Real Men/Women of Genius #74

[Happy Hanukkah, y’all! So, like, to counterbalance allah dys negativity (heh heh) I’ve been trying to send everyone my other “positivity” this week (actually just since sundown on Dec. 1st), but wow–in only a year’s time–everybody’s e-addy has changed! So, what the hell, if you didn’t get your “invitation,” just log onto the following for this week’s extra dose of dubious redoubtable positivism:
http://www.zombierunner.com/MiddleIncomeRichard/44/
As a good friend already responded: “What? Instead of politics you’re now picking on religion?” Ha ha! EVERYTHING is “fair game”! Including illiterate way-wacky marathon bystander chicks trying, perhaps, to find a man? The following was inspired by TV
coverage of the New York City Marathon. Placard on!]

Ingelhook Wineries present…

REAL WOMEN OF GENIUS

{Re-al gals of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we would like to toast you, Miss Illiterate Throng-Joining Marathon-Cheering Hoopla-Participating Bystanding Misspelled Sign Holder.

{Missss-oh-my-god-wherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre diddddd ya getttttt the card-board and craaaaaa-yons?}

“Go Gootchur!” “Runn Meebie!” “Welcum Chilly Minors!” You have to be kidding. In your other job, you must be a sign painter for all the top brokerages’ front office doors on Wall Street. We’re sure of it.

{His naaaaaaaaaaaaame is Meb-rah-tom “Meb” Ke-flez-ighi!}

We appreciate your streetside enthusiasm pretty much more so than we dig your education in those New York City schools. Did you study spelling, ever? Do you know the difference between the country and the beans-and-meat concoction? Not to mention the weather? And what about this: are you yourself still a “minor” or a “miner” or do you mind your business or would you rather mine ours?

{“Alllllllllllllll thissssssssssss in-telllllll-lect-choo-all ac-tiv-i-ty!”}

Kara Goucher would be proud to make your acquaintance, possibly Paula Radcliffe as well, but neither one is in the race; and you’ll probably now have trouble convincing the guy standing next to you that your brain is even functioning.

{“It’s tooooooooooooooo darn crowd-ded to thinkkkkkkkk!”}

Watch David Letterman, did you? And before that all the magnificent television coverage of that amazing mine rescue in that other country besides Argentina? Do you know which is which? Do you know what continent? Which planet? Are you looking to score a hot date?

{“Waaaaaaaas-n’t he the guy that rannnnnnn-in-the-caves and sang-like-Ellllllllll-visss?”}

Better pull your cork out quickly from that White Zinfandel at the finish line, O Stalking Red Rose of Spanish Harlem, because only you could worse present yourself to a very special guest Chilean marathon runner by holding up a sign that says, in big scratchy red crayon, “Go Commonwealth Painya!”

{Missss Ill-lit-er-ate Throng-Join-ing Mar-a-thon-Cheer-ing Hoop-la-Par-ti-ci-pa-ting By-stand-ing Mis-spelled Sign Holllllllllll-derr!}

White Zinfandel yuppie wine: we don’t drink it ourselves; we’d rather guzzle beer.

( O_O )

Yours troubly,
The Troubadour

Yankee Folly of the Day:
The electric company around here tries its darnedest to keep allah us in the dark, too.