Run #982 Proud to Be a Bastard

Last Thursday was Australia Day but the ambience was more a foggy night in London town. Still Ice Box proud as punch at being able to trace her ancestry to those first convicts who stepped onto land at Botany Bay gathered the pack together in her garage so the Gypsies could celebrate a nation without birth certificates. Hot Dick was inspired to bastardize himself as her chef du cuisine. Deep in the bowels of their garage the pack gathered to pound mercilessly on the keg of Lagunitas Czech Pils. Fit’s In was hors de combat last week leading to the ugly rumor that there would be no Sacred Bucket and the even uglier sight of Monkey See Monkey Do Me in the fetal position crying hysterically. Udder Moron turned away in shame but not before he snapped a few pics for Facebook. Lois Lame ever gentle wiped away MSMDM’s tears and reminded her that Fits would never allow the Bucket to go unfilled. With Fits In AWOL it fell to G.A.S. to act in her stead as Hash Cash. There are those who blinded by her blonde beauty fail to notice the steel in G.A.S.’ spine or in the case of Smells Like Fish Tastes Like Bacon the retractable baton her hand. Poor SMFTLB tried the old, “my money is in the car” routine and felt the snap of steel across her ankles. Her screech of pain and G.A.S.’ grin of pleasure sent hands flying to wallets. The pack’s religious needs were seen to by Just Shannon or as she likes to be called Virgin Shannon. As usual with the Gypsies her virginity didn’t last long. In the Gypsies it’s virgin to bimbo in 60 seconds. Sacred Missal in hand she preached to the choir. Just Chris a Whine & Chowder Society wanker was so moved that the toes on his glove shoes curled. Lucky that they’re made of neoprene the way he was dripping. Having been more or less cleansed the pack was on-on into the night. Icebox playing mother hen to the halt, lame and already drunk led a separate pack of SCBs. In the fog headlamps bobbed like drunken fireflies. As D’anglin Anglin flew through the West Portal neighborhood civilians assumed the following pack were vigilantes after a fearful creature, of course the sight of D’anglin has that effect on most people. The fog was so thick that Table Me swears she heard Dr. Kimble whine that he “couldn’t see the MILF in front of my face”. Drill Me reveled in the fog as it allowed The Pussy Eater to play the role of the Hound of the Baskervilles turning West Portal into the moors. Traipsing through the fog King Rongjon and 2 Pints visiting from the West LondonH3 got separated from Ice Box and found refuge in the Philosopher’s Club not to reappear until late into the night. It was so foggy that Ice Box couldn’t find her own trail even with a map. Our hare was saved by Mr. Bone Jangle’s unerring sense of where the free beer could be found. Eventually the pack was reunited in the garage and the door dropped to keep away prying eyes. Hot Dick leapt to the fore and soon the pack was feasting on Vegemite sandwiches, well feasting may not be the right choice of words. E=MC Fucked proved that he’s a 1%er by whining that HD hadn’t trimmed the crusts. Tears Of Semen was crying tears of salt as she tried to cram one down her throat. Next up a culinary delight were the sausage roles. Just Deb dived in with such gusto that Just Rich opined that she just couldn’t get enough sausage. In his case it’s the Bucket that JR can’t get enough of which is to say that he was once again floating face down in the Yellowish Peril. Goes Down Easy wondered aloud when he’d notice that he was barefoot. The smart money was on Friday at the earliest. Just Mike visiting from the VenturaH3 also exhibited a fondness for the Bucket. So much so that Just Dan another Whine & Chowder Society wanker might be getting roses on Friday. Massive Cock Check who is off to OZ was pleased to get a chance to choke down some fine Aussie cuisine. Chinchin Chiller pointed out to him that it would taste even better coming up than going down. Just Katie head between her knees probably wouldn’t have agreed. Gaylord Fokker and his minion Just Sean nipped out of the garage to “drop some stuff in the car” and returned smelling like they’d been to a Bob Marley concert. Okay kids can you spell C O N T A C T H I G H. With the King in his cups at the Philosopher’s Club down-downs fell to Tongueless who as usual humiliated everyone he could drag into the Circle. Even Just Chris kissing T’s shoes didn’t protect him. Now if My Uncle’s Girl Friend had kissed his ass that would have been a different story. Eventually King Rongjon reappeared and waving the Sword Of Power quickly descended into Rongjon World took the pack down with him. Dr. Bombardier made a valiant effort to hold on to his sanity but where the King is concerned resistance is futile. A smidge of vengeance was had when the King was forced to drink from his shoe an old one but a very very clean one. The keg died a hero’s death. Cheers.

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