A rag tag bunch of wankers traveled over hill and dale way out west Ballwin-way. The first cold and bitter bite of old man winter was upon the pack as they huddled together, prelubing with a few beverages while waiting for a typically tardy hare, one Loch N. Monster. Just as the three wise men did once do long ago, Splash Mountem and Licks and Sticks had come bearing gifts of libations from afar, somewhere near the Russian River. A hash virgin was among them, Just Kevin and his little dog too.
An ailing LNM finally arrived, GladHeAteHer took the reigns as Religious Advisor, chalk talk was hastily laid and the pack tried to fight off the cold with a few songs before departing. A short circle jerk brought the pack up to a long hilly check back, down a quiet street into the woods. A moist creek crossing ensured cold feet for the pack for the rest of trail. Skirting West County’s ubiquitous strip malls took the pack past an abandoned church, then eventually across the bustling thoroughfare of Manchester Roadway. A perfect opportunity to traverse a virgin tunnel was missed by the unfortunate hare (however, yours truly has filed that away for future use.)
Back through more woods, an even more treacherous creek crossing, a couple chick checks, generous leavings of commode parchment marked trail into the back side of Love Park (perhaps a new euphemism for butt stuff??) Yet another creek crossing had the FRBs hot on the trail of the Hare. Monistat took off to try to catch the hare, only to be outwitted by the dimwit who hid behind some shrubs and let him pass. The FRBs followed Love Park’s winding squirrel trail over the top of the back side ball fields then down the hill. At this point, I spotted a wayward cooler out of the corner of mine eyes. What fair solvent awaited? Only a generous collection of the shittiest of light beers, of course. The FRBs flagged down the hare eventually, The Almighty only knows where he was or what the hell he was doing.
As the warmth of the first half of trail was consumed by the ever present frigid easterly winds, the pack was soon away. The aforementioned cooler was conveniently mobile, so it was wheeled back to the start by a thoughtful Cum on the Record. The pack regrouped only to realize there was no sign of Lack of Oxygen. His presence was hardly missed, and he’ll always be Masturbating to me. An efficient circle was conducted by the RA, we got to know Just Kevin a bit more with a few spicy jokes. Roadkill implored the RA to hasten the pace as it was, as always, sex night.
Much merriment was had, lungs were penetrated with the first of many frosty wisps of winter. The pack adjourned into the night in search of greasy food and spiritual reconciliation.
Fists up for Masturbating,