ULTRALADIES MAIN MENU
Oral Rehydration Salts
All content © Trail Run Events
by Rich "The Troubadour" Limacher (by permission)
RMOG # 3 {this was originally Number 10}
Bud Light presents...
REAL MEN OF GENIUS
{Real men of geeeeeene-yuss}
Today we salute you, Mr. "This List Is My Press Agent" Partially Famous Guy.
{Mister Meeeeee-dia 15-minutes-of-fame type guuuuuy!}
You don't care what WE think. You never joined our Listserv to listen to US. You signed onto this electronical sign-on sheet strictly for the PR benies. Because you know, O Great Wizard of Word Count, that with just one tap of your Send key, there's three-to-four thousand ready, willing, able, and eager saucer-eyed gawkers waiting to lap up your every partially misspelled word.
{Don't forget to tell us your traaaaaa-vel plans!}
"No Child Left Inside"? Please. You could care less where we dump the rug rats. Engaging you in any List thread of high-mindedness, philosophy, or--gasp--even controversy is like throwing blunt darts at a cast iron bull's-eye.
{Youuuuuuuuuurs are pretty bloodshot}
You don't even receive our darts! You've ingeniously refashioned our public forum into a one-way media kit. You bark out your greatness and then block out our feedback. With approximately four deft clicks on just a few drop-down menus, you have successfully programmed your computer to treat ALL responses as SPAM.
{You were a work/study report card programmer in your old college records office!}
So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light, O Mild Mannered Clark Kent, because secretly only you know you're Superman--but with memory impaired by commie red Kryptonite. Since you choose to ignore us, you never remember what we told you last year, or the year before, and every single year before THAT about how to LEAVE our Listserv before you leave for yet another record-breaking adventure. Neither do you read the List's Instructions. No, you expect the hoi polloi to do this for you, and then fetch you more E-caps, GPS maps, and satellite-radio feeds all throughout your months-long derring-do, and, after each leg of course, another beer.
{Mis-ter "This List Is My Press Agent" Partially Famous Guy!}
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:
Never mind the GPS and satellite-radio feeds. FOX Weather radar has just picked up a squadron of North Korean ICBMs aimed right at the Left Coast. So I, uh, wouldn't sweat getting lost on the Northwest Passage.
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