Real Men/Women of Genius #36

[We are grateful to Lora Mantelman for suggesting this idea. Thanks!]

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Real men of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we salute you, Mr. Public Listserv Displayer of Apparently Private Affection.

{Mis-ter “I haaaave se-cret code names for EVVVV’RYbunny on this list!”}

“Happy Birthday, Sparkie?” “Congratulations on your first 100, Poopkins?” These deep-seeded primordial urges you have—to shout out publicly what maybe even your “Poopkins” doesn’t understand—this is supposed to be relevant to the rest of us?

{‘Boop-sey-and-I once had cof-feeeeeeeee to-ge-heh-ther!!’}

So you are, what now, trolling for a feedback? Hoping against hope that “Little Shoozie” will remember your ass? And that she’ll be so hyper-cosmically overwhelmed with emotion in finding that you even thought of her today, that she’ll sit down immediately inside her cubicle and zap you back such a passionate reply that words like hers wouldn’t have been seen on this Earth since Juliet died in that Shakespeare play?

{“Romeo! Ro-me-o! Where-the-hell-are-yooooooou, Ro-me-o!”}

Dude, get real. Almost EVERYBODY on Earth has thought of “Sweet Punkie” today, because her birthdate (along with a dozen others’ and using their full names) has been publicly broadcast over this very listserv that you, your own frumpy self, now subscribe to. Of course, apparently nobody but you knows the “secret” private cutesy little nickname for one of the top female ultrarunners on the planet.

{“Thaaaaaaat’s what we call her in our runnnnnn-nnnning club!”}

Almost EVERYbuddy else has already sent her a private email “Happy Birthday” message. But you, in your wisdom, have decided that what we all must need on this particular day is to globally understand that your own truly wizened self is sitting there in YOUR cubicle trying to brag to us that you’re trying to find a girlfriend.

{“I’m goooooing on break in a-noth-er twennnnnn-ty min-utes!”}

So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light from the brown paper bag inside your office refrigerator, O Great White Hunter and Pecker, because the real reason you’re having to troll in the first place is because every other actual buddy of “Little Snoozy” already has her private email address.

{Mis-ter Pub-lic List-serv Dis-play-er of Ap-par-ent-ly Pri-vate Af-fec-tion!}

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:
Check this out, all ye who doubt the importance of correct spelling:

http://www.sphere.com/2010/01/08/a-nagging-issue-for-u-s-terror-fight-misspellings/19308109/?icid=main|main|dl1|link3|http%3A%2F%2Fwww.sphere.com%2F2010%2F01%2F08%2Fa-nagging-issue-for-u-s-terror-fight-misspellings%2F19308109%2F
Cat Stevens should’ve stayed in the monastery.