Ultra Relationship News – No. 2 – “The Strawman”

[Editor’s Note: Continuing right along now with all this merriment, we have yet another twisted version of a “Bad Joke Friday.” And again, either delete now or bear with…]

ULTRA RELATIONSHIP NEWS

Number 2, “The Strawman”

by Yours Troubly
(With all due homage—and nothing else—paid to David Mamet,
but now with somewhat necessarily changed language,
due to polite society)
[Molly and The Babe are sitting in a Starbucks after a Saturday long run, sipping one Double Cinnamon Dolce Latte with extra whipped cream and two cherries, and one large black coffee, on separate checks]

BABE: So you like that thing?

MOLLY: (sipping) Mmmmmmm, yummy!

BABE: I think there’s about nine thousand calories in there.

MOLLY: So what? Didn’t we just run twenty-two miles?

BABE: Twenty-two-point-six-five.

MOLLY: What did I tell you?

BABE: Still, ya know? I don’t think *that’s* all that good for you.

MOLLY: It’s just wonderful for me.

BABE: OK, but you’re going to have to do extra pushups later.

MOLLY: You expect me to do as many as you?

BABE: No, but, you know. You don’t wanna suddenly develop a pooch.

MOLLY: Heavens no. It’s why we’re runners. Ya know? We can, like, eat and drink anything!

BABE: Within reason.

MOLLY: Within your prescribed “Recommended Daily Allowance” healthy calorie intake.

BABE: Well, you know, I’m only doing what’s best for me.

MOLLY: Fruit and yogurt, skipping lunch, and salads for supper.

BABE: I keep telling you, you should do this, too!

MOLLY: Like, starve myself? I’ll take my cheeseburgers.

[They sip their drinks]

BABE: You could be so much fitter!

MOLLY: Says, like, the next Miss Olympia to her lowly chambermaid… and current groupie.

BABE: Oh, come on.

MOLLY: Speaking of which, didn’t some male-type groupie latch onto you the other night?

BABE: He came on a little too strong.

MOLLY: But you like strength!

BABE: Not when it comes from some guy’s mouth.

MOLLY: He was, like, swearing?

BABE: No, you know. Not right away.

MOLLY: Of course. They always *start out* behaving themselves. Which lasts until about their second beer.

BABE: Men are such Neanderthals.

MOLLY: You know why they have such bad mouths and so much body hair?

BABE: No, why?

MOLLY: So when the zookeepers put them in cages with the gorillas, they can tell which ones to let back out.

BABE: They should let out the ones that don’t talk.

MOLLY: But gorillas usually have no money. I’m, like, thinking they’d make pretty lousy dates.

BABE: Maybe not. Have you dated one?

MOLLY: No, silly.

BABE: Well, I did. He found me on Facebook.

MOLLY: There’s now gorillas on Facebook?

BABE: Might as well be. There’s just about everything else.

MOLLY: Did he speak?

BABE: He wrote.

MOLLY: Did he post publicly or, like, send you a private message?

BABE: I think he messaged.

MOLLY: You don’t remember?

BABE: I get so many.

MOLLY: You wouldn’t, except for that outfit.

BABE: My Profile Pic you mean?

MOLLY: Yes.

[They sip their drinks]

BABE: What’s wrong with it?

MOLLY: You’re half naked!

BABE: Well, Molly, if ya got it, flaunt it.

MOLLY: Oh sure. But then you have to, like, wade through all the gorilla replies and messages.

BABE: You’ve got that right.

MOLLY: So who was he?

BABE: Who was who?

MOLLY: This latest gorilla you dated.

BABE: Oh, the Strawman.

MOLLY: The who?

BABE: That’s his nickname. Supposedly. He told me his real name’s Ray-something. Pretty close to that actor who played the Scarecrow in “The Wizard of Oz” movie. So he said when he was a kid, they all called him “Strawman.”

MOLLY: So, like, was he afraid of matches?

BABE: What?

MOLLY: Like in the movie. The Scarecrow was always afraid of matches.

BABE: I don’t think so. He said he used to smoke like a chimney.

MOLLY: He wasn’t *still* smoking, was he?

