Real Men/Women of Genius #12

 

[I’m indebted to Nancy Shura, long-suffering race director, for this idea. ;-]

Ingelhook Wineries present…
REAL WOMEN OF GENIUS

{Real gals of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we raise our glass to you, Missus Grand Inquisitor of Today’s Ultra R.D.

{Missus Give ‘Em Allllllllllllllllllllllllllll the Third Degree!}

Only you could come up with questions like these: “Is the forest course certified?” “Will there be split timers?” “Are bathrooms spaced evenly every few miles with hot and cold running water?” And “Can I count on somebody picking me up at the airport?”

{Whyyyyyyyyyyy can’t there be Ritz Hotelssssss?}

“Is the race T-shirt dri-release, moisture-wicking, Papilene, Poly-Pro, CoolFit, Dri-Fit performance-wear, or 50-50 polyester and cotton, also long- or short-sleeve?” You ask. “Will it go with my gaiters and scrunchie?” Puh-leeze. We might think you’re on a shopping safari to Abercrombie & Fitch, instead of a hundred mile odyssey through the steaming jungles of Arkansas.

{Whattttttttt if the tee doesn’t match my buff or my shorts or my socks or my Moebenssss???}

“What about aid stations?” you holler into the phone. “Will they be Kosher?”

{Oy meshuggeneh!!! Shiksehs and Goyim and Bubees oh my!}

You inform the duly harangued thankless race director that your doctor has put you on a strict vegetarian, low-fructose, high-protein, non-dairy diet, “so I cannot be eating your usual rancid snacks,” your edict continues. And furthermore, “Will the vegetables be steamed or stir-fried at the 50K mark? This is very important to my lowering of cholesterol. Do you have sushi?”

{Whaaaaaaaaaaaat is she, The Galloping Gourmet?}

So, ease your cork gently out of a properly chilled bottle of White Zinfandel, O Mrs. Aristotle Onassis, because you’re a long way away from your yacht in the woods. On second thought, after all this whine? I wouldn’t sip any Zinfandel, if I were you. There are no porcelain thrones in the forest primeval, and you might have to “hold it” for a mighty long time.

{Missus Grand Inquisitor of Today’s Ultra R.D.!!!}
White Zinfandel yuppie wine: we don’t drink it ourselves; we’d rather just guzzle beer.
( O_O )
And this may have to hold y’all for a couple weeks. I myself might be “yachting” awhile along the concrete rivers of Tennessee.

Yours troubly,
The Troubadour

Yankee Folly of the Day:
Hey, if dri-release moisture-wicking cool-knitted running gloves were the “race premium” for a run through Neverland? Michael Jackson would’ve only needed one.