Run #882 Phone Sex is a Junkyard Dog!

Phone Sex’s vicious and unprovoked attack on Fits In last Thursday, the one that left G.A.S. tossing her blond locks even more than usual and screeching in horror, has not as first appeared left Fits’ hand so impaired as to preclude her from providing tonight’s Bucket. To Phonie’s credit once she came to her senses she was the one who stanched the bleeding and provided medical care to the damaged limb. And now our story begins.

Tongueless and Manisex Destiny ego mad as ever volunteered to lay the trail in celebration of their natal day. Sans Manisex the pack was gathered at Langdon Ct. a spot as cold, dark and empty as our hare’s heart off Lincoln Blvd. in the Presidio. As the pack trickled in Lagunitas’ The Hairy Eyeball trickled out of the keg and down the throats of the early birds. Just Stephanya explained her strategy as getting so drunk pretrail that she doesn’t mind being lost then having a few cocktails from the Sacred Bucket to ease her back to reality before heading out to duel with the CHP somewhat sober. JS is also willing to share her strategy for winning at roulette. Closet Twitcher being Closet Twitcher was fascinated. Religion was provided by Sloppy Moppy aka Sucks It Back a blond bit of eye candy formerly of the MadridH3 now a habitué of SF. Ponytail swaying in the breeze our reader of the Sacred Missal provided the pack with a reading that might have been best summed up by Shaft’s whisper that, “this bimbo reads like my wife fucks” whatever that means. Of course Cowlick wasn’t there. On that note T sent the pack off in search of flour. A starting check sent the lemmings scurrying hither and yon but not towards either the right hither or yon. Eventually true trail was discovered and the pack headed off past the bunkers and through the bridge underpass. While the rest of the pack played hide and seek with the trail T along with Fits In, G.A.S., and King Rongjon took Just Doc, Tongue Depressor, JC DQ, and Just Omar for a stroll back along the on-in trail. The true pack found itself cruising along Crissy Field where trail took them through the Sports Basement parking lot and up Bank St. to the parade ground in the Presidio. Apparently the possibility that trail could go up the center of the parade ground never dawned on the headless chickens and so most of them missed the check placed at the other end. Happily for the pack not finding the check didn’t prevent trail from being found up Infantry Terrace they went and off into the big bad woods. Frustrated at not finding any homeless Drill Me allowed The Pussy Eater an upgrade and poof there was one less body obsessed *unner without a purpose and one more satisfied dog. Unfortunately Udder Moron stumbled on the scene and tripping into the offal spent the rest of the trail bitching about the difficulty of getting blood and guts off his *unning shoes. Cruising passed the cemetery another check was found at the top and Dr. Kimble in a hurry to get the last train to MILFville blew through it and headed on in along the road. Made of sterner stuff D’anglin Anglin stayed on true trail all the way to the YBF where sliding around in the mud he offered Sarah Cunter and Organ Grinder visiting from the San DiegoH3 a chance to blow through and slip off the cliff crashing to beach below. Adventurous but not terribly bright sorts they put their fates in D’anglin’s hands and followed him down. Even those most lost, spell that Just Stephanya and Mr. Bone Jangles eventually returned to get their eyeballs a little more hairy. Before the pack returned Phone Sex crazed by thirst and unable to control her need for the Sacred Bucket became unhinged while Fits was trying to open the table and slamming it open on Fit’s hand screamed, “for the love of G can’t you go faster.” Blood from her crushed hand spurted everywhere, G.A.S. screamed in horror and Fits swooned. As her body hit the ground Phonie regained her sanity and grabbing the first aid kit from her car ministered to the fallen. Ever the trooper Fits refused the offer of a ride to the hospital and a transfusion and gamely filled the Sacred Bucket with a brand spanking new libation the Rum Runner. It wasn’t long before she and everyone else who neared the Bucket was pain free. Plucky visiting from San Diego found himself awash in the Bucket and when last seen was strapped to the hood of Shaft’s car to avoid any messy cleanup of the interior. King Rongjon raised the Sword Of Power and convened the Circle where he turned Sloppy Moppy’s names into a veritable cornucopia of fun for the pack or at least so the Bucket made it seem. Cheers.

.

.