Real Men/Women of Genius #42

[Despite the recent reaming, comedy and poignancy absolutely prohibit restraint in this case.]

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Real men of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we salute you, Mr. E-mailer To The Wrong Guy To Take You Off The Listserv.

{Mis-ter “I-sub-scribe-to-this-whole-list-but-I-can’t-staaaand-what-YOU-put-here”!}

You’re a very clever boy, aren’t you? You have completely figured out—without anyone ever instructing you—that you can prevent certain unwanted listserv material from ever entering your Inbox, simply by e-mailing the “offending parties” themselves and telling them: “Take me off your list.”

{“Whoa! Stop! I dooooooooooan wannn-na git-chur mes-sa-ges an-y more!’}

This is like telephoning Ralph Schwierigkeiten on page 296 in the white pages and telling *him* to stop being printed in *your* phone book.

{“Yourrrrrrrrrrrrr name is offff-fen-sive to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”}

It’s ingenious, really, this thinking of yours. You’re probably the kind of hyper-intelligence-man that, instead of bitching to your local postmaster, you actually take the time to send a certified letter (return receipt requested) to each and every single advertiser you receive every day in your junk mail, absolutely demanding that they “cease and desist!”

{“It jussssst keeeeeeeeeps pi-ling and pi-ling and pi-ling uuuuuuuuuup!”}

Of course, bitching to the post office won’t help you either. You are still going to receive your weekly “Shopper” and the twenty trillion annual envelopes from Publishers Clearinghouse absolutely guaranteeing that you MAY HAVE ALREADY WON about a billion bucks. The only proven way to avoid getting junk mail is to live in a submarine.

{“Maaaaaay-beee they send junk mail in a bottttttttttttt-tle!”}

But even in a submarine, of course, you can still get e-mail—when, as we presume—your boat floats close enough to the surface to receive all the gamma, beta, and UV rays that all the Coppertone junk mail always warns you against.

{“I thiiiiiiiink theeeeeeese rays are called band-widths.”}

So crack open a nice ice-cold can of Bud Light from your fridge, O Hoper To Stop The Juggernaut By Reaming Just One Messenger’s Anus, because you, sir, are surely the bravest and loftiest scholar of contemporary history so far encountered by this one particular “offending party” to your seriously abused sense of dignity and decorum, and of just what sort of junk e-mail is actually permissible in your precious inner sanctum to begin with.

{Mis-ter E-mail-er To-The-Wrong-Guy To Take-You-Off-The-List-serv!}

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

( O_O )

Yours troubly,

Rich Limacher
TheTroubadour@sbcglobal.net

Yankee Folly of the Day:
The very best way to stop the impending flood from sinking your city, of course, is to just stick your finger up your dike.