Rented Mule

To the lady sitting behind me at the theatre festival:

I love High School Musical probably more than a 47-year old straight man should, but you, ma’am, have set the bar higher than I thought possible.

First, I want to compliment you on your lung capacity and power. The shrillness of your screams at the end of every song inspired me to duck for cover instead of applaud. I enjoy exercising my 2nd amendment rights and, although I wear hearing protection, it’s inevitable that I fire off a round or two without my ear plugs in. It’s pretty loud. Ma’am, you are infinitely louder than a 9 mm round being fired from my Sig Sauer. Kudos to your lungs. 

But as impressive as that is, it doesn’t hold a candle to your arm strength. When I saw a pom-pom in your hand prior to the show beginning, I didn’t realize you were holding the object of my future nightmares.

You worked that cheer accessory with passion unseen in modern history. The repeated pummeling to the back of my head quickly accelerated my hair loss. I stopped by Marshall Medical on my way home to ensure my pom-pom inflicted concussion won’t have lasting effects.

Lady, you beat me like a rented mule, like the proverbial red-headed step-child, like a drum, like wholesale carpet, like…  I’ll stop.  You get the idea.
I don’t know who your trainer is, but they deserve a medal!

You are truly a fan among fans!

We’re all in this together!

Go Wildcats!

Chris

 

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