Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Going for the Gold: How Hard Can It Be?
With the next summer Olympics only four short years away, I've decided I need to start preparing. You see, I'm going to win the Olympics.
The entire Olympics.
I'm going win all the gold medals and then have them melted down into the grandest tiara of all time. Then, I plan to sit atop a throne made of silver medals (as I plan to win those too) wearing my tiara and look down upon the failed "athletes" who will be made to serve me after the closing ceremony. They will all be forced to wear weighted chains made of bronze medals (property of yours truly as well) and bring me daiquiris while I celebrate my victory and get drunk.
Don't look so shocked. How do you think the original Olympians did it? Do you really think Theagenes of Thasos stood on the podium at the end of the 480 B.C.E. Olympiad wearing a track suit and humbly congratulating the silver and bronze medalists before rushing off to his Barbara Walters interview? Or that Milo of Kroton wrestled his way to victory in six consecutive Olympiads only to get a brief cameo on SNL and a deal with Nike (or Apollo)? No! Those guys sat on a podium while large breasted Greek women fed them grapes.
I'll need to start thinking about sponsors. I figure Victoria's Secret and Trojan will sponsor my Olympic dreams, considering all the money I throw their way. Oh, did I say Victoria's Secret? I meant to say Budweiser. With my sponsors in place, on to the training!
I've got a long road ahead of me. To be honest, I don't really run much. Or at all, actually. My knees make a bad grinding noise when I go up stairs. And when I swim, I usually have to stop mid-pool and catch my breath and rinse the spit out of my snorkel. Also, the doctor tells me that I might have something called "leather lung" from breathing all the asbestos in my attic back home. But, as they say, "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger." Therefore, I suspect I'm the strongest athlete of all time. The rest of my skill can be acquired through other avenues.
Consider, if you will, archery. Now, what is archery, really, but firing a pointed projectile at a target some distance away? I'm pretty good at darts. And I'm even better at quoting lines from the darts playing scene in Young Frankenstein (After all, this is Transyl-VANIA!), and I've found that this distracts my opponents perfectly. My fellow archers won't know what hit them when I begin my heckling. Against the rules, you say? No problem. I'll hide it deceptively behind compliments. "Excellent shot! What are you, a wood elf?" I'm counting on my heckling skills to get me through at least diving, cycling, and volleyball.
But there are times when heckling is not possible. Like, for instance, when your head is underwater. So I plan to rely on my feminine wiles to bring me success in the underwater sports. In short, I plan to swim topless. And put the tit back in competition.
Now, I know what you're thinking. How am I going to overcome the little problem that there are men's and women's exclusive sports? Like, since I am a woman, how on earth will I compete in, much less win, the men's competitions? Didn't I mention that I would be primarily topless throughout the Olympics? No one will care. (The gay men might notice and object, but I'll just have Liza Minelli played over the loudspeaker. They will be so busy doing Cabaret, they won't even notice the competition has begun.) My trampoline victory is pretty much already in the bag. And wrestling? Forget about it.
My one slight issue might come with gymnastics since I can't even do a single pull-up and haven't since fourth grade when our substitute teacher lifted us up to the bar so we could all have at least one and feel successful. Plus, I refuse to hurl myself end over end in a situation that could possibly break my neck. Therefore, I'll just have to ensure that everyone but me gets disqualified. Two words: cock tails. You know the kind. A little Red Bull, some male hormones, a few birth control pills, some laxatives. Some used condoms planted strategically around the room like party favors. "Party in my room, everyone!" and the next day during drug testing...you know. Good-bye, Michael Phelps. Hello, Marion Jones.
Really, if I keep my topless thing, cocktail mixing, and heckling going throughout the Olympics, I won't even have to train at all. I can just show up on the first day and take up some new activities. It will be like summer camp or something.
So, watch out in 2012. My year. My Olympics. If you're nice, I might share some of my endorsement money.