Olympic Games

Well, the XXth Winter Olympiad in Torino, Italy is done, and all I can say is, “Thank God.”

Aside from a few shining spots (Joey Cheek, bless your heart), I have never seen such a herd of two-bit, four-flushing, spoiled-rotten, self-absorbed, snivelling little snot-nosed honyocks in my entire life.

Whoever the hell was responsible for teaching this bunch of parasitic pinheads common courtesy, manners and sportsmanship should be set on fire and used as the next Olympic torch as a reminder to the next set of athletes to pull their self-absorbed little heads out of their fundaments.

I honestly don’t know who should be horsewhipped around the courthouse square first. I mean, given Chanda Gunn refusing to shake hands with the opposing hockey team after the hard-pressed game was done; Shani Davis and Chad Hedrick pulling hair in their very own cat-fight; and Bode Miller – no comment necessary…God, what a choice.

I think, though, given my druthers and a hickory switch, I’d wear that thing down to a nubbin on Young Johnny Weir.

For those Gentle Readers (both of you) who may have missed this, Master Weir decided that it would be both appropriate and amusing as a representative of the United States, to wear a gen-yoo-wine CCCP sports team jacket during his official warm-up.

Words fail me. They really do.

For someone who has been selected as the representative of the United States to the Olympics; a person who is our ambassador, chosen to represent US — you and me and everyone else in the United States — to the O-L-Y-M-P-I-C-S, for that person to wear the uniform of a vanquished nation who was our direct, indirect and constant enemy for FIFTY YEARS, a country whom we fought a sometimes-bloody-not-always-quite Cold War, is NOT A GODS-BE-DAMNED FASHION STATEMENT!

Somebody, please, for the love of God, whup his ass. I’m begging you.

As for the rest, you pin-headed, self-absorbed, puling little jackanapes, you know who you are, listen up!

The Olympics are not about you.

The Olympics Games are about celebrating the Olympic ideal. They are about representing your nation at the Olympic Games.

If you can’t get that through your self-absorbed little skulls, I think you shold be thrown off the Olympic team in favour of a junior varsity player who DOES understand.

I also believe that the coaches should be given Meditation sticks

and anytime the words: “Me”, “I don’t wanna”, or “I rocked these Olympics” come out of your cakehole, the coaches should give you a firm rap betwixt the running lights, so that you will have the time, opportunity and ability to reassess your sodding priorities, you insufferable little oiks.


The Rise and Fall of the Nigerian Space Program
Them long-necked quails.

3 thoughts on “Olympic Games”

  1. [Standing Ovation, can’t clap, gotta 12 ga pump in one hand, and a Fried Apple Pie in the other…chews, swallows..]

    “LawDog is the new Law in these here parts…Hell Yeah! Now you whiny butt snivlin’ no good for nuttin’ spoiled rotten got your shorts in a wad…”

    [OOPs, noticing others standing and hollering too, chants ring out…],

    LawDog! LawDog! LawDog!

    Dawg is for sure in these here parts now pardner…Give ’em Hell Dawg!!



  2. I’ve got mixed feelings on this one.

    If I do remember correctly (it hasn’t been THAT long ago) it wasn’t uncommon to see international wrestlers exchange gear here and there that had their country’s logo on it.

    Pretty sure I’ve seen guys do this before. It was never a big deal, but then again, it wasn’t at the Olympics.

  3. As an amateur student of history, I sorta place the wearing of Soviet emblems on a par with the wearing of Nazi emblems.

    The little rat should’ve gotten his ass stomped, preferably by a refusenik.


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