Real Men/Women of Genius #41

[My thanks today is due to Megan Finnesy for suggesting this idea, something I personally could never have imagined.]

Ingelhook Wineries present…

REAL WOMEN OF GENIUS

{Real gals of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we raise our glass to you, Miss Consensual Slave to the Race Director for Preferential Treatment.

{Miss “I willlllllllll DO aaaaannnnnnn-y-thing to get in your race!”}

Sure. We can understand the rising popularity of running ultramarathons. We can appreciate how fast those races can fill up. And we can also understand how “waiting lists” might have twice more waiters than “acceptance lists” have runners. But… to move from the former to the latter, you’ll do *ANYTHING*?

{“I’ll eeeeeeee-ven walk your dogggggggggs ev’ry day!”}

Puh-leeease. Try and contain yourself. You’re not exactly vying for admission to Harvard here, you know. And you’re still young enough so that—once America’s obesity problem eventually becomes the REAL solution for this athletic events’ overcrowding issue—why, you’ll STILL be in your 30s and can THEN have your pick of races to run.

{“I’ll eeeeeeeee-ven walk your brother’s dogggggggggggggs!”}

And just what exactly does that “doing ANYTHING” include? You’ll clean the race director’s house? His dogs? His dogs’ house? The race director himself? In the hot tub, under the stars, in the moonglow, with White Zinfandel chilling on the deck in a bucket of ice?

{“I’ll eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ven walk your brother!!”}

Or, since the R.D. is married, you’re promising to help entertain his homebound onerous, overweight, balding, body-odoriferous single mentally-challenged older brother and pull HIM out of the house once in awhile so the guy in charge can find some peace. You’re calling it “dating,” but really it’s “bribing.” You should either be ashamed or rewarded for such truly ingenious behavior.

{“Heeeeeeee’s such a love-ly man, reeeeeeeeea-lly.”}

So yank that cork quickly out of your ice-bucketed bottle of White Zinfandel, O Mother Theresa, Salvation of Calcutta’s Scourges of the Earth, because we do honestly believe that your highly targeted Race Director is taking it all “under advisement”—every one of these little corporal works of mercy you so exquisitely perform on his brother. But then finally, of course, just go ahead and take your place with the rest of us eight hundred numbers down on the “Waiting List.”

{Miss Con-sens-u-al Slave to the Race Di-rec-tor for Pref-er-en-tial Treat-ment!}

White Zinfandel yuppie wine: we don’t drink it ourselves; we’d rather guzzle beer.

( O_O )

Yours troubly,

Rich Limacher
TheTroubadour@sbcglobal.net

Yankee Folly of the Day:
So, now who’s with me on applying these same tactics toward female race directors, ehhh?