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Real Men/Women of Genius #68

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  • The Troubadour
    [Per recent Ultralist appertaining threads... :] Bud Light presents... REAL MEN OF GENIUS {Re-al men of geeeeeene-yuss} Today we salute you, Mr. Pitifully
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 15, 2010
      [Per recent Ultralist appertaining threads... :]

      Bud Light presents...


      {Re-al men of geeeeeene-yuss}

      Today we salute you, Mr. Pitifully Worried Runner That All Others In The
      Race Are "Getting Some" Except You.

      {Mis-ter "noo-bo-dy loves me, ev'ry-bod-y hates me, I'mmm

      Sure. You're looking around while you run. You spy that certain quick
      hand-hold, surreptitious hug, occasional wink, and you think: They *must*
      be sharing a room. They could even be ducking behind bushes for half-hours
      at a crack during this very race. Perhaps, by adjusting your pace, you
      might witness this.

      {"What's-wrong-with-meeeeeeeee that no-bun-ny's wink-inggg?"}

      Why *does* that young man have soiled legs and grass all over the back of
      his shirt? And why *are* the-chickie-he's-running-with's palms so dirty?
      Pretty tell-tale clothing stains as well. At this point, you are becoming
      increasingly certain there's conspiracies in these woods that you're just
      not a part of.

      {"There'll be mu-sic play-ying and bod-dies sway-ying and dan-cing in the

      Bloody knees? Just imagine. Pretty rocky off-trail, too. And how else
      could she wipe off her chin except THAT'S why they *really* invented those
      roll-down arm sleeves. And why has that dufus-she's-running-with got such a
      toothy grin on his face?

      {"I'm yourrrrr ice cream man, stop me when I'mmm pas-sing by!"}

      What about all those tents in the campground? The constantly zippered ones
      with the taut rain flies? No wonder every body you see is so sweaty.

      {"They'rrrrre do-in' the horrrr-riz-on-tal bop!"}

      And surely there's a big hidden reason for having petroleum jelly at the aid
      stations. And now you're starting to question what's truly inside all those
      powder-white e-capsules to begin with. Just ahead, you even start sniffing
      that certain unmistakable burning "aroma" that wafted so romantically down
      dorm hallways back in college.

      {"OH EMM GEE! Some bod-ies hav-ing a parrrrrrrrr-tyyyy!!"}

      So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light after the race, O Captain Lonelyhearts,
      Patron Saint of the Disenfranchised, and sip it while watching the awards
      ceremony; because, really, there can never be any more solid proof of adult
      indiscretions or marital infidelities than when the race director hands that
      first-place female her trophy and they oh-so-suggestively shake hands.

      {Mis-ter Pi-ti-ful-ly Wor-ried Run-ner That Alllllllll Oth-ers-In-The-Race
      ARRRRE "Get-ting Some" Exxx-cept You!}

      Bud Light beer: we don't care where they brew it; we just dig their

      ( O_O )

      Yours troubly,

      Rich Limacher
      "Just another minor 800-year-old French fried lute plucker"
      (now on tab at http://www.runrace.net/)

      Yankee Folly of the Day:
      Ever watch a pretty cool chick take off her jogbra underneath a sweatshirt
      without ever showing any skin? Imagine now the instant alternative current
      that THAT could synapse inside some twisted nervous circuits.
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