At least my little bastard hasn't asked me to rescue one of Havenot's 90,000 feral pussies.
Even yesterday, while having lunch with a close friend and recent breast cancer survivor, I looked up to see a sock draped off a painting in the living room. My living room. The sad thing was – upon closer inspection – it was my sock. My lovely friend "from away" was already using a tea towel as a napkin, eating my U Weight Week 2 high-protein, low-fun diet food, and shoving the dog away from her plate – but compared to all the shit going on in the world, none of that really seemed to matter. My friend was alive and beautiful, and life is good.
But the Olympics are really starting to piss me off.
I already envision curling up in bed February 15th with the dog, the flicker, and a heart-shaped box of chocolates I picked up half price – only to have The Mentalist pre-empted by bobsledding. Or worse – curling. Call me a curmudgeon, but until that Canada vs Russia hockey final airs, I am tuning out. Besides, if I catch one glimpse of Stephen fucking Harper all beady eyed, wearing a ridiculous looking fur hat, fresh out of the closet in his slopeside Whistler condo, I'll vomit. And nobody wants that.
Give me the Special Olympics any day. No egos. No steroid use. No pomp. And everyone is a winner. Now that's worth watching.
The Annual Special Olympics Dinner is Wednesday, January 27th at Pier 21. Forget that it's a fantastic cause – go on the off chance that guest speaker, Olympic paddler Adam Van Koeverden might get all liquored up and take his shirt off.
The evening Auction and Dinner is the organization's largest fundraiser, with all of the monies raised going toward the athletes and their programs. The committee is looking for auction items, and a really special turnout. To purchase tickets, click on Adam's multiple 6-packs over to the right.
To donate cars, golf clubs, boats and things, email Chris Nolan at firstname.lastname@example.org.
(No cats – feral, adorable, