I was watching woman’s curling in the Winter Olympics. I was amazed for a couple of reasons. First, that I was actually watching this event with the sound off knowing announcers have to do commentary on this event. Two, that some people would argue that these women who look like elementary school librarians in bowling shirts and slacks are athletes. How the fuck do you even get into this sport? All I could think about was how much my girlfriend doesn’t know how to mop. She may think she can mop, but not like these world class bitches. If I dated a curler, I would immediately install hardwood floors in every room and watch this gold medal level mopping every day.
I couldn’t help but imagine how hard it would be as a man to try and pursue a dream of being an Olympic curler while balancing a relationship. What woman would be okay with you leaving the house for hours every day to attend curling practice? Your girl will be cheating on you as you wait on the sidelines of an ice skating rink with a hot cup of coco in your mittens, waiting for the real men who are playing ice hockey to finish. You eventually have to brush shoulders with these muscular giants, as they size you up and are not able to fathom how you could possibly be considered a man in anyone’s eyes. They watch you on the sidelines and crack jokes as you try and remain focused hoping they will be impressed by how accurately you push this big ass puck looking disc down the ice.
As your teammates are scrubbing and the disc is coming to a halt near the bull’s-eye, one of the hockey players hurls a snow ball he has urinated on at your face. I have no idea how he got this snowball or how he managed to keep it in tact, but it’s flying at your face regardless. You hear a roar of laughter just before the scorching yellow snow blasts your face like the bullet that struck Kennedy. You hang your head in shame as spectators point and laugh.
You shake your head in disappointment and storm to the locker room, as urine drips from your chin stinging unbearably due to ingrown hairs from using those cheap disposable BIC razors. As you sit in front of your locker one of the hockey players comes to console you putting his left hand on your shoulder saying, “Hey man, I’m so sorry about this…” Then he blasts you in the face with a vicious right cross knocking out your Invisalign braces, as you fall onto your freshly polished Steve Madden Limited Edition Curling size 5 shoes. What kind of man wears a size five? You wake up 10 minutes later wondering what the hell happened.
You find out the hockey player who punched you was one of the founders of the “Knockout Game”. Your video has gone viral and receives 1 million hits on WorldStarHipHop.com in its first hour. When you finally get home, your wife has emptied your apartment leaving only an expired box of steel cut oats and a disposable vibrating cock ring (which definitely did not belong to you). She changes her relationship status to “single” on Facebook and all your friends inform you that she is now on various dating sites: Match.com, Plenty of Fish, Tinder, Christian Mingle, Black People Meet, and Redbook.
You end up having to take a part time job at Chuck E’ Cheese where you have to be the rat three times a week, eventually getting fired because you don’t know how to play the guitar. You go outside to smoke a cigarette and just as you raise your hand to place your last Virginia Slim in your mouth, the hockey player runs by and blasts you across the jaw again. You go into a coma and are taken to a nearby Kaiser where your family decides to pull the plug. Your mother cries as you wiggle your fingers once more just before flat lining. Had you been a real man and never pursued curling, none of this would have ever happened.
Even after all of this, I still watched it in envy.