“Where Titles Become Run-On Sentences, and So Do Slogans Also Become Run-On Sentences.”

Now Playing: “Sway” by Bic Runga

This column is being written before the opening ceremonies of the Athens Olympic games, and therefore I do not know if by the time you read this the games will have been cancelled due to a terrorist attack. I'd say it's about a 50/50 chance. In any event, assuming the athletes are still very much alive, they can continue playing bullshit made-up sports like fencing. The reason interest in the Olympic games is declining is because the events themselves are boring. That's why I've prepared a list of Olympic sports I'd like to see. Because nobody has ever tried that before. Really. Here's what happened:

Positive Drug Test Relay: In this event, the athletes are injected with a wide range of banned substances including anabolic steroids, black tar heroin and NyQuil. The winner of the event is the one who submits the least-tainted urine sample. You think marathon runners consume a lot of Evian water? Just wait until you see these Ironmen (and women) try to flush out their systems. Plus, how totally awesome would it be to have hormonally-imbalanced people urinate in front of a live television audience of billions? Pretty awesome, I'd say.

Speed Pirating: How many times have you attempted to illegally download the latest movie, CD or video game only to find yourself trapped in an endless maze of Warez sites featuring banner ads of women having relations with Labrador Retrievers? Too many! And yet on message boards across the planet (and if you can't trust message boards, what can you believe in?) there are thousands of people posting things like “Yo yo yo peepz I just gots da latest DOOM3!!!!!! 11 any girlz wanna cyber?” How was this Mensa candidate able to illegally download the software when you were not? Clearly he is an Olympic-caliber speed pirate. Somebody ought to give out Da Gollld Medlzzz!!!!!11 for that.

Terrorism Bingo: Oh, sure, you may not think of Bingo as a “sport,” per se, but the threat of terrorism has never been greater. And where there's terrorism, there are people who can make a sport out of identifying different terrorists on a Bingo card. Each time you spot a terrorist who appears on your card, you're one step closer to sweet, sweet victory. Of course, the game could potentially be hampered by the fact that most terrorists look pretty much the same, so you'd get a lot of “No, that's not Muhammed Ben-Ali Al-Mussad Ghubai. It's Uday Al-Hajabi bin Mustafa. His beard is a full 3/8- inch shorter and his turban's a different shade of off-white. What are you, an idiot?”

War Amp Soccer: Soccer is a terrific sport for those looking to combine the hostility of riotous British fans with the satisfactory conclusion of a 0-0 tie. The only problem is the game was obviously not designed for regular non-gimpy human beings with hands. Almost every soccer game since it was invented by the Incas or possibly the Aztecs or possibly Pele has ended with a penalty shot because some fool accidentally let the ball graze his elbow. War Amp soccer will change all that, since the only players will be war veterans with a 3 Purple Heart minimum who lost their arms in the pursuit of our freedom. It'll be so adorable watching them stumble around trying to maintain their balance. For obvious reasons, the goaltender will not be a War Amp. Instead, the part of the goalie will be played by a schizophrenic Blues musician from the 30's named Muddy and his guide dog (also named Muddy).

Dance Club Line-Jumping: Everybody loves dancing, but nobody likes waiting in line to dance (with the exception of line dancers, I suppose). If you've ever tried to get into the hot nightclub to get your groove on, but have been thwarted by a lineup circling around the block because the surly just-got-cut-from-the-football-team bouncers aren't admitting anyone below a 36C-cup, then Dance Club Line-Jumping is the sport for you. Use any technique necessary to get into that club, whether that means slipping the Cro-Magnon bouncer a twenty or pretending you were meeting one of your friends conveniently situated near the front of the line. Take your chances breaking through that velvet rope and running past the coat-check girl, or wear a fake moustache and convince the staff you're a famous celebrity who enjoys wearing fake moustaches. The first person to get into that dance club and find it was empty all along wins the gold medal and a lifetime supply of moustache wax.

Break-Up Roulette: Quote of the Moment: Nobody wants to be the one who dumps their significant other. Occasionally, both parties in a relationship want to break up, but neither one wants to be the one who pulls the plug. So each tries to avoid the other hoping the situation will sort itself out. Take my friend, who's going out with a med student. That means she's soon to be a doctor. “I find her really annoying these days, but I don't want to break up with her,” he told me. “I'm just trying to keep her away from me. That's why every day I bring her an apple.”

Abortion Clinic Bullet Dodging: We live in wonderful times. Think about it: If, God forbid, a woman was raped and became pregnant, or if there was an accident and the condom broke, or she was twelve years old and just wanted to finish junior high school, rather than have her life destroyed and her family torn apart, that woman now has the option of visiting a clinic, paying a small fee, and having the problem taken care of. Kind of like having a wart removed. But these times are even more wonderful than that, my friends. You see, not only does this technology exist, but there are also several friendly individuals who believe this technology is morally reprehensible, because the feti are living human beings just like you and I, and they show their appreciation by shooting at women as they enter and leave the abortion clinic. I assume these individuals feel that the women who use these services are in need of some exercise (which they probably are) and so visiting an abortion clinic in 2004 is, safety-wise, a lot like entering the Matrix. I recommend the blue pill.

Autoerotic Asphyxiation-opoly: You mean to tell me you've never heard of autoerotic asphyxiation? You've never experienced the delight of hanging yourself during sexual activity in order to heighten the pleasure? You didn't know that's how former INXS lead singer Michael Hutchence, and an estimated 3000 negative self-esteem males yearly, lost their lives? If watching naked kids masturbate while dangling naked from a noose made in mom's basement doesn't make for good television, then by golly I'm going to go watch reruns of Frasier instead. The winner (survivor) of this event not only wins the coveted gold medal, but also wins a date with the sexual deviant of their choice. Hopefully she's a necrophiliac.

Synchronized House-Hunting: Thanks to the success of popular “reality” television shows such as “Trading Spaces,” “Trading Spouses,” and “Trouding Spices,” home shows have never been bigger. Unfortunately, none of these shows capture the magic and realism of finding a place to live when you're a college student living thousands of miles away from your college town. In this event, potential roommates attempt to simultaneously secure living accommodations exclusively over the telephone, leading to frustrating conversations like, “No I can't come see the place today, I'm 2000 miles away!” and “What do you mean I need rental references? Does my mom count?” Sure, this may not be the most riveting of the events, but it will certainly be more entertaining than watching homosexuals transform a perfectly decent family's house into a rainforest-themed house. Why would anybody do that?

Bitching Out the New Guy: Finally, a sport where I have a chance. Quit making fun of my columns, Forest. Or, should I say, Kamal bin Uzuria Al-Satr?


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