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Real Men/Women of Genius #73

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  • The Troubadour
    [There were lots of pretty snarky--and clever!--comments posted to the Ultralist this past week which, of course, inspired the following snarky commentary .)
    Message 1 of 1 , Nov 19, 2010
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      [There were lots of pretty snarky--and clever!--comments posted to the
      Ultralist this past week which, of course, inspired the following snarky
      commentary .) Thanks, snarks!]

      Bud Light presents...


      REAL MEN OF GENIUS

      {Re-al men of geeeeeene-yuss}

      Today we salute you, Mr. Totally Too-Kewl Hyper-savvy Psychobabbling
      Technospeaking Running Shoe Store Salesman.

      {Mis-ter "I'm-not-jus'-sel-ling-hou-ses-for-your-run-ning-feet, I'm
      en-clooooo-sing your whole life's rec-cree-a-tion-al goals inn-side a
      uuuuu-ni-verrr-sal sole!"}

      Are you selling us shoes or tripping the light fantastic? Do we walk into
      your store expecting to try on a few pair, or are we about to subject
      ourselves to 85 minutes of the musculoskeletal anthropological
      pseudo-science lecture-of-the-century, combined with your Gen-Y buzz-up
      marketing lingo-virtuosity tour de force?

      {Weeeeee bet you were good in schoooool at "show and tell" tooooo!}

      "Here is our top-of-the-line 100-percent vegan organic holistic probiotic
      all-natural artisan footwear," you say. "Unless you're a midfoot/forefoot
      striker running in minimus models with a 4-point-oh-3-9-3 millimeter heel
      drop, then you're just not being naturally promoted at all. The torsional
      effects of lever-arm differences for something like this could catapult you
      to the front of your age group."

      {Itttttttttt sounds like sterrrrrr-roids for our feeeeeeeet!}

      You're still selling us shoes, right? Not blueprints for building the
      six-billion-dollar-man. OK, we get it. Unless we buy these, from you,
      today only, we're risking polio, rickets, foot surgery, and eventual
      amputation--not to mention being totally NON-eco-friendly, unconscionably
      wasteful of earthen resources, and completely insensitive to your
      ultra-consumer-service-guaranteed green-power marketing mojo.

      {Yooooooou could probbb-bly sell shed snake-skin to peeps that
      on-ly-wan-na-run baaaaaare-foot!}

      "Here is a very special model," you say, "that's made of hemp-cultured
      bio-specific all-natural recyclables which are absolutely guaranteed to
      drain all the toxins out of your feet and legs through these special
      micro-pores in the heel."

      {Ohhhhhhhhhhhh Emmmmmmmmmmmmmm Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!}

      Gait analysis? Electrodes on treadmill? Plastercast foot plasters for
      making exact replicas of each tootsie so we can later bronze and dangle them
      above our first-born's playpen? We come to you because our old shoes are
      worn out, sir, and you're hyping magnetic resonance that's carefully tuned
      to natural earth forces ensuring an uninterrupted flow of chi, allowing us
      when we run to juxtapose the spiritual with the natural in every stride.

      {Are weeeeeee in some kind-a temmmmmmmmmmm-ple??}

      So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light when your shift is over, O Al Bundy
      wannabe who grew up watching "Married... with Children," because only you
      could take something we wear on our feet and elevate the concept into the
      highest crown of human creation.

      {Mis-ter To-tallll-ly Too-Kewl Hy-per-sav-vy Psy-cho-bab-bling
      Tech-no-speeeeeeeak-ing Run-ning Shoe Store Sa-les-mannnnn!}

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



      ( O_O )



      Yours troubly,

      Rich Limacher
      TheTroubadour@...
      "that 800-year-old completely-PC-incorrect guildspeak all-knight-warbling
      lute plucker from France"
      (now on tab at http://www.runrace.net/)

      Yankee Folly of the Day:
      Actually, the Tarahumara got it totally down: just love you some rubber,
      cut blown truck tire treads to fit, lash 'em to your feet and ankles with
      scrap cowhide from the food processing plants, and you're rockin' "glads."
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