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.
