Humor
Dear Moon Man, Thank You for Your Wisdom
How a drunk at the Tour de France elevated a timeless prank into an art form
Dear Moon Man,
You made it. This is your opus magnum. No more work for you on this Earth. You have elevated the craft of butt exposure to an artistic level. Perhaps, a work of genius.
I saw you for three seconds, running alongside the greatest athletes in the world. Those machines of human biology, light as feathers and strong as horses, flying up the mountain on their carbon bikes, digging deep, sweat-soaked, tunnel-visioned, with adrenaline-fueled drive and emotionless determination. And there you were, on live TV, your back to the camera hovering above, running alongside these men, cheering, encouraging — your shorts pulled down to mid-cheek.
Delight rippled across my face. Your white rumpflesh jiggled tremendously with every heavy footfall. Your average, relatable, everyman butt-form had seizures alongside those alien cyclist legs that look like bundles of rebar. But your execution was different. I knew I was witnessing history.
Most of the mooners at the Tour de France pull the classic that we all know and love. They turn around, bend slightly, slip the waistband to the bottom of the cheeks, hold for a count of two, then spring back to normal-person posture. It’s funny. I like it. Nothing wrong with a full moon on live TV.
But you. You elevated it. The way you only went to mid-cheek, the way you ran earnestly up the incline, the way you were cheering on the bikers like a well-behaved fan. You introduced an element of doubt — that maybe this was an oopsie. Is this idiot mooning us or does he need a belt?
Instead of the surprised disgust incited by the full moon, you drew feelings of confusion and pity. This poor guy’s pants are falling down. You drew us in instead of jolting us away. Oh, dear! I hope he doesn’t trip. The generous ripple of your bubble butt was almost endearing. Instead of making the joke, you became the joke. You put your ego down and conducted yourself with pure, zen-like intention.
This is a thank you, this is fan mail. The world needs you, the wise man that you are. To spread the gospel of absurdity. To remind us that life is a playground. That it doesn’t have to be serious. That sometimes all we need to feel whole again is not therapy or mindfulness or narcotics, but the accidental appearance of a flippery half-moon.
Yours truly,
An inspired goofball
I found this quokka-jellyfish rivalry to be absolutely hilarious:
