Run #1668 Pastel Hair is All the Rage!
Pastel Gazelle thought that if Abe Lincoln could use a log cabin to jump start himself maybe he could be President as well! With Frank Sinatra singing High Hopes in his mind PG gathered the Gypsies at the Log Cabin in the Presidio off of Storey. No sooner had the Outbeer slid into a parking space than Adopt A Pussy and Backside Banger were offering to sell their votes to PG, hell, Backside was offering to throw in his first born Just James. PG could close his eyes and see the oval office, yes! The keg of Lagunitas Hazy IPA was tapped and the pack settled down to pounding pints. That premier gladhander Pied Piper pulled a pint and sidling over to our hare offered him some jerky and to manage PG’s campaign finances! Our hare was suddenly surrounded by an adoring pack or at least a bunch of grifters dreaming about Cabinet appointments. It’s always interesting to see how the proper application of alcohol can cause a rational, um, wait, wrong word to describe a Gypsy, being to have a swell head. Lucky for our hare that Just Fuck Off was there to not only hold onto Just Bandit but pop that cartoon balloon over PG’s head. Still TriCrapalete was so taken by the moment that he turned the reading of the Traveling Missal into a “stump”, of another kind, speech and, since foreign policy is his forte, put his Putin voice into the reading! The pack was enthralled. Wet & Sloppy declared herself even more wet and sloppy than usual! Lois Lame suggested all this suggestiveness and politicking should get turned into trail finding and who can argue with LL’s clarity! The pack sped off to find marks on Upton Ave. The Lost Patrol chugged along at a more, um, measured pace with Tongueless actually still upright! Udder Moron a true gent even managed to toss a few miscreant tennis balls back to their owners as trail passed the Ft. Scott Tennis Courts. Trail passed under the Shoreline Highway and across Park Blvd. to drop into the woods around the Park Trail. Even in the shiggy the trail was well marked. Fits In swears she barely had to use her cattle prod to keep T moving. Trail looped around Lincoln Blvd. and back under Shoreline Highway to head back to Storey Ave. and past all the housing. Wash This Asshole had to restrain himself from stepping into the Beauty Life Fitness Center for a makeover, another time perhaps! Back at the start the keg and all the vitamin J plus the Sacred Bucket filled with Yellow Peril were hauled onto the Log Cabin patio and onto the stone wall. The piss was soon pouring and loosening lips. As he listened to the conversations Manhole mumbled something about lips and ships, Sir Flaccid Of Nuttingham noted that he saw no ships and filled another 6 cups of Yellow Peril that he lined up neatly in a row, they all disappeared in a heartbeat. E=MC Fucked commented on SFON’s stylish method of consumption but averred that he preferred the traditional method of hangover procurement, just filling the biggest cup he could find and repeatedly downing it. Dr. Kimble swears he heard SFON mumbling about “Boomers”. Hand Pump arrived to once more cop the DFL prize and still have plenty of time consume of the keg. T stumbled out and returned to embarrass himself, among others, by wielding the Sword Of Power and delivering down-downs. Our hare was called forth, and the pack lauded his work and promised their votes. At this point FI called it a night and led T off. Another wasted night with the Gypsies. Cheers,
On In!