So today, the Beijing Olympics officially start. Not that I care, of course. Everybody knows that I’m a big tub of lard whose main physical activity would be the three minute walk from my bed to the computer table. To Plurk. (Speaking of Plurk, trying to keep your Plurk Karma up is an Olympic feat by itself. Kinda like trying to keep my penis up- no, wait! Fuck!) By the time I get my knees to bend, I’m a sweaty, shivering pile of pain. Which only goes to show how much I care about sports and shit like that.
Take running for instance. Come on, who likes to watch people running around a big oval? They don’t even get anywhere. It’s a freaking oval, for crying out loud. Who the fuck gets excited over people running around in circles?
If they make one event where the runners would go on a life-threatening obstacle course that’ll make them jump through fiery hoops, avoid gun-toting Nazis, and run through snake-infested fields I’ll be interested. Have them dress up in ninja and pirate attire. Also, make them run all the way from Beijing to Hong Kong. That’ll be awesome. Until then, running will like be the gayest sport ever.
I wanna watch boxing instead – where people get to punch each other to a bloody pulp and where a third-world country like the Philippines gets cheated out of a silver medal.
Also, Olympic boxers get to dress up in tacky jackets. And get away with it. Um.
Okay, okay. Maybe I should watch weight lifting instead. I don’t see anything manlier than that, I mean it’s all muscles! Weights! Testosterone! Women capable of beating up the entire Man Blog roster!
Um, I’m running out of options here. Real fast. I’ll just stick with the safe answer: if I was forced to pick to watch an Olympics event, I’d rather not see anything else except the un-gay manly art of wrestling.
Ah fuck it. I give up watching the Olympics. Oh well, back to Plurk. And pr0n.
Note: Originally published for The Man Blog.
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