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The Olympics–Volume 1

We got home and rushed to the television last night as quickly as we could after my daughters’ swimming meet–which they crushed, again, thank you very much–kicking the dog out of the way and stepping on both cats in a fervor to get the old set warmed up for…Team Ice Dancing. Hell, yeah.

That fervor was tempered somewhat as the first athlete we saw, an bildeAmerican from Michigan–I won’t increase his shame by actaully naming him, spent an inordinate proportion of his performance skittering sideways across the ice on his ass.  Now, I’m only an ice skating fan for three weeks out of every four years, and I know this Team Ice Dancing thing is new, but I’m pretty confident that ass-skating is not an official, sanctioned event.  Sigh. It’s hard to be an ugly, jaded American.

That’s the kind of jerk I am.  To be honest, I started out being snarky, but it takes a cold soul indeed to watch these kids–and the things they can do with a couple of butter knives duct-taped to their boots–on the ice:  Sow Cows (surprisingly, not a Pig-Cattle hybrid, but just think of the possibilties!  Monsanto?) and Sopwith Camels–normal sized guys throwing muscular tiny women  around like they’re rag dolls–and catching them. Most of the time. I immediately began cheering for the Americans and hoping the other teams would fall and sprain something, a horrific realization undoubtably rooted in my Cold War Youth–you damned kids with your damned walkmans and Ugg boots can’t imagine what it was like, waking up every morning and wondering if today was the day the Russians were going to nuke us into oblivion, our only hope for salvation resting in the hands of Patrick Swayze, Lea Thompson, and a bunch of cheese-eating high school kids from Colorado.

At that point, skating is the WORST thing in the world–except out comes Yuzuru Hanyusome 70 pound Japanese boy–literally, 70 pounds, this kid absolutely has worms–and pulls off an amazing performance like something from X-Men.  The dude can fly.  As my dad used to say: I shit you not.  Flying.  Without a jet pack. .  Yuzuru Hanyu is his name; breaking the surly bonds of Earth is apparently his game, and 97.98 was his score. I don’t know what the hell that means, but it was a lot. And oh, yes, he’s about 12 years old. Amazing.

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Meryl Davis eyes up the crowd and thinks: Humans, good for pets OR food.
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http://cheezburger.com/3239265792

The couples came on a little later–we didn’t see the Americans skate, which is too bad because I’m absolutely certain that the top American skater is an Alien.  She may be wearing American skin, but underneath is some sort of Avian Space Creature sent here either to protect us or prepare us for our future as a food crop for invaders from the planet Aeriexopeia. She seems really nice–one of the networks ran a TV special Wednesday night on how awesome Olympic athletes are because their parents are so incredibly awesome–and her mom seems nice too, so I’m guessing she’ll lead the fight to save us from the evil, aquatic Humidorians.   I’m not the only one who thinks this.  I’m a little disappointed by that, but…I didn’t say she looks bad, just different and, frankly, the longer I look the cuter she looks.  I hear she doesn’t so much jump but levitate, lingering in the air for seconds at a time because her birth planet has a gravity that is 1.2 of Earth’s–but when she touches down, she skates like an angel.

More Olympics:

https://oldroadapples.wordpress.com/2014/02/17/olympics-volume-2-meryl-takes-out-downton-abbey/

By JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels, growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.

5 replies on “The Olympics–Volume 1”

The description of Ford Prefect (Hitchhker’s Guide to the Galaxy) would seem to equally apply to Meryl,
“He was not conspicuously tall, his features were striking but not conspicuously handsome. His hair was wiry and gingerish and brushed backwards from the temples. His skin seemed to be pulled backwards from the nose. There was something very slightly odd about him, but it was difficult to say what it was. Perhaps it was that his eyes didn’t blink often enough and when you talked to him for any length of time your eyes began involuntarily to water on his behalf. Perhaps it was that he smiled slightly too broadly and gave people the unnerving impression that he was about to go for their neck.”

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she’s beautiful and you’re an immature despicable person that judges people but only god can judge us and that is very rude of you to say about such a beautiful lady with an incredible talent

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Take a deep breath–inhale, hold, release. Ahhhh, there you go. You’re right, of course–in the interviews I’ve seen, and the limited glimpses we’ve had of her interacting with her teammates, she does indeed seem to be a wonderful person. It’s highly likely she has a sense of humor, too, along with the hundreds of other people who read this post, had a laugh, and kept cheering for her to do well. You’re right, too, that I’m immature and despicable–I’m also ugly as sin, have a really bad taste in clothing, and smell funny at the end of a long, hard day. Thanks for stopping by!

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