Who are the People in Your Neighborhood?

There’s this meme going around, where you’re supposed to describe yourself by answering simple questions.

I don’t know who started it.   But the first I heard of it was from Steph.   Then Monika.

Of course, I couldn’t leave well enough alone.   I had to make my own version:

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I am:      Olaf the ThunderFröck, son of AelFrùd the Horrible.
I think:   It’s time to invade England.
I know:  Those Englishmen have a stash of booty hidden in their church, somewhere.
I have:   A broad-sword, and a battle-axe.  (Who among you, shall challenge me ?)
I hate:   Englishmen
I love:   Thumping and pummeling Englishmen.
I miss:  The Vinland
I fear:    (???)  I don’t understand.   What’s this word mean?
I hear:   The battle cries!….HNYARGGH!  Excuse me.  I must go burn and pillage now.

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I am:      Caillou, that whiny little cartoon character.
I think:    I’m an accident.
I know:   Mommy has a drinking problem, and Daddy’s been having an affair with the social worker.
I have:    A remarkably spherical head.
I miss:    Riding the Little School Bus with my Special-Ed classmates.
I hate: Making boom-boom in my Pull-Ups (like I just did now).
I love: Sippy cups, cheerios stuck up my nose, and cartoon characters even more obnoxious than me.
I fear: My lack of hair.   (Why am I bald?  Is it chemo?  Am I going to die?)
I hear: Mom and Dad arguing in the next room, over who gets stuck with me in the custody battle.

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I am: Tippy, a hyper-active Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever.
I think: I’d like to retrieve a BALL right now.
I know: There must be a BALL stashed around the house somewhere.
I have: A nose that can detect the odor of a rubber BALL, to within one part per billion.
I miss: When nobody is around to play with me and throw the BALL.
I hate: Cats, vacuum cleaners, and fireworks.
I love:   Swimming, and retrieving.  (Did I tell you I like to retrieve?)
I fear:    I have lost the BALL.  Wherezit?  Where?  Where?  OMG!  I must FIND IT FIND IT FIND IT.
I hear:   My masters’ car, ten miles away.  He’ll be here soon.  Maybe he’ll throw the BALL.  YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP!

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I am:       Old Man McGillicuddy, the cranky old guy down the street. (That’s MISTER McGillicuddy, to you!)
I think:    Today’s young folks have it easy.  Not like WE had it, back in our day….
I know:   That I’m smarter than all you young folks think you are. .
I have: Way too much time on my hands.
I miss: MattLock.  Big Band Music.   Getting it up.
I hate:    Today’s music.  Today’s values.  Those damned kids who won’t stay off my manicured grass.
I love:    Hosing down my driveway.  Old-man hats.  Werther Originals.  Canary-colored golf pants.
I fear:     ATM’s.   Anything electronic.  And especially, driving more than 30 mph.
I hear:    Eh?   What’s that?  EH?

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I am:      Chinese Olympic Medalist.
I think: I better just do what I’m told
I know:   I would be in the salt mines, right now, if I hadn’t have won.
I have:    A gold medal.  Anything less would be unacceptable.
I miss:    My family.  But they promise I can see them again, now that I’ve won.
I hate:    Failure.   Like getting Silver, and being second-best in the world.
I love:     My country and winning and representing China (at least, that’s what I tell them).
I fear:     My coach.
I hear:    They’re looking for gymnastics coaches in the U.S.

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I am:      A Canadian Olympic discus thrower.
I think: I should just enjoy this while it lasts.
I know:  Nobody will remember me, after this is all over.
I have:   A positive attitude.  After all, isn’t the Olympics about doing your best and having fun? (I keep telling myself this).
I miss:    Tim Horton’s.
I hate:    Coming in 38th.   (Last Olympics, I made it at least as far as 36th).
I love:    Being able to get away from the crummy summer we’re having in Canada, and experiencing some warm weather for a change.
I fear:     That if talk too loudly about wanting to win, my fellow Canadians will scold me and accuse me of flag-waving.
I hear:    They’re hiring at Tim Horton’s.

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I am:      Fallopia Moonchild
I think:   Like, if we would just stop judging everyone, and accept each other’s energies and karma,  the world would be a better place, you know?
I know:  That the Republicans are large corporations are conspiring together to create global warming, to cause the extinction of the whales.
I have:   Multiple tattoos and face piercings.   And lots of free time on my hands.  (Even more than Old Man McGillicuddy).
I hate:    Stereotypes, racism, and negativity.   And also spiders in the bathtub.
I love:    All of humanity.   The vibrations of the Universe.  And granola.  Sweet crunchy granola.
I miss:   The sixties. (Too bad I was born in ’82).
I fear:    Having to shave my legs, and getting a job.
I hear:   The sound of my own inner drummer, beating to the pulse of Mother Earth.

