The blog's been on a commercial break due to, well, 'life' …that is, until, the Olympics lifted the haze. Maybe it’s because I am a sucker for a montage, relish the agony of defeat or love that damn Olympic song (I could watch Abe Vigoda floss to that music) – either way, the Olympics have cleared my head and it feels good to be getting back online.
A few observations and questions from the past week:
I have been practicing ‘curling’ with the kids…they call it curling while I secretly know it’s ‘sweeping’…my pad has never been cleaner.
Darth Vader may be Luke’s father but Dick Button is Yoda’s.
If you say Dick Button fast enough it sounds like a body part.
Why would anyone take-up a sport called the ‘Skeleton’; why not forget the death-sled altogether and just hurtle yourself down the run wrapped in saran-wrap…let’s call it the ‘Cadaver’.
It was revealed today that Mary Carillo’s half brother is the caveman character in the GEICO ads.
The men’s figure skating event should be renamed the ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that competition.’ – Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
I couldn’t hear the opening ceremonies very well over the collective laughter of 1 billion people that seemed to be lofting in my window from the East. Strange.
Mysteries of life: Have you ever seen a baby pigeon? Have you ever seen a Winter Olympian from India?
Canadians are Australians with a stocking cap on.
Icedancing is frozen softporn.
The Winter Games are missing the contact sport flare of the Summer Games (e.g., fencing, boxing, wrestling, and the occasional rogue javelin): I think Curlers should be given clubs and the Bi-athletes should be allowed to shoot at each other.
Shawn White is probably not a virgin.
If you name your country ‘Iceland’ you should be able to produce more than ‘4’ Winter Olympic Athletes, that’s just embarrassing. They should be forced to change their name to ‘Coldrock’.
When did we start calling Russia, the ‘Russian Federation’; sounds like an arena football league, so wimpy - I miss the Cold War era ‘Soviet’ athletes with their uni-brows and steroid track marks…<sigh>
I bet the French feel like I do when I am in Alabama, “I know they are speaking my language but…”
Ever since watching the ski jump my son’s been eye-ing the top of my dresser, not good.
Leave it to the Canadians to leave all the medals in the back window of their car last summer.
What’s with the green broccoflowers they keep handing out to the medal winners?
More cowbell.
Abe Vigoda makes everything crazy delicious.
Funny shite here, K, funny shite. Welcome back.
Posted by: Blaiser | 02/24/2010 at 06:11 AM