Real Men/Women of Genius #50

[It is very fitting that this edition–marking almost one whole year of series existence–be composed here in Maryland, at the home of my friend and compatriot, Mike Bur. For here is where it all started. Approximately two years ago, he and I sat at his dining room table and conjured up how to adapt those glorious Bud Light radio commercials to ultrarunning. The first one was written on a scrap of paper. He still has that paper (I think).

[Also today’s topic wasn’t invented by me, but by a rather enthusiastic ultrarunner last Saturday during the Ice Age 50-Miler in Wisconsin–and I should know his name but don’t, or I forgot, so sorry. If you’re “out there,” my friend, email me privately and I’ll give you credit with my next “edition.” Anyway, I was working as a volunteer crossing guard at a VERY BUSY trail/road intersection, and he recognized me and came bounding across gesturing wildly:
“TODAY WE SALUTE YOU, MR….” Well, here. What he said is quoted below, and of course I’ve “embellished” it a bit. Thanks, my friend, wherever you are!]

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Reeeeeeeee-al mennn of geeeeeene-yuss}

“Today we salute you, Mr. Double-Flag-Waving Ice Age Volunteer Crossing Guard.”

{Yooou look like a sai-lor on an aiiiiiiiiiir-craft caaa-rrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiii-er}

Yes, it’s a busy intersection, but only you would think that frantically waving two silly colored flags will miraculously stop some angry son-of-a-farmer now speeding down your rural road at approximately 75 miles-per-hour.

{WHOAAAAAA! Lookit allllla dys traf-fffffick!}

Semaphore? Please. The only thing those flags will signal is the spot where the helicopter is supposed to land when they come to airlift your corpse to the morgue.

{Exxx maaaaarks the blood-dy spot!}

What you’re “secretly” doing out there, of course, is waiting for all your fave chick ultrarunners to have to cross the road. You can stop THEM because of traffic, and collect a “toll” hug before allowing them to continue.

{Whuttt a-bout the male runnnnnnerrrrz?}

The dead giveaway here is your wishing your chickies would ogle your legs, which are right now freezing beneath too-short shorts in the suddenly 36-degree Wisconsin driving rainstorm–with hail and sleet to boot.

{You’rrrrrrre lookkk-ing like a penguin!}

So crack open a freezingly-cold Bud Light from the trunk of your car, O Heroic Overgrown Grade School Safety Patrol Boy, because you’re going to be patrolling that crossing for the next six complete hours, and your favemost chickie-poo isn’t even in the race.

{Mis-ter Doub-le-Flag-Wav-ing Ice Age Vol-un-teer Cros-sing Guard!}

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:
Same gig, different turf. This weekend I’ll be an MMT volunteer in the 36-degree Virginia driving rainstorm–with hail and sleet to boot.