Olympics = CRAP

Dear Olympics, *

I'm not going to beat around the bush here: I. Hate. You.

I'm not sure if this is related to the fact that I was always chosen last for the team in gym class or if it has something to do with the fact that I don't really like Gatorade very much, but seriously, you show up and I start feeling like this Taylor Gay guy.

You're like this relentless virus that infects my already taxed Summer TV schedule, weasel-ing your way into one too many episodes of Celebrity Family Feud or a great repeat of The Office for some inane Handball competition or Archery event showdown whateverthefucktitscalled.

I'm not touched.

I'm not moved.

I'm A-N-N-O-Y-E-D.

The whole forced "rah, rah I love America" requisite crap is not appreciated either. I mean I do love America-n-shit...but not because we have great fucking synchronized swimmers. We just celebrated our love for America by setting fireworks off out of our asses on July 4th--can't that be enough??

It's hot as shit out and all I've got after a hard fucking day at work, and no seat on the subway, and sweating my ass off on the walk home with my heavy bag when I know damn well there's nothing to eat for dinner (and my freakin dog needs to be walked), is the prospect of some motherfucking Baby Borrowers. And even THAT gets taken away from me by your gold, bronze and silver ass.

Call me un-American, if you want--I can take it. I just wish you'd stay the eff off of my flatscreen.

goin' for the gold,
me

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