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Title:Real Men/Women of Genius #107
Date:Friday September 30th, 2011
[Default Article Image][And this, in "furtheration" of the huge current outcry to "refudiate" marathon world records, could be next:

Bud Light presents...


{Re-al men of geeeeeene-yuss!}

Today we salute you, Mr. Big City Backwards-Facing So-Called Marathon Judge Riding On Top Of The Media Truck.

{"IIIIIIIII'm in a verrrr-ry priv-ill-eged poooooo-si-tion heeeeeeere!"}

Comfortable, are you? Riding high up there in the stiff headwind right next to that infernal time-ticking backwards-facing race-timing timeclock?

{"Tick tick, baaaaaaaaaaaaa-beeee. Time fliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiies!!"}

And are you being observant? Are you noticing for the first half, for example, how the frontrunning men come equipped with their very own event-provided team of male "pacers"? And aren't they the very things some other judge will later disqualify the frontrunning woman for having?

{"Butt allllllllllllllllllllllllll is faiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir in love-and-war-and-bat-tles of the sexxx-es!"}

And to think we--or they--owe it all to Julius Caesar and his old Roman Legions. Because in those days, the front-marchers formed a "flying wedge"
made up of a V-shaped group of big dudes with long shields who could shelter those behind from foolishly charging Goths, Visigoths, Alt, Emo, or Punkrockers; and/or from vast onslaughts of arrows, chucked spears from spear-chuckers, and gale-force headwinds.

{Werrrrrrrrrrrre they drafffffff-ted, or was it an all-vol-un-teeeeeeer ar-myyyyyyyy?}

Of course you're being careful to allow the men this protection, but not the women. Women who employ this good old testosterone-dominated Caesarian section of elements-conqueration are apt to be disqualified. But *you* won't be seeing THEM, because--as it has lately been universally chauvinistically alleged--women are just plain slower than men. You're hoping THEIR infractions will be picked up by that backwards-riding motorcycle guy.

{"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII'm hap-pyyy to be HERE. It'ssssssssssssss too c-c-c-cold to-be-riiiiiiii-ding-mo-tor-cy-cles!"}

So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light right after your ride, O Mighty Scholar of Warfare from the days of Pheidippides, because--just like in old Julius's time, the hero and leader of the pack MUST be protected at all times from:
your face; this breeze; that truck exhaust; any spying cameras; and the frontrunner's constant, unceasing, never-ever-ending sight of your damned ticking big digital backwards-facing timeclock.

{Mis-terrrrrrrrrr Biggg Ci-ty Back-wards-Fa-cing So-Called Marrrr-a-thon Judge Riiiiiiiii-ding-On-Top-Of-The-Me-di-a-Truck!}

Bud Light beer: we don't care where they brew it; we just dig their commercials.

( O_O )

Yours troubly,
The Troubadour

Check out this new outlet:


Yankee Folly of The Day:
Just imagine taking away Paula Radcliffe's World Record because--gaaak!--she was running while surrounded by men. Well, duh! Would they allow it if next time she were surrounded by cheetahs? No, wait. She already is surrounded (and judged) by cheaters.
Posted:October 3rd, 2011 1:23 am
Last Update:October 3rd, 2011 1:31 am
Last View:June 19th, 2021 4:58 am
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