Idea for a new Olympic event; trying to get from Heathrow Airport to the Saint George Hotel in London in less than four hours. Cabs are out, because the fare would be higher than most of the cute, little, off-brand country’s GNP. Can you see Coach Click-Click-Lipsmack-Tock explaining to Burkina Faso’s Olympic Committee that he just blew two week’s per diem on one cab ride? Remember, these are the people that killed Capt. Sankara in ‘57 over an unpaid bar tab.
You could take a train, but when I tried there were three different rail strikes before we even left the terminal, and don’t get me started on no handicapped access on The Tube or we’ll have Oscar Pistorius bouncing around here complaining that he isn’t allowed to cheat, I mean, compete. Maybe next games he can get Casey Martin to drive him the 400-meters in his golf cart.
You get bonus point if you can get anyone to look up from their newspaper or remove their ipod from their ears as three or five soccer hooligans beat and rape you, but you lose points if anyone spits, or gobs as they so cutely call it, on your shoes.
Just one of the few thoughts that run through my head as I wait… and wait…
Another quick thought: there is nothing wrong with the Red Sox that can be fix by Billy Martin, a bottle scotch and someone else’s pick-up truck, but screw the Sox, it’s The Games, after all. USA, USA, USA…
When I lived in China in the 80’s the air was so thick with coal dust everyone was wearing surgical mask. By the Beijing Games the air was even worst, but everyone was now wearing masked because of the armed robbery prices they were charging for simple things like clean water or a little fresh meat that had had even a passing acquaintance with refrigeration; and still Beijing wasn’t as bad as London. Literally, smog the size of charcoal briquettes. It’s all those frigging Dick Van Dyke-like chimney sweeps chim-chim-cheree-ing the soot into the air, I tell ya. And Gordon Ramsey aside, the Brits can’t cook.
Now, I’m not here to be an ugly American, that would redundant. I’m here to talk about The Games. But, I seem to have run out of space. Maybe tomorrow I can answer the bigger questions, like why do all the women’s volleyball teams feel they need to make-out after each and every point, win or lose? I’m not complaining, mind you, Just asking…
You could take a train, but when I tried there were three different rail strikes before we even left the terminal, and don’t get me started on no handicapped access on The Tube or we’ll have Oscar Pistorius bouncing around here complaining that he isn’t allowed to cheat, I mean, compete. Maybe next games he can get Casey Martin to drive him the 400-meters in his golf cart.
You get bonus point if you can get anyone to look up from their newspaper or remove their ipod from their ears as three or five soccer hooligans beat and rape you, but you lose points if anyone spits, or gobs as they so cutely call it, on your shoes.
Just one of the few thoughts that run through my head as I wait… and wait…
Another quick thought: there is nothing wrong with the Red Sox that can be fix by Billy Martin, a bottle scotch and someone else’s pick-up truck, but screw the Sox, it’s The Games, after all. USA, USA, USA…
When I lived in China in the 80’s the air was so thick with coal dust everyone was wearing surgical mask. By the Beijing Games the air was even worst, but everyone was now wearing masked because of the armed robbery prices they were charging for simple things like clean water or a little fresh meat that had had even a passing acquaintance with refrigeration; and still Beijing wasn’t as bad as London. Literally, smog the size of charcoal briquettes. It’s all those frigging Dick Van Dyke-like chimney sweeps chim-chim-cheree-ing the soot into the air, I tell ya. And Gordon Ramsey aside, the Brits can’t cook.
Now, I’m not here to be an ugly American, that would redundant. I’m here to talk about The Games. But, I seem to have run out of space. Maybe tomorrow I can answer the bigger questions, like why do all the women’s volleyball teams feel they need to make-out after each and every point, win or lose? I’m not complaining, mind you, Just asking…
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