Sarah Hughes just won the gold medal in figure skating in illustrious fashion, inspiring all of us here at the ol’ Free Press enough so that we’re going to go out and buy periwinkle-sequined dresses tomorrow. And then we’re going to start our own unifying athletic event.
We shall call it the Bulympics, and the masses shall rejoice.
Once we get our sporting mojo going, we’ll excel in games like T dodging, sandwich line cutting and Warren Towers freshman sex interrupting. We won gold last year with a superb artistic performance entitled “Put Your Damn Pants On, Leroy.”
Another event we’d excel in is the eating contest. We’ve been taking lessons from Glutton Bowl Champion Takeru Kobayashi, stuffing our faces with cow brains and hot dogs. We can devour a 24-inch sheet cake in the time it takes for Aunt Betty to call and reserve spots for us in fat camp.
But the games aren’t the real attraction. The main reason for holding the games is to unite a diverse group of people. We could draw athletes from as far away as Commack, Long Island. Getting competitors from the apparent center of the universe isn’t so bad, eh?
Plus, our opening ceremony would be incredible. We’d hire magicians David Copperfield and Harry Blackstone, and the entire audience could take part in a mass-levitation — just like E.T., except our bikes don’t have those dorky baskets and Drew Barrymore won’t be there to screw it up.
Instead of Drew, we might be able to get sultry singer Jessica Simpson to open the games. Then we might get a chance to engage our torpedo system — and blow her up.
Let the games begin!
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