Real Men/Women of Genius #13 (Special Edition)

 

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Real men of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we salute you, Mr. Last-Place-Finisher of the “Last Annual Vol-State Road Race.”

{Mister just barely running-walking-crawling-oozing-rolling-sliming last-place finishing guuuuuy!}

Three hundred and fourteen miles. WHAT were you thinking? Did you have a United e-ticket? Were you riding Amtrak? Go-go-going Greyhound? Did you plan to hop a motorcycle? Hire a taxicab? Scooter? Segway? Go-kart? Riding mower? No. A man of your caliber *thinks* he can do this on foot.

{WHOA! What about those bun-yunnnns?}

One-third of a thousand miles, ten-point-five percent of the total distance across the entire United States, and you think you–in your goody two shoes–are going to cover it all in less than ten days.

{I don’t think we’re in Kan-sas anymore, Toe-Toe!}

Lugging a full pack day after day, dressed In the same shoes, the same shorts, and the same super-wicking pseudo-fabric not-too-bright green day-glo T-shirt, you don’t so much alert speeding motorists by your costume as by your fragrance. Did you know the *real* reason why every other house is shuttered and empty? Why all the women and children have fled the streets, and why so many pack wolves charge out to “greet” you each evening?

{It MUST all be be-cause of the Wicked Witch of the Sou-outh!}

So crack open a scalding-hot Bud Light from your knapsack, O Medieval Minstrel waaay past your Middle Ages, because in more than half the counties you’re trudging through alcohol is illegal. But maybe you could finally tell us, based on your obscene powers of observation and Seuss-like analytical mind, why then are there empty beer cans in ALL the ditches of ALL the counties you slog through? Of course as you now observe, Mr. Wizard of the Moonshine Walk, the vast majority of those tossed cans are labeled “Bud Light.” What does THAT tell you, and why don’t you stop and see if any of them might just have a swig left inside?

{Mis-ter Last-Place-Finisher of the “Last Annual Vol-State Road Race”!}

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

( O_O )

Yours troubly,
The Troubadour

Yankee Folly of the Day:
Imagine doing this entire one-third of a thousand miles in two non-matching shoes… and nobody [not the race director, his ultra-patient staff, OR his intrepid volunteer journalist and/or freelance PR person] ever even noticed.