisting the trail would turn. As they approached the Beach Chalet, Fits In drew a line in the sand, literally, and this version of the LP turned.  As they turned on to a trail the rag tag band was reunited with Manhole, Bitch Pimp and Backwash who’d decided that they were not in need of dermabrasion or freezing winds. For the likes of our hare one Windmill was not enough so as they turned on MLK, Jr. Dr. they passed the Murphy Windmill that Hand Pump insists is not named for his family. Dr. K found a turn on Bernice Rodgers way and after becoming JFK Dr. it was a straight shot home. There was an effort to get out of the wind by bringing the keg and Cloak Of Invisibility around the bushes into the garden. The Sacred Bucket was filled with Yellow Peril and the pack set to stuffing Vitamin J into their gobs. As usual the more alcohol that passed their lips the higher the temperature seemed to go. It wasn’t long before the keg and Bucket combo had Wash This Asshole declaring that he had a “warm and fuzzy feeling”. Magnum wondered if WTA hadn’t said “warm and scuzzy.” The Sacred Bucket can play havoc with one’s hearing as well as everything else. T’s attempt to convene a Circle was met by Backwash declaring, “No Circles after 9 or when people are breaking icicles off their nose!” BW was met with thundering approval. Growler time was declared, and the keg’s final fart of surrender was met with approval. The 1600s have arrived in style. Cheers.