Weeeellll. You can’t really fault him . . . for this.
So the Olympics are here again, a fact the National Evil recognized only when President Bush (pictured above administering sweet, sweet discipline to one our lady v-ballers) asked him to pen some thoughts on the quadrennial sponsorstravaganza.
Naturally, as it’s Bush in the above photo and not the Evil, you know how that all worked out. Seems W didn’t approve the Evil’s apocalyptic screed prophesying the joining of the Five Rings of Chaos that would unleash the wrath of Zeus upon us all. No invite to Beijing for the Evil.
But it’s just as well—for you see, Evil has nothing but disdain for the Olympics. Nothing. Nothing!
Well. Maybe contempt. Disdain and contempt. A potent combination. And Evil wonders: is he alone on an island of D and C for the O? Anyone?
Evil well recalls 1984, the first Olympiad about which he was supposed to give a damn. Mostly because of limber munchkin Mary Lou Retton. But truth to tell, her hair frightened young Evil. (And well it should have! See?)
Besides, he never understood what the big deal was with her anyway. There was already an athletic woman running around in a leotard, and she seemed to be doing a great job of protecting America. Any arguments?
Evil thought not.
More than anything, Evil loathes the Olympics for its kaleidoscopic clusterfuck of human-interest stories. Evil hates human interest. Don’t you? Isn’t inhuman interest where it’s at? Stand in line at a convenience store, sit at a bar, stroll the aisles of your local Wal-Mart . . . then talk to the Evil about human interest.
You can have your human stories about the coal miner’s daughter who worked her way up to championship archery by shooting raccoons before they could mass and overtake her paraplegic baby brother, feeding on his succulent eye-juices. Evil’ll take his stories inhuman. Nature shows, that kind of thing. Mostly the ones about crocodiles. Anacondas. Bears. Giant sloths.
This love for the inhuman is probably why the Evil enjoys football above all other sports. With their heads encased in helmets and facemasks—and the cool players sporting shaded visors these days—one can fancy a football field as running amok with faceless, soulless robots, hurling their mechanical bodies into one another for the grim amusement of their human overlords. Nothing remotely, sickeningly human about that!
Anyway, as final proof of why the Olympics suck, consider that walking. Walking. Is, and has been, an Olympic event. Since 1932.
Evil repeats: walking. Walking. Walki—
. . . The Evil might have just turned around on this whole thing. The above link features a page called the “Race Walking Action Photo Gallery.”
“Race Walking Action Photo Gallery?”
Has . . . has the Evil simply misinterpreted the purpose of the Olympics all these years? Its status as comedic masterpiece played out on a world stage every four years? A Python-esque farce? Why didn’t anyone ever tell him?
Dammit. That’s it! Never mind about all that preceding contempt and disdain. Evil is now completely turned around on the whole Olympics thing. He gets it now. So, basically, ignore this entire post. Try not to feel like you’ve wasted your time. Remember: them’s the risks when you’re reading a stream-of-consciousness rant.