Put a Condom on my Olympics – Sochi Edition

What has sweaty athletes, Russian hookers, and all the condoms you can unroll?

Um … your local gym?

Maybe if you’re local gym is in … Sochi!

I’m talking (well, writing) about the Winter Olympics.

And there’s a lot to talk (well, write) about.

First of all, there’s an Olympic Village that can’t wait to tear it up.

Tear what up? Why, condom wrappers—what else?

We’re told they’re distributing 100,000 free condoms to the athletes, in order that no hook-up shall go unprotected.

And hopefully, they won’t come unprotected, either.

Interestingly, 100,000 is a lot less than the number they brought in for the London Olympics a couple years ago … so what gives there?

Think it could be that some of the athletes are still worn out from last time?

I doubt it. If you can stick a landing, you can stick a … competitor or a teammate.

Perhaps the explanation is more diabolical: consider the possibility of a plot to breed more Olympians. You have to admit, the quality of the genetic pool is high.

Or maybe, with gay sex being discouraged by the Russians, they figured they weren’t going to need as many wanker wraps this time.

But something tells me that won’t slow them down much.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

And the heart is naughty.

So what happens when they burn through the supply?

(That won’t really happen, will it? I mean, I know latex is highly combustible, but …)

If there was a condom fire, I wouldn’t be using the Sochi water to put it out. I mean, forget about drinking … the water there’s not even safe for washing.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that unprotected sex can catch you a disease … which could make your dick fall off … the athletes have to worry about the toxic waste tap water water doing the job, too.

What every man, woman, and child over there needs, is … with apologies to Leslie Nielson and company in The Naked Gun … a body condom.

“I want you to know … I practice safe sex.”

(Every athlete knows, practice makes perfect.)

So they have to have the condoms, since the poor guys and gals can’t even wash it off (or out) with the Sochi water. 

All they can do is air dry, and let gravity drain the cavity.

Unless someone brought some Wet Wipes.

Which, I guess is why they call them wet wipes.

Or, did someone order a Vodka douche?

No, that’s not a drink.

Well, it didn’t used to be.

Actually, the more I think about it, the more I think we should think up some other options.

And one such option is … well, just how tight is the weave on their competition outfits?

If they’re fluid-proof, maybe we can just encourage them to leave their uniforms on while they intercourse.

That stretchy material would probably offer a lot of energy for booty bouncing.

Of course, that would leave them to compete looking like Monica Lewinsky after a 1990’s White House pizza delivery (come now … stains happen).

Or me, after I dump my breakfast yogurt in my lap.

Regardless, I guess none of that’s really our problem … but I do have a few partying (parting?) thoughts.

Like, what’s with bobsleds?

I never see any helmets bobbing up and down in those things … which makes me question the accuracy of their naming stuff.

And also … must the women’s figure skaters always wear bottoms?

With all that flexibility, I feel like we’re not getting to see the hole show.

And since the male figure skaters are gay … who’s stretching out the women before they compete?

Are they looking for volunteers?

Was it a snub that I wasn’t asked?

They must have forgot to call me.

-Harlowe Pilgrim

PS. I’m not trying to Russia, but hurry the Hell up in there, comrade.

Copyright 2014 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC

This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2014.

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