Real Men/Women of Genius #60

[Today, friends, I’m the non-angel barely bearing no gnus of grated joi. Nah, actually it’s HUGE NEWS of GREAT JOY!!! As follows:
1) My good buddy Bill Thom is giving me space (soon! maybe today!!) on his wonderful website: http://www.runrace.net/
2) For any or all those who’ve written over the past mini daze to ask where all the old RM/WoGs are? There ya go! (Well, mostly. There’s still more to, like, unearth, dust off, and post up; but you’ll at least get the gist.)
And…
3) The idea for this edition today comes from Eric Vaughan. Thanks, man! And THANKS to Bill and everybunny (and body) else who have helped to make this, like, one of the very “wurst” of our usual BJF offerings by or about “brats”
;-]

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Re-al men of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we salute you, Mr. Quad-Quint-Obsquattamatillionth Unassisted Barefoot Badwater Crisscrossing Stud.

{Mis-ter yoooooou have gotttttt to be kiiiiiiiid-ding meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!}

You, sir, aren’t all that likely to enjoy sitting and doing your life’s work inside some air-conditioned office cubicle, now are you.

{Butttttttttttttttttt the com-paaaaa-ny has a gym and a showwwww-wer!}

No. And for the record, let’s see if we understand “the record.” In order for you to carve out your niche in the crypt under the eternal flame of human “infame,” you need to triple-, quad-, quint-, or duodecimally run, walk, or crawl across the scorching desert floor of Death Valley, California, from Badwater to Mount Whitney, during the heat of summer–without so much as a spare canteen, decent sunblock, helpers, bicycle, ambulance, or… SHOES?

{Weeeeeee wonnnnn-der what the ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuules are?}

This is, what, The Return of Mahatmas Gandhi? You are leading the non-violent (although plenty bruised) revolution all over again against the British Empire? Is this a social protest movement-of-one (slowly)? Or, is this your very own curious way of washing your mind clear of all the other catastrophic failures in your life?

{“I haaaaaave a dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam toooooo-day!!”}

Ah, we get it now. You want to re-learn again what the Neanderthal long ago gave up on: “trying to redefine what is humanly possible.”

{Thissssssssssssssssssss IS where fi-re wassssssss innn-ven-ted!!!}

So crack an ice-cold Bud Light next year when you’re done, Oh Great Siddhartha of the Sand Dunes, because really, by the time you’ve finally reached your Nirvana of Clear Conscience, both your tombstone–and you–will be cinders.

{Mis-ter Quad-Quint-Obs-squat-ta-ma-till-ionth UN-ass-sis-ted Bare-foot Bad-water Crissssssssss-crossssing Stud!}

Bud Light beer: we don’t care where they brew it; we just dig their commercials.

( O_O )

Yours troubly,
The Troubadour

Yankee Folly of the Day:
Next we want to see who can do a double or triple crossing of Badwater in
record time on their hands, without gloves!