The Smurf Olympic Village

I saw some article online the other day that mentioned that during the games of the XXX Olympiad anyone could walk up to where the Irish Olympic team was staying in the Olympic village, pay $20, stroll by the bouncer, and drink as much as humanly possible while hanging out with Irish athletes. And that sounds like a deal to me. I wouldn't be able to comprehend a word that the Irish athletes were saying (Irish folks might as well be speaking Farsi, as far as I'm concerned), but that's okay. Imagine doing endless car bombs with folks who've set off actual car bombs. Awesome.

Speaking of the Olympic village, I've always pictured it in my mind as the Smurf village. You know, every four years Papa, Brainy, Vanity, and Sporty would have to share quarters with the likes of Carl Lewis, Rafer Johnson, and the Swedish volleyball babes. Can't you imagine how fretful poor Brainy would be over the whole thing? He'd be nervous. Jittery. In a panic. And rightfully so, as you gotta think that every smarmy Eastern European wrestler would make a drunken run at nailing Smurfette. The Smurf doctors would have to pump gallons of penicillin into Smurfette for months on end at the conclusion of each Olympiad. And how would Gargamel react to all the world-class athletes on hand? I'd think Azreal would be more worthless than usual when trying to pry a Smurf away from the village with Mike Phelps hanging around. The whole idea of Olympians crashing the smurf village every four years is exciting, isn't it? It's the kind of thing I think about endlessly.

I saw a bit of news in the presidential sweepstakes recently. Turns out that that rather loathsome Mormon, one Willard Mitt Romney, did something right. Hell, you could argue he did something revolutionary. Willard picked the best person possible for Vice President. Some Irish kid out of Wisconsin (name of Ryan, I believe). Of course the pick will undoubtedly doom Willard. Why? Because if Willard picks someone with views extremely similar to mine on taxes, entitlements, and the budget, the typical US voter, the folks I think we can charitably label the refuse of Western Civilization, will never go for it. It's a kind of catch-22. On one hand, Romney made the best choice of his life. On the other hand, the pick probably sealed his fate to the ash heap of history. If there's one thing we know it's that voters don't want to be told the truth about anything. They especially don't want serious ideas that would address these ugly truths. And that's what this Ryan kid does. What will inevitably happen is that Romney will lose (maybe even lose badly), Ryan will become a folk hero to about a third of Americans (most of the folks worshipping Ryan will be clueless dolts by the way, he'll never be able to get away from the clueless dolts in the T Party after this), and Barry will be a lame duck minutes after the election is over. Fun days indeed. I can hardly wait.

Speaking of Paul Ryan, I think it is worth mentioning to readers of this blog, a vast majority of whom are under 45 years old, that this is the first time one of our very own members of Generation X (folks born between 1965 and 1980) will be on a presidential ticket. I'm guessing Ryan's innate distrust of government, much like a vast majority of Xers, including yours truly, stems from all the lies propagated during our formative years. Our parents lied to us about their marriage vows. The schools lied to us about our own history. The government lied to us about AIDS, Social Security, and the idea that we'd be better off than the Boomers. All lies. Lies, lies, lies. Many of us assume that everything every person involved with government on every level tells us is a lie. Granted, I take it to the extreme and have always assumed everything that any person alive has ever told me is a lie. Ryan's obviously coped with these lies much better than I have. He's actually trying to do something to change it all. And I admire that. The problem is the kid will ultimately fail. And be vilified in the process by the likes of Barack Hussein Obama and his minions of liberal hacks.

I did make it out recently to see the new Batman. I was a little trepidatious that the theater was gonna be shot up by a disgruntled Obama supporter. But thankfully that didn't happen. After I waltzed up to the ticket counter, said "One for the Christian Bale," plunked down my $7, walked to my seat, sat through 10 previews for movies I will never see, the film finally started. Luckily, no one was sitting nearby (it was a 4:20 showing), because I started laughing almost from the get go. The plot, such as it was, was preposterous. Which I expected. I was okay with that. I still laughed though. And then there was this Bane character. He sounded like an effeminate Sean Connery. And I laughed and laughed at that. About 2 and half hours passed. Batman saves Gotham (shocking!). Then supposedly spends the rest of his life hanging out in European cafes with Anne Hathaway. Silly. It's worth your 7 bucks though. It passes the time on a Monday afternoon.