Run #1596 Cuming to a Sewer Near You!

Manhole once again graced the Gypsies with a trail from the Log Cabin in the Presidio. Our hare and Pied Piper were anxiously awaiting the Outbeer and as it slid into place the slugfest to be first one to the keg of Lagunitas IPA was unseemly but totally expected. The pack arrived in dribs and drabs with Jack The Ripper bringing up the tail end. Not that the night was cold, but Hand Pump was breaking icicles off his runny nose! Sadly, there was no one to humiliate so religion was abjured in favor of getting on trail and getting back to the piss! There was some concern that with 5150 arriving before the pack was off the apocalypse might be just around the corner. It’s not to say that 5 Angry Inches was concerned but Bitch Pimp narrowly avoided being floored as 5AI floored it away! Our hare decided to let the streak of light pack members, spell that 5 AI and Just Fuck Off, *un to their hearts’ content on the eagle trail.  Um, oops as it turns out our hare didn’t set one, of course that probably wasn’t noticed by the “racists”. JFO was determined to uphold the honor of Pastel Gazelle who didn’t happen to be there. Our hare had laid a turkey trail and the gobbling of Hand Pump, E=MC Fucked, and Bitch Pimp  rang out loud and clear. As to a walkers’ trail, our hare laid it as he led the usual Lost Patrol enthusiasts into the night. Trail took the pack past the baseball field and through the woods to Upton Ave and the housing areas. The LP never had a problem finding marks since the marks either indicated the passing of turkeys or they were freshly laid by the hare. The passing of turkeys or eagles who thought they were on an eagle trail meant that checks were marked, more or less. Of course, having lived in the Presidio meant that 5150 could have found his way blindfolded and not just blind drunk! The LP steamed along as our hare mumbled that he “thought” this was the way he’d planned his trail to go. Hearing that brought tears to Tongueless’ eyes, not that it takes much for that to happen. Trail crossed Lincoln Blvd. and wended its way around the Golden Gate Bridge to cross back at Ralston Ave. and return to the Log Cabin. The beer and the rest of the necessaries were hauled into the back out of sight and the stone table obviated the  Cloak Of Invisibility. The weather was not in favor of the Sacred Bucket filled with Sea Breeze but as usual once a few cups went down the sun shone brightly and bodies were infused with warmth, Bitch Pimp thought to throw the switch and use the Log Cabin lights but wiser heads prevailed combined with a desire not to draw the attention of the minions of the law. Pied Piper supplied his string of lights, and it was Christmas in March in no time! Dreaming of Hawaii, Dr. Kimble allowed as how he could almost hear the sound of the ocean in his cup. Fits In pointed out that the cup wasn’t a seashell, and its contents were *unning down his shirt. Even Hand Pump was opposed to Jack The Ripper doing the hula in Dr. K’s honor. Wash This Asshole spent the evening walking around the Log Cabin with his phone glued to his ear. JFO wondered  if he was talking to his broker or his parole officer. Cold, cold, cold. Dr. K bid the pack adieu and 5AI took him by the hand and led him to his car then wondered aloud where he’d left his bike. That pair gave a new meaning to “the blind leading the blind”. When it was growler time in the city only Pied Piper stepped up to the plate in a big way. 5150 was growlering the Bucket. JFO managed a mini growler for Pastel Gazelle, but the keg was far from dead as it made its way back to the Outbeer. So ended the lesson. Cheers.