Everyone else in the race 🏁 was boring me into an absolute stupor. I was sorry 😐 that I ever took the challenge. The Marathon ´wall’ and malaise had set in. I didn’t even care if I was a victim of red *hot* man-rhaigpe by the weird *queer-hot* Quentin. I wanted to fall asleep 😴 in the middle of the freezing road.
“This is not the cold the wett-er.” Said the one mute runner in a Norswodish accent. “I am the PhD student 👨🎓 Screechiamous 💥 Bang from the Cornell. I am from the Osssslo. The s is soft. Cold is the 62 below the Fahrenheit. This race 🏁 is boring and stu-pid, Ja?”
“Yes, and it was my idea 💡. My team hates me, the other team wants to blister me in the r3ctum with enormous man-love, the Africans and golf 🏌 pros are mercenary runners, the software video thing is f@&$$d up, No one brought water 💦 or energy bars and my brain is frozen solid. By the way I f@&king HATE the song: Itchykoo Park, it suck rancid goat 🐐 balls 🏀 sickenly sweet horse 🐴 💩 crap.”
“I tot-ally agree, and Abba sucked rancid reindeer tea-tackles too.” Echoed Bang 💥
“You complain a lot.” Said the mute golf 🏌 caddy to me. You always complained. You were my Forward Observation Lieutenant in the War. You complained constantly. It was entertaining. We had a major combat briefing for the big push and you were fast asleep 😴 you would risk death 💀 just to avoid listening 👂 but when the war started you knew what to do. I’m PFC Johnson, do you remember me?”
“Yeah you went AWOL at Ft. Hood. I thought 💭 you were brain-damaged. I never paid any attention to that combat briefing, orders and intel mumbo jumbo. I was happier in the shit-covered Jaguarundi infested jungles of Central America fighting rigid doctrinaire communists, slimy drug runners 🏃 and macho Predator Monsters (TM), than sitting in some shitty oily desert 🌵. Now I hang out in Manhattan with self-involved literati and fashionista waifs and I can barely remember what it was like to be even remotely interesting.”
(CAVEAT: ALL BOTENDADDY WAR STORIES ARE DOUSED IN A HUGE SLATHERING OF PURE UNADULTERATED BULLSHIT, LIES, FALSEHOODS, OBVIOUS EXAGGERATION, TALL TALES, CAPITAL LETTERS AND PREVARICATIONS, WHICH MAKES THEM TRUER THAN MOST WAR STORIES, BUT I DO ACTUALLY HAVE A BRONZE STAR ⭐️ THAT’S NOT OUT OF A F¥£€%#G GUMBALL PRIZE MACHINE SO F@&@ YOU IN YOUR WELL-OILED ANVS IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT)
We hit the twenty-four mile mark.
I heard Soundgarden’s ‘Never Named’ 🐶 blaring from more hidden loudspeakers 📢.
“Sir you will always be interesting. I was always mad 😡 ly in love 😍 with you.” Said the mute guy.
“Is anyone here not queer?” I gasped.
A couple of spectators raised their hands.
“Anyone? Anyone? No?”
It ended up with Quentin and I holding up the ‘rear’, the computer 💻 video board at 25.2 miles (Not kilometers, unless it’s the 11th of Frimaire, ah Talleyrand!) showed that it was up to the two of us, as Quentin and I had identical handicap times.
STAY TUNED FOR THE EXCITING CONCLUSION!
FLASH FORWARD TO 2017 THERMIDOR
“Botendaddy. This is boring now. I’m going to $tarbuck$ and get a mocha. I waited my whole life for this? What a letdown. I may never f@&$ again. All my orifices are slimed. I have a spermatozoa aftertaste in my mouth 👄. My hair is sticky. Who cares. Is every man as creepy as you? I feel so… so… dirty. I’m so ashamed of myself and of you, you withered carnival 🎡 freak show spectacle. You should be in the circus between the bearded lady and the 🐶 dog-faced boy. I pity you, you remind me of Gollum or Mr. Burns or the Crypt-Keeper. I need to be decontaminated or get an exorcism, I’m just gonna let myself out. You suck.”
Said the Crazy 😜 nerd 🤓 girl. “Call me? Soon?” She inquired.
“A woman loved me once, you know. Vanilla Latté?”
Peace be the Botendaddy