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Real Men/Women of Genius #34

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  • The Troubadour
    (oops. Dale just reminded me... I meant to include all you fine folks in on this, too) [Hey, THIS ain t happenin tomorrow. So gotta be today, if at all this
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 24, 2009
      (oops. Dale just reminded me... I meant to include all you fine folks in on
      this, too)

      [Hey, THIS ain't happenin' tomorrow. So gotta be today, if at all this
      week. Merry Christmas, allah yous gah-roovy fit 'n' fab little (or big)
      Listers and Listerveens!]

      Bud Light presents...


      {Real men of geeeeeene-yuss}

      Today we salute you, Mr. Santa Claus Hat-Wearing Running Race Runner.

      {Mis-ter "Is my cute red-and-white cap with the puff-ball reeeally fool-ing
      you today?"}

      Come on. You have to be kidding us. You honestly expect us, the hardcore
      ground-pounders totally focused on the next 30 feet in front of us, to be
      distracted---and somehow therefore "merry" and cheerful---just 'cuz YOUR
      fascist bald noggin' has some stupid whacky hat on it?

      {"Ho-ho-ho! Mer-rrrrrrr-ry Chris-muss ev-er-y bod-yyyyyy!"}

      You're pretending you're from the North Pole? You're secretly wishing all
      the little boys and girls will meet you at the aid stations and want to
      climb up on your lap? Hey, pal. We're all ADULTS here. We've known your
      ass ain't real since about the second grade. You should show up dressed
      like a Chippendale instead.

      {Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeease don't take your cos-tume off!!}

      Besides, you're too skinny. And weigh... too... slow. The pillows stuffed
      inside your goofy red-and-white totally sissified velvet jacket don't fool
      anybody. And besides, this is single-track trail. You are in my way! So
      MOVE IT, pops. Take those stupid "jingle bells" tied to your Asics into the
      mud on the side and LET ME PASS!

      {"Why are all these run-ners hav-ing such bad at-ti-tudes?"}

      "Merry Xmas," you say? We'll give you "X." I've got a shot here at an
      age-group trophy, and your pathetic demeanor and costume are slowing the
      whole pack down. Take your "good cheer" to the tavern. You belong out here
      in this mega-importance footrace like motor oil belongs in eggnog.

      {"Heyyyyyyyyyy watch those el-bows, budddddd-dy!"}

      So crack open an environmentally-chilled outdoors can of Bud Light when you
      f-i-n-a-l-l-y get to the finish line, O Jolly Old Saint Nick, because you
      deserve some kind of sixth-place prize in the costume contest at least. And
      we applaud your efforts like we would otherwise clap for a television
      commercial. But mostly? We just thank the Kid in the Crèche that it ain't

      {Mis-ter Santa Claus Hat-with-the-puff-ball-Wearing Running Race Runner!}

      Bud Light beer: we don't care where it's made; we just dig their

      ( O_O )

      Yours troubly,

      Rich Limacher

      Yankee Folly of the Day:
      Even as a kid I was afraid of sitting on some fake Santa's lap. I somehow
      knew better than ask such a chump for a play workbench, with all those
      colored little pegs which are supposed to be pounded inside all those round
      little holes. Your Memories May Vary, of course.
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