Run #1396 Getting All Pumped Up


Hand Pump laid the trail for the Gypsies and as part of his foreign policy work brought Bush ‘N Iraq into his, as usual, grandiose schemes. Hand Pump is a believer in the more the better so if 1 trail is good 2 is even better and why stop at 2 if you can do 3. Our hare and his minion wanted to accommodate anyone who showed up including the *unners, walkers, stumblers and ski enthusiasts like 5150. They even wanted to accommodate the “…a mark is in my peripheral vision so I can’t see it” people like Phone Sex. This time around Hand Pump couldn’t resist a trail for that latest Marvel hero Bitches Bitchman  who rescues the lost and never stops *unning trail. Our hares gathered the pack at the packing lot for Ruth Asawa School of the Arts on O’Shaughnessy and Portola scene of many a Gypsies crime. The pack gathered expecting the start of a new Ice Age as usually found at this location and were pleasantly surprised to not be chipping off ice. The keg of Lagunitas IPA was tapped and the pack  luxuriated in the less than arctic evening. Always looking for the silver lining in any cloud Dr. Kimble declared that the evening was already better than he’d expected. Since she already gave at the office by haring Bush ‘N Iraq kept up her charity by taking the stage bless the pack with a reading from the Unnamed Missal. Her sermon was short but dripping sweetness among other things. Dick Ass Mother Fucker was especially taken by her words as evidenced by the sweetness he was dripping. On that note HP provided a chalktalk but more along the lines of a PhD dissertation and sent the pack off to find whichever trail might suit it’s members. All trail led up O’Shaughnessy and across Portola before diverging. Fits In, Tongueless and Banana In Public, making up the Lost Patrol, chose the walker’s trail which, as it turned out was not the substantially different from the turkey trail. They were guided by the super snouts of Tongue Depressor and Qaeda Cunt. Manhole along with Mans Best Hole and Dr. Kimble formed the Lost Patrol2. Eagles an turkeys left a trail of bird droppings behind the Juvenile Probation Department. Lois Lame found Who’s Your Daddy always on the market for a “growler” substitute rooting around the detritus but for a change nothing shifted from the ground to his arms. Marks brought the packs together under Hand Pump’s eye as he watched them all do a substantial circle jerk that had the different groups passing each other like ships in the night as they either went down one set of switchbacks or another before cuming right back up. It was entertaining for the two LPs to pass each other. Our hares managed to keep the packs together. “Saint” Titty Boo Boo was desperate to win all the trails and present his “trophy” to his daughter. Blow Queen was determined to deny “S” TBB the prize until he realized there was no such thing as “the prize”. Tears Of Semen just shook her head at the “boys being boys”. As the LP approached the on-in they spied 5150 and Phone Sex looking lost an alone. It was pointed out to the lonesome doves that had they turned around and looked they would have found trail waiting for them. Eventually the packs were back at the start and lo and behold there was an ambulance parked close to the spot where the Outbeer would disgorge the makings for the evening’s celebratory bacchanal. Adopt A Pussy posited that it was there just in case Jack The Ripper or Hand Pump needed a ride and Missed Delivery, wag that he is, suggested that an on call hearse might be more appropriate. Tongueless a font of kindness and generosity suggested a butcher might be even more useful and why pay for a butcher when Pied Piper fills that bill AND has a grill to toss the bits on to. The conversation left Stinky Floss with the complexion of a Martian. The keg was tapped and the Sacred Thermi filled with hot toddys were produced. The Circle was eschewed in favor of continued drinking and eating Pied Piper’s venison bits and chocolate covered pretzels and of course T’s general laziness. Three Fingers needed all his fingers to keep cramming the Vitamin J into his gob. Growlers decimated the keg and the pack decimated the Sacred Thermi. In other words it was a normal Thursday for the Gypsies. Cheers.