Run #1313 Light Fingers Louie Strikes Again!

 

Who’s Your Daddy toiled in the Gypsies’ sweatshop last week laying a trail from the Polo Fields in Golden Gate Park. WYD long an opponent to bottles but long a proponent of Lagunitas Dogtown Pale Ale found himself facing the dilemma of cold Dogtown in the Sacred Cooler rather than a cold keg and like the rest of the pack satisfied himself with the cold sweating bottles of piss. Our hare’s bitterest complaint was that he’d brought a growler and now would have to stuff his pockets with bottles! Dick Ass Mother Fucker was moved to tears by WYD’s plight but he still managed to pound pack a couple of cold ones in between the crying jags. “Saint” Titty Boo Boo was thrilled to have bottles so he’d have something to shove up Tongueless’ ass in case T became even more obstreperous than usual. Ah, the love exuded by Gypsies toward each other is truly heartwarming. Assuming that his trail would be eminently followable, not necessarily a good assumption, our hare eschewed a chalk talk and put in an arrow showing the direction the pack would follow. Tears Of Semen rolled up on her electricbike and quickly poured on a little water to simulate sweat from her “peddle” over. Fuck Norris found herself engrossed in the Sacred Missal 2.0 and preached a sermon that had Tri Crapalete gushing fluid like the Trevi Fountain. The pack thundered off on trails past the Angling Pond and through Old Speedway Meadow. As the pack was leaving sight 5150 arrived and through in his lot with T, Fits In and the noses to lead them, Tongue Depressor and Qaeda Cunt. With this bunch of incompetents one could be assured that the Lost Patrol would truly live up to it’s name. Closet Twitcher’s last words were, “I’ll *un while I can and you can pick up my remains along the trail.” Trail through the shiggy was easy to follow and then it crossed JFK Drive and the pack and Patrol were brought together at the restrooms at Chain of Lakes where the marks ended. Oh those headless chickens were out in force. To paraphrase they sought marks here, they sought marks there, they sought the hare’s marks everywhere. There was flour like substance on the ground but Bitch Pimp pointed out that unless our hare was planning on making the pack pancakes it was not the Gypsies’ kind of flour. The overall attitude was any flour is better than no flour so off the pack went hot on the griddle. A disjointed gaggle of Gypsies followed trail across 47th Ave. and back into the woods passing the Dutch Windmill and cuming out near the Queen Wilhelmina Windmill at JFK Dr. Across the street and once more back to the breach of shiggy eventually exiting to the Great Highway. At this point 5150 and T bet where the hare would and as Fit In pointed out they were, as usual wrong. The LP assumed the hare would go to Ocean Beach and then cum back into the park at Lincoln Way, WRONG! Yet they persevered and finally arrived back at the start. It was all to the good once the Sacred Bucket was filled with Yellow Peril even The Cunt Next Door was using her inside voice to call for the lynching of the hare. In the absence of The King, Tongueless took up the Sword Of Power and convened the Circle. Suddenly Hand Pump was present having failed to kill himself tripping over a root. Chickenboner allowed that there is always tomorrow. The down-downs went well and the pack was packing up to leave when Fits In declared that a case of Dogtown had gone MIA. Suspicion filled the air as the pack looked among itself for the thief. WYD always opposed to bottles smiled beatifically. That was his big mistake. Fits In tiger like in her fury leapt at him and wrapped her hands around his neck. WYD screamed in pain as she tried to peel back what she assumed was his mask to reveal Pepe Le Poop but lo and behold it was WYD’s face. Rather than face the towering wrath of FI, WYD fell to his knees and tearfully confessed that he had indeed lifted the case to be used at the Whine & Chowder Society “Hash” Marathon. WYD promised to give the Gypsies credit for the beer and he was sent forth to sin no more. “Saint” Titty Boo Boo was all for making use of the bottlenecks as punishment but Chickenboner promised future cupcakes to buy WYD out of trouble. The Bucket was emptied and the evening brought to a close. Cheers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.