Ultra Relationship News – No. 1 – “Miss Foot”

ULTRA RELATIONSHIP NEWS

Number 1, “Miss Foot”

by Yours Troubly
(With all due homage—and nothing else—paid to David Mamet
and his “Sexual Perversity in Chicago”; now with somewhat
necessarily changed language, due to polite society)

[Eddie and The Strawman are sitting in McDonald’s after a
Saturday long run, having coffee and the occasional French Fry]

EDDIE:  No flocking way.

STRAW:  I’m tellin’ ya.

EDDIE:  A bodybuilder?

STRAW:  Yup.

EDDIE:  You’re yankin’ my chain.

STRAW:  Believe it.

EDDIE:  Ya gotta be flocking fooling me, dude.

STRAW:  I felt ‘em!

EDDIE:  Her tets.

STRAW:  Her muscles!

EDDIE:  Her muscles.

STRAW:  I’m tellin’ ya.

EDDIE:  Hard?

STRAW:  Pretty much.

EDDIE:  And she was a flocking bodybuilder.

STRAW:  I seen her pictures!

EDDIE:  You seen her pictures.

STRAW:  Yup.  Some kinda USA International Testosterone Contest.  Like, hubba hubba.  She was posing.

EDDIE:  In one of them skimpy thong things?

STRAW:  Might as well’ve been bodypaint.

EDDIE:  Bodypaint.

STRAW:  Flockin’ A.

EDDIE:  You could see flocking everything?

STRAW:   Damn near.

EDDIE:  Thru the outfit.

STRAW:  Like it was flocking painted on.

EDDIE:  And you met her at a bar.

STRAW:   Online.

EDDIE:  Online?

STRAW:  Facebook.

EDDIE:  No flocking way.

STRAW:  Yeah way.

EDDIE:  Her flocking “Profile Pic” was flexing?

STRAW:  Nah, running.

EDDIE:  Her flocking “Profile Pic” was running.

STRAW:   Ultrarunning.

EDDIE:  She’s an ultrarunner?

STRAW:  Just like us, pal.

EDDIE:  You met her.

STRAW:   Right.

EDDIE:  How?

STRAW:  We arranged it.

EDDIE:  Thru flocking Facebook?

STRAW:  Private messages.

EDDIE:  You sent her a private message.

STRAW:  Flockin’ A!

EDDIE:  You wanted to peel the paint.

STRAW:   Nah.  I jus’ wanted to feel underneath.

EDDIE:  You wanted to feel what’s underneath paint.

STRAW:  You flockin’ A.

EDDIE:  And did ya?

STRAW:  Did I what?

EDDIE:  Didja feeeeeeeel, uh, like, underneath the paint…

STRAW:  It’s why we’re talkin’—you ’n’ me.

EDDIE:  (taking a sip)  Where’s she live?

STRAW:  On the “Gold Coast.”

EDDIE:  She’s in a flocking apartment along flocking North Lake Shore flocking Drive?

STRAW:  Condo.

EDDIE:  What?

STRAW:  She’s in a condo.  Grabbed from her Ex.

EDDIE:  Stolen?

STRAW:   Nah.  Part of the divorce.

EDDIE:  She got the condo.  What’d he get?

STRAW:  The shaft.

EDDIE:  She gets the elevator, and he gets the shaft.

STRAW:   That’s about the size of it.

[They each eat a French Fry]

EDDIE:  So.

STRAW:  So what?

EDDIE:  So ya met this chick thru Facebook.  She’s over on LSD.  And you felt her up last Saturday.

STRAW:   Couple weeks ago.

EDDIE:  You didn’t say nothin’!

STRAW:  What am I, your “Instant Replay Commentator”?

EDDIE:  I just thought…

STRAW:   Yeah, well, too many flocking tats.

EDDIE:  Tattoos.

STRAW:  Dam straight.

EDDIE:  I thought she was a bodybuilder?

STRAW:   She was.  Or, at least she says she was.

EDDIE:  I thought the only thing bodybuilders ever wear is a fake orange tan.

STRAW:  It was a long time ago.

EDDIE:  That she looked orange?

STRAW:  That she was a so-called “builder.”  That’s what she called it.

EDDIE:  She looked hot?

STRAW:  Dam hot.

EDDIE:  Like, HOW hot?

STRAW:  Like if there was a gas leak, she could walk into the kitchen and the whole flockin’ building would explode.

EDDIE:  Incendiary.

STRAW:  You flockin’ A.

EDDIE:  So?

STRAW:  So, what?

EDDIE:  Did ya feel underneath her bodypaint?

STRAW:  Tattoos.

EDDIE:  OK, did ya feel underneath her tats?

STRAW:  Whatta you, nuts?  Ya can’t feel underneath tats.  They’re already underneath… everything!