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I am:      The Friar:  full-time engineer, part time smart-ass (or is it the other way around?)
I think:   I’m hungry.   When do we eat?
I know:   Shit floats,  you can’t push a rope, and water flows downhill.  Aside from that…not much else.
I have:    An attitude problem. (Seriously…someone ought to give me a good talking to.)
I miss:    Playground swing-sets before they got all fucked up and were made too “safe”.
I hate:    Lima beans.   Asshole squirrels.  And the Berenstain Bears.
I love: Red meat.  Southpark.  Large-mouth bass.   And making hamburger out of sacred cows.
I fear:    Evil Cirque de Soleil clowns (Shudder).

Friar’s Random Olympic Thoughts

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If there were aliens observing us, they’d find this whole Olympic thing pretty funny.

I could just imagine their report:

“Every fourth orbit around the sun, the hairless apes on the Third Planet put great emphasis on which fellow primate can move between point A and B the fastest, or who can throw an object the furthest.

Great excitement is displayed over the dominant ape who wins:  these are awarded shiny round pieces of colored metal.”

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The only sports that are truly fair are the ones that you can measure with a stopwatch or tape measure.

When humans are used to judge a score to within five significant figures, I’m sorry, that’s just bullshit.

Come on!   Can you HONESTLY tell me the gymnast with a 16.550 was better than the one who had 16.540?

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They have the biathalon, triathalon, pentathalon, heptathalon, and decathalon.

So that takes care of numbers 2, 3, 5, 7 and 10.

But what about 4, 6, 8 and 9?

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So apparently those munchkin female Chinese gymnasts are all sixteen.

Of course they are.

I know this because the Chinese government tells me so.

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My brother-in-law once said:  it would save a lot of time by scheduling all the running events in one big race.

All the athletes would line up and start at once.

They’d just finish at different times, that’s all.

Hard to argue with that, actually.

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What if Michael Phelps won seven gold medals instead of eight?

The whole planet would be heartbroken for him.

But what about the poor bastard from Upper Dorkistan who didn’t even qualify, who came in Dead Freaking Last?

Nobody cares about the DFL guy.

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Why would I want to watch Womens’ Olympic Softball, when I could watch Mens’ Olympic Baseball?

Why would I watch Mens’ Olympic Baseball, when I could watch the Major League Baseball?

Actually, why would I watch Major League Baseball, when the Olympics are on TV?

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The marathon is said to be the toughest event of the Olympics.

These athletes run a grueling 26 miles in just over two hours.

Compare this to the pistol shooter, who just stands there, firing bullets.

Yet the winners in each sport get the SAME gold medal.

(Boy…THAT seems fair.)

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Candy-Ass Olympic Sports that I think should be banned:

- Pistol shooting (see above).

- Softball (see above).

- Synchronized anything.

- Any equestrian event where they wear a top hat.

- Rhythmic Gymnastics. (C’mon…dancing with a ball and ribbon doesn’t fool me!  You just didn’t make the REAL gymnastics team, did you?)

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Coming back to the poor bastard who came in DFL.

All those years of training and sacrifice…for what?

If he had just stayed home and done NOTHING except watch Oprah and eat bon-bons…

…he’d have accomplished the same thing.

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Boobs + Gymnastics = Mutually Incompatible.

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If it weren’t for the bathing suits,

I couldn’t tell the difference between male and female swimmers.

I really couldn’t.

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Some countries can be really harsh with their athletes.

Like if you come in second, you’re a national disgrace and they send you and your family to the salt mines.

In Canada, it’s different.

Heck, we’re thrilled if the athlete has enough bus fare and makes it to the stadium.

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There shouldn’t be weight categories in boxing.   You’re either the best fighter, or you aren’t.

The only real winner, I think, is the Super-Heavyweight champion.

Because he can pummel not just everyone in his own weight category, but probably everyone below him too.

Midget and flyweight boxers.  Huh.

Sorry.   I just can’t get excited.

Not unless they can beat the Super-Heavyweight guy.

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Sailing as an Olympics sport.

With about seventy different boat categories.

Yeah, right.

Why not hot-air ballooning, while we’re at it?

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If the Touchy-Feely Barbie-Bloggers ran the Olympics,   every athlete would be a winner, just for being a source of inspiration to us all.

There would be no Gold, Silver, or Bronze.  We’d just give out hugs.

Then we’d write about it, and weep tears of joy and gratitude as we did so.