BABE: No. He claimed to be a runner, like us. An *ultrarunner* too. So, you know, you can’t be smoking cigarettes…

MOLLY: Well, I know one who does.

BABE: Who?

MOLLY: He’s got a nickname, too. Something along the lines of, like, that guy being raised from the dead.

BABE: Jesus?

MOLLY: No, Lazarus.

BABE: Oh.

MOLLY: I think that’s what I read anyway. Someone was talking, like, about some kind of “list.” Or maybe horrible 100-miler.

BABE: Probably another gorilla.

MOLLY: Probably.

[They sip some more]

BABE: I could do with a few less gorillas in my life.

MOLLY: OK, so what happened?

BABE: When?

MOLLY: With who! Your line is: “What happened with who?”

BABE: OK. Tell me.

MOLLY: With that Straw-character!

BABE: The Strawman?

MOLLY: Yes, that one.

BABE: He drank too much.

MOLLY: Were you in a bar?

BABE: No. At first we agreed to meet out on the Lake. By the runners’ board at Diversey.

MOLLY: Was he on time?

BABE: Barely.

MOLLY: So, like, what did you do?

BABE: We ran.

MOLLY: How far?

BABE: I wanted to kick his butt, so we went north to Hollywood.

MOLLY: And back?

BABE: Of course!

MOLLY: Was he a good runner?

BABE: He kind of sucked. I had to hold back.

MOLLY: Oh. You know, you, like, have to do that for a lot of us.

BABE: If you all only ate better, and did pushups—the regular kind, not that girlie chit.

MOLLY: But then what?

BABE: Nothing. He kissed my cheek and said he’d call.

MOLLY: It’s what they all do. So, did he?

BABE: Call?

MOLLY: Yes.

BABE: It was pretty lame.

MOLLY: What was, him or his call?

BABE: Both.

MOLLY: Did he ask you out again?

BABE: We went out a couple more times. Mostly just more running.

MOLLY: During which you, like, had to keep holding back?

BABE: He was pretty pitiful.

MOLLY: Then what?

BABE: He invited me to his place.

MOLLY: No!

BABE: Yes.

MOLLY: Oooh, girlfriend. What was *that* like?

BABE: Like being with a baby gorilla.

MOLLY: In his cage?

BABE: Yes. And a pretty dumpy one.

MOLLY: Did you guys kiss?

BABE: Kind of like *mouth to crash-test-dummy* CPR.

MOLLY: Not such a good kisser, huh?

BABE: Like kissing a hockey mask—with saliva.

MOLLY: Yours or his?

BABE: His, of course. I swear he was frothing at the mouth.

MOLLY: And so, like, then what?

BABE: And so like then the only mirror in his place was on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

MOLLY: You wanted to check your makeup?

BABE: I wanted to make sure *I* wasn’t frothing at the mouth.

MOLLY: Oh.

BABE: Although I did feel like spitting.

MOLLY: Where was he? In the bedroom? Living room? Like, in the bed, under the covers, in the dark? Tell me, girl!

BABE: He was in there with me.

MOLLY: In the bathroom???

BABE: Stark naked.

MOLLY: Ooooooooh, GIRL!!!!

BABE: I had to get out of there.

MOLLY: Oh? Why?

BABE: Baby gorilla, right?

MOLLY: Yes? He really was? I mean, *really*??? So what did you do?

BABE: I told him my usual partners have *equipment* that’s over nine inches long.

MOLLY: You’re kidding!!!

BABE: Of course I’m kidding!!!!

MOLLY: You were trying to humiliate him. So you could leave.

BABE: Works every time!

MOLLY: Men are such Neanderthals.

BABE: Are you done with that? Let’s leave.

MOLLY: OK, let’s.

[They finish their drinks, then leave]
Happy Long Run Tomorrow, Every Body!

Yours troubly,

Rich Limacher
TheTroubadour@sbcglobal.net
(“desperately trying to shed the stereotype and become, finally, ‘a sensitive New Age guy’”)

Yankee Folly of the Day:
That “sensitive New Age guy”shtick is, what, about thirty years old already?