Real Men/Women of Genius #61

[Default Article Image][w-w-w-dot-welcome.bak-forward-slash-2-me-slash-tilde-after-2-wiks? Nah. It wasn’t actually that grate a vacation, but it did go a tad better than badly–right up until sometime before dawn in the darkening foggy horrors of the Marin County Headlands. Which has subsequently haunted me right up until now, when I finely realized that life somehow–despite all off-cliff-plunging urges to the contrary–must go on. And suddenly–bingo!–here in my Inbox I find yet one more excellent topic suggestion from our good friend Eric Vaughan, who now has my still-teetering-on-the-brink expression of great wobbly thanks!]

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Re-al men of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we salute you, Mr. Helpful Friendly Solution-Provider For That Annoying Butt-Chafing Problem.

{Mis-ter Butt/yoooooou have givvvvv-en us such won-der-full re-lieeeeeeeeeeeeeeef!}

Only you could spend countless hours of study, and then send out even less well enumerated emails pertaining to the caveman’s oldest and most perplexing personal problem: how to keep both cheeks from slamming together and rubbing themselves raw, hour after hour and day after day, while running or walking upright.

{Buttttttttttttttttttttttt isssssssssssssssn’t that what shorts are forrrrrrrrrrrrr?}

You are to be commended. This is evolutionary progress at the highest level. Whereas the gorilla solves the problem by having longer arms and running generally through the jungle on all-fours, you, from your breakthrough findings of exasperated research, have discovered that humans should simply put a paper towel square “back there.”

{“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease DON’T squeeeeeeeeeeeeeze the Char-min!”}

You are kidding us, right? Paper that a good fart could blow apart will now somehow keep all that slime aligned? And separate both halves to keep them comfortably at a safe distance? Provide that dry moistureless lube that’s oh-so-necessary to maintain fluid motion? Shucks, even Quaker State needs to be changed every 3,000 miles.

{Mayyyyyyyyyyyy-be just shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-ving should help?}

Puh-leeease. Kleenex would hold up better in your Corvette, stuck between the clutch and the flywheel.

{Yourrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr en-gine is red-liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiining your liii-ning!}

Compared to rasping all our half-asses into coarse-grit sandpaper, we think that maybe we’d rather run naked. Or, maybe–just like our planet of apes did once before–get down and boogie and run again on all-fours.

{Or mayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy-be weeeeeeeeeeee should jus’ take a sitz bath!}

So crack open a nice refreshingly cool Bud Light and head back to the drawing board, O Grate F. Lloyd Wright of the diaper rash salve industry, because after your ass scrapes itself clean all over your next hundred miles of biped locomotion? You’re gonna want that beer for a bidet.

{Mis-ter Help-fullllllll Friend-lyyyyy So-luuuuu-tion-Pro-viiii-der-for-that-an-noy-ying Butt-Chaaaa-fing Prob-blem!!}

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:
Yet one more good reason why the overwhelming majority of all Americans remain sedentary.