Since I started grad school a couple of weeks ago I haven’t been keeping up with world or local events. Not that I keep up on things normally, I mean, most of my information comes from such revered periodicals as Alcoholics Monthly and Geriatric Bed-Sores Quarterly. Compounding my limited knowledge is the fact that I gain most of my information through osmosis, where I typically soak up news from the wide-array of uninformed miscreants who populate my run-down apartment building. Unfortunately, this results in quite a bit of misinformation, since a majority of the residents are ignorant, mentally retarded, delusional and sociopaths.
In the rat-infested laundry room, several residents have been going on and on about the Olympics. I learned that several controversies have erupted, the most intriguing of which involves a little Chinese girl who “sang” during the opening ceremonies. Apparently, there was some kind of weird Wizard of Oz/Milli Vanilli bullshit that transpired, where a less attractive girl stood behind the scenes and belted out the tune while a more attractive girl lip-synced for the cameras.
I don’t quite understand the logic behind this, since Chinese basketball star Yao Ming looks like one of my stool samples, so shouldn’t he, by this ass-backwards logic, have to be replaced by a handsome dwarf while on the court?
Anyway, during my minuscule breaks from schoolwork, I decided to partake in the Olympic revelry, while also testing out my new high definition cable package. I quickly realized that the Olympics are fantastic in High-Def, since I get to see every blemish, scar, rash, zit, snot bubble, herpes, skidmark, glass-eye, bullet wound and hairlip in stunning, real-life clarity. In standard definition, I normally have to squish my face into the television screen and squint in order to make out the amorphous blobs flashing by. Now though, I can sit comfortably in my bean-bag chair and squint at the swimmers, since I have no idea which ones are men and which ones are women. Have you seen some of these chicks? They’re built like fucking dumptrucks! All buff and wide and smooth.
Which brings me to Michael Phelps. As far as gender issues go, I’m pretty sure he’s a man. He’s also the world’s best swimmer. And, like most Olympic viewers, I’ve gotten wrapped up in Phelps’s record-breaking shenanigans. This is strange, since the only Olympic sport I’ve watched in the past (and made it a point to watch), was rhythmic gymnastics.
Readers of my blog are aware of just how un-athletic I am (in fact, I recently sprained my groin while playing Scrabble) and the last time I even ventured into a pool was in my pre-teen years, when I had to pass a swimming test for a church-sponsored trek to Catalina island.
The day before the test I made a culinary faux pas and nearly sliced off my left index finger. As such, I had to get stitches and, to protect the wound from the outside elements, I was required to wear something that looked like a condom on the maimed appendage. So, not only was I self-conscious over my prominent boy-boobs flippin’ and floppin’ in the water, I also had to contend with the prophylactic dangling on my finger. And I quickly learned that nothing bonds children together quite like laughing at a fat, half-nude kid wearing a rubber.
That was a fun day.
Anyway, I caught myself watching the Olympic swimming trials the other night and I couldn’t believe how excited I got. I got so excited that I jumped into the air and accidentally punched my girlfriend in the face (everything’s okay, we told her parents that she fell down a flight of stairs). This was during the short relay race where the U.S. narrowly beat the French team, who had earlier proclaimed that they were going to “smash” the Americans. I’ll refrain from making a joke about the French, mainly since all the best jokes have already been used. So, in the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll just say “Nice job France!”
Since then, I’ve caught women’s gymnastics, volleyball and even more swimming. And much like my penis, my patriotism is constantly swelling. Even my friends Jose, Habib, Akbar, Akiko, Chan and Mikhail are all proud to be Americans!
America! Fuck yeah!
Behind every great book adaptation is a forgettable first try. — By Ryan Covey