Real Men/Women of Genius #9

 

Bud Light presents…

REAL MEN OF GENIUS

{Real men of geeeeeene-yuss}

You have been waiting for this one for one whole week.

{What have we been misssssssssssing?}

Today we salute you, Mr. Can’t-Be-Bothered-To-Tell-Anybody-I’m-Quitting-When-I-Quit Dad.

{Mister… hey, is THIS the hubby of last week’s psycho-mama with the bear-bait twins?}

Of course it’s an “inconvenience.” Of course you’re tired, worn-out, wounded, broken-down, severely dehydrated, beat-to-hell and crawling… after just about 9 entire miles of a 50-mile ultramarathon. Everyone can see that. Why should you have to tell anyone?

{I’llllllll be cal-ling for my own ambulance, thanks}

Sure there’s an aid station coming up. Yes there’s postage and stationery in your drop bag. And of course don’t forget the cell phone you always carry inside your double-bottle waist pack. But what *is* the point? You haven’t actually SPOKEN to your wife in over four days, and you’ve never even heard of this “race director” dweeb.

{I might as wellllllllllllll just bailllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll!}

Race rules? Please. You’re a veteran; those are for sissy-newbies who don’t know GPS from PMS and never did learn the best way to cut a switchback. And paper products ARE biodegradable. EVERYTHING is biodegradable. It comes from Earth, doesn’t it? And isn’t that *earth* just past the tall grass bordering this trail?

{Don’t even have to worry ’bout toi-let paaaaaaaaaaaper!!}

Besides, O Mighty Hunter-Gatherer, you found a county highway beyond that tall grass also. Now you’ve got the brilliant idea to hitchhike. With any luck at all, you’ll be back at your motel in time for the play-off game.

{I’m taking my race bib and timing chip wiiiiiiiiiiiith meeeeeeee!}

So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light when you arrive, O Rebel Without A Cause, because you’re going to have a real LONG wait. Your childrearing-specialist spouse is at the finish line, your two little girls are traipsing the trails you have abandoned, it’s late, test patterns are on the television, and you are sound asleep with a beer can in your hand. Meanwhile one hundred and thirty-five race volunteers, all the on-call county sheriff’s deputies, Air Search-and-Rescue, and the entire third brigade of Wisconsin’s National Guard are now in the woods looking for *your* children… and all this time, too, they have been thinking that you, sir, are still out there.

{Mister Can’t-Be-Bothered-To-Tell-Anybody-I’m-Quitting-When-I-Quit Dad!}

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:
Thank goodness Paige and all the other wonderful KM100 volunteers didn’t have to spend all last Saturday night Air-Search-And-Rescuing ME!!!!