Run #1691 Only a Moron Would Start Here!
Leave it to Udder Moron to pick the area with the fewest parking spaces in the Presidio to start a Gypsies trail, W. Pacific Ave. and Lover’s Lane. Not to worry since the Gypsies have morons to spare and they managed to cram themselves into even the most miniscule parking spot. The Outbeer was there early enough to slide into a primo spot and the keg of Lagunitas Little Sumpin’ Sumpin’ was waiting to get tapped as the demolition derby took place. Hard as it is to believe some of the morons were smart enough to arrive in cars with more than one moron. Now, TriCrapalete and Wet & Sloppy had nothing to worry about since they arrived by shank’s mare. Magnum, Not I was wishing he’d sprung for the Bubble Wrap option for his “Elon Machine.” Manhole couldn’t care less about no space since when his massive truck lumbers up normal people scatter in terror. At least MH was carrying Adopt A Pussy and Who’s Your Daddy. AAP leapt from the truck and seized the tap only to be decimated to see it was his least favorite piss! Oh well AAP knows how to make do! The pack milled around pounding piss and dicing with death by standing in the road. Sir Flaccid Of Nuttingham popped Just Darryl onto the Gypsies’ religious dais and, Male Missal firmly in hand JD provided a reading that left even Backwash feeling cleaner. On that note UM provided a chalktalk that basically admonished the pack to avoid death if possible. At least this time the trail didn’t start with a leap over a log and death slide. The pack picked up marks that led it down Lover’s Lane. Even the Lost Patrol managed to stumble along on trail. Our hare shifted off the road and into the woods going downhill. Rest assured that Tongueless led Fits In and anyone foolish enough to follow, spell that Wash This Asshole, completely astray and deeper into the trees than necessary! The rock whizzing past his ear convinced T to listen to FI and backtrack where, lo and behold, trail was found. While the Marvel comics superheroes like Blow Queen, Pastel Gazelle, Magnum, Not I and Sir Flaccid were adding to their laurels as sweat machines the whining whingers were loping along trail parallelling W. Pacific. Trail took the “athletes” back into the woods and spit them out by the playing fields. It was a surprise to cross paths with Tri Crapalete and W&S as they turned up W. Pacific Ave. W. Pacific Ave. led them back to Lover’s Lane and the start. With no real room for the Cloak Of Invisibility the pack made do with the keg bareback, and the Vitamin J and Sacred Bucket filled with rum hot toddies. E=MCFucked put down enough of the Sacred Bucket to deny the laws of physics as he remained standing. On the other hand, Cockulus Oculus and Backwash were superb pillars of support. The more the alcohol flowed the bigger the parking area seemed. As WTA staggered towards his bicycle UM thought it a good idea to open the betting on how far WTA would get. Who’s Your Daddy decided to hold onto his money until betting could commence on how far our hare would make it on his motorcy. The Gypsies are a caring and yet cold-blooded band of miscreants. Cheers.
On In!