EDDIE:  OK.  So, let’s review.  Ya meet the ink-chick.  Ya con her outa her dental floss bottoms, and ya feel her up alongside her tats.

STRAW:  Running outfit.

EDDIE:  What?

STRAW:  She’s wearin’ a running outfit!  Short-shorts, jogbra, no sox, the whole bit.

EDDIE:  Oh, right.

STRAW:  And perfume.

EDDIE:  No.

STRAW:  Yeah!

EDDIE:  You’re flockin’ foolin’ me.

STRAW:  She got more scented alcohol between her tets than the Kon Tiki Lounge at The Palmer House.

EDDIE:  C’mon.  Perfume?

STRAW:  You got it.

EDDIE:  I guess if ya gotta look good, ya gotta smell good.

STRAW:   The chick could kill mosquitos.

EDDIE:  Right.

STRAW:  So yeah.  We “private messaged” to hook up on a Friday—after work—for a run along the Lakefront Path.  She was wearin’…not much.

EDDIE:  Not much.  Mostly bodypaint.

STRAW:  Right.

EDDIE:  Sexy though, huh, dude?

STRAW:  So like, if sex was golf, where the less the cloth the better the score?  She’d be 18 under par.

EDDIE:  No chit.

[They each take a swig]

STRAW:  She had a bod… what could derail a freight train.

EDDIE:  She could push it off the tracks?

STRAW:  Nah.  The dam engineer would leap outa his cab.

EDDIE:  Fall on the tracks…

STRAW:  Wheels hit his legs…

EDDIE:  And cause a derailment.

STRAW:  Right.

EDDIE:  So?

STRAW:  So what?

EDDIE:  She good?

STRAW:  Hot.

EDDIE:   In the sack, I mean.

STRAW:  Not so good.

EDDIE:  No?

STRAW:  No.

EDDIE:  Why the flock not?

STRAW:  Said she needed a mirror.

EDDIE:  Oh.  Right.  Ceiling mirror.

STRAW:  Nah.  Just any kinda flocking mirror.

EDDIE:  So she could watch herself havin’ sex.

STRAW:  No.  So she could watch herself flex.

EDDIE:  She always flexes before sex?

STRAW:  During, too.  And afterwards!

EDDIE:  “Flex, sex.  Flexy-sexy.  Careful ya don’t peel off my bodypaint, ‘cuz ya don’t want a mess o’ flecks…”

STRAW:  Right.

EDDIE:  I just made that up.

STRAW:  You’re foolin’ me.

EDDIE:  Ain’t foolin’.  (pause)  You glommin’ these fries?

STRAW:  Nah.  I gotta split.

EDDIE:  Wait!  Dude!  So, ya flockin’ bring me here after runnin’ my flocking asp off, an’ ya ain’t even gonna gimme the play-by-play?

STRAW:  She was actually a dud.

EDDIE:  No.

STRAW:  I mean ta tell ya.

EDDIE:  How so?

STRAW:  A kinda killjoy.

EDDIE:  No.  Say it ain’t so!

STRAW:  It’s so.

EDDIE:  So what the flock happened?  She didn’t wanna stop admirin’ herself long enough ta do the nasty?

STRAW:  In the mirror.  An’ the only mirror I got at my place is in the bathroom.

EDDIE:  So.  She’s in the crapper, posin’, flexin’, poppin’ her veins out in fronta da medicine cabinet, an’ you’re there all nekkid an’ excited an’ bent over on accounta th’ blue balls an’ she ain’t even noticin’?

STRAW:  Oh, she’s “noticing” all right.

EDDIE:  Noticin’ what?

STRAW:  Noticin’ ME!

EDDIE:  Annnnd…?

STRAW:  So she goes, “I’m only used to nine or more inches.  My last admirer was a foot.”

EDDIE:  A FOOT LONG????

STRAW:  It’s what she says.

[Huge, painful pause]

EDDIE:  Kinda kills it, huh?

STRAW:  Yup.

EDDIE:  The mood, I mean.

STRAW:  Yup.

EDDIE:  ‘Cuz, like, dude.  I seen ya swimmin’…

STRAW:  Right.

EDDIE:  (pause)  Well, if it’s any consolation to ya, dude, I don’t know any dudes with hoses like that either.  Not even in “Backdraft.”  Not even among Chi-Town’s 2nd place Finest.

STRAW:  Right.

EDDIE:  Not even me!

STRAW:  Drink up.  Let’s get the flock outa here.

EDDIE:  Right.

[They down their coffees, then leave]

Happy Long Run Tomorrow, Every Body!

Yours troubly,

Rich Limacher
TheTroubadour@sbcglobal.net
(“still not measuring up, even after 800 years”)

Yankee Folly of the Day:
It’s like that old slogan I once concocted for The Barkley Marathons (now available on Netflix):  “It’s where even your very best just ain’t good enough.”