Real Men/Women of Genius #31

[Back by popular non-demand after a brief non-vacation. Thanks for this idea is owed to our friend Nancy Shura-Dervin.]

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Real men of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we salute you, Mr. Self-Appointed for the Listserv Non-Doctor of Medicine.

{Mis-ter “That same innn-jurrrr-reeee has hap-pened to meeeeeeeee!”}

We’ll just have to buck up and face it. THE six most-dreaded words that begin any post ever to be posted to the listserv in general to which we all subscribe are: “I am not a doctor, but…”

{Whoa! Whuh-da-ya gon-na preeeee-scribe for us NOW?}

Back pain? Knees? Joints? Foot/Ankle? Plantar Fasciitis, ITB band, fever, strep, pneumonia, hip ouches, ticker arrhythmias, poop, pee, and puke problems are all running rampant—all of which means: no running. And THAT, of course, absolutely guarantees a universal need and public outcry for your services.

{“WhaatAmIGonnaDO this weeeak-ened? I gotta ULTRA coming up!”}

Please. And yet these frantically solicited services are always free of charge. If it’s Friday and their race starts tomorrow, you say “taper.” If their bones are giving them wracking pain, you suggest the foam roller. And if their foot hurts like the business end of a semi-tractor-trailer is parked on it, you prescribe going barefoot.

{What a-bout Viiiiii-brammmmmmmmm five fing-ers?}

Pancreatic cancer? They need more electrolytes. Leukemia? Take another Ess-cap. Hyponatremia? They gotta drink more Gatorade. Rhabdomyolysis? Guzzle Ensure, if not more solid food like kidney beans. Early onset of Alzheimer’s? Just decrease mileage and keep a running journal. You helpfully prescribe writing down the details of every run before they forget them.

{“Howwww do we reeeeeeeee-mem-ber our daze off?”}

And of course we shouldn’t leave out “the heartbreak of psoriasis,” for which, unfortunately, you ought not prescribe any cure at all because you have a financial interest in Proctor and Gamble. They’re your boss. This is work time.

{“But I onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn-ly ‘Do It’ durrrrrrrrrrrr-ring lunch!”}

So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light, O Marcus Welby, M.D., because there also might not be any free online cure for paranoia–which can sometimes run rampant among runners who’re married. But still you can be helpful. You suggest keeping silent, which, now that we think about it, might not be a bad prescription for you either.

{Mis-ter Self-Appoint-ed for the List-serv Non-Doc-tor of Med-i-cine!}

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:
Tiger Woods’ one-hundred-and-sixty-four-whole-and-entire-dollars fine. And thanks to Blake Wood (no relation, we think 😉 for pointing that out. Ahh, now watch and see how much he’ll have to pay Elin!