Real Men/Women of Genius #27

 

Ingelhook Wineries present…

REAL WOMEN OF GENIUS

{Real gals of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we raise our glass to you, Mrs. Unknown Trail Runner Following in the Footsteps of Your Brother-In-Law.

{Missus “where in the worrrrrrrld are yooooooooooou taa-king mee?”}

Here is one big bad fat old ugly hint: *Don’t* follow the brother-in-law.

{“Butttttttttttttttttttt heeeeeeeeee’s fammmmmmmmmm-milllll-lyyyy!”}

Last time, as you’ll recall, some dufus was arrested for emerging from the big bad fat old ugly woods two days later as a party of one. But he had gone into that nature’s restaurant as a party of two. And when the waiting wolfdre ‘d announced that dinner would be served, the two-party became a one-party real fast. And Felix escaped uneaten.

{“I tooooooooold him to just goooo-a-headddddd.”}

Which leaves you, Little Orphan Annie, THREE days without food or water and you still think he’s family. Rather than crap in your pants, you left the trail, and he kept going. Then you REALLY left the trail. Did you think that, maybe, farther down the sheer canyon wall there’d be a ladies room? Complete with upscale Kohler faucets and a sanitary napkin dispenser?

{Maaaaaaay-beeee there’s li-quid-soap and haaaand looo-tion!}

So you got the trots and figured you’d catch up with Felix later. Only thing is, you’ve been running now for thirteen years and never managed to beat Felix yet. But after you squat awhile in the prickly bushes, you figure you’ll turn into Kid Flash.

{“Theese craaaaaaaaamps arrrrre hurrrrrr-ting my speeeeed!”}

And whatever possesses you, Mrs. Cleans Like A White Tornado, while you’re facing death alone in the bowels of the desert in hundred-plus-degree heat without having tasted water in half-a-week’s time, to suddenly decide to take off your shorts and do laundry?

{“I wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish I had sommmmme spot-re-mov-er!”}

Well, pull the cork out gently, O Julia Childs, from that first bottle of delicious White Zinfandel they’ll serve you in heaven, because for right now your loving family member is facing a circumstantial case for first-degree murder; and you are sitting underneath a rock overhang, where they can’t see you from the air, naked from the waist down, and trying to wash your shorts in that little puddle you’ve discovered of armadillo pee.

{Missus UN-known Traiiiil Run-ner Foll’wing-in-the-Foot-steps of Your Brother-In-Law!}

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

( O_O )

Yours troubly,
The Troubadour

Yankee Folly of the Day:
Of course, we realize this whole topic would be totally taboo if either one of those two geniuses had actually perished. Well, perish that thought, hey?