Real Men/Women of Genius #86

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN/WOMEN OF GENIUS

{Re-al men-wimm-men of geeeeeene-yuss!}

Today we salute you, Mr. AND Mrs. Barkley Marathons Did-Not-Finishers.

{Misssssss-ter AND Mis-susssssssssss Barrrrrrr-kley D-N-F-errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs!!}

There has never been a “Newlywed Game” quite like this one, huh? Instead of each one predicting what the other will say, you both get to be cast out into the wilderness for days at a time, with nothing more than an ancient park map and printed Johnny Reb “instructions”–without commercial interruption, without Bob Eubanks, and without either one of you having so much as a *clue* just where in the hell you are, where in the hell you need to get to, or how in the hell you’re even going to stay alive.

{“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee’re THE FUG AW WEE!!!!”}

“I think we’re supposed to be on THAT ridge,” one of you will say. “No, that one!” the other will counter. So, you both dive into the directions and try to translate and interpret Tennesseespeak.

{“Loooook-for-a-‘dead’-beeeeeech-treeeeee? But they’re allllllllllllllll dead! It’s WINNN-TERRRRRRRR!!”}

Which is no small feat unto itself. When the “official instructions” tell you to look for a book in a rattlesnake pit “just a little ways past the two downward pointing beech blow-downs,” you are NOT being told to wander around aimlessly until you actually see the snake.

{“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat-in-the-hellllllllllllllllllll does ‘a lit-tle ways’ meeeeeeeeeeeeean??”}

You’ll need to pay better attention to the contour lines on your topo map, and take into consideration the park’s Declination while taking your compass bearings. You should also stop trying to claw each other’s eyeballs out when you’re having these disagreements. The sawbriars are already scratching everything else out on both your bodies.

{“Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy does EV-ERR-Y-THING have to have THORRRRRRRNS??”}

Also don’t suddenly discover–and fall into–any of those old abandoned and-still-wide-open coal mining shafts hidden all over the place in them thar hills. Because, as the “official instructions” will also tell you, “Your body won’t be found again until after you start to smell.”

{Yoooooooooou might-e-ven-find-some Haaaaat-fields-and-Mc-Coys’ old bullllll-lets!!}

So crack open a couple of chilly Bud Lights–some three days hence when you DO finally make it back to camp after completing just Loop One–O Mister and Missus Jackie Joyner-Kersees, because your REAL TEST of matrimonial harmony is about to be quizzed at you from all around the campfire. When each and every word coming out of either of your mouths is questioned, ridiculed, and the cause of mirth resounding higher and hardier than at any college freshman hazing ritual you’d EVER been “pledged” to, you will wish with all your hearts that maybe, just maybe, you might still be able to prevent the divorce.

{Missssss-ter AND Misssssss-sus Barrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-kley Mar-a-thons D-N-effffffffffffffff-ferss!!}

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:
But now we wonder: whut iffn yer a couple “out there” fer tree hole daze… and not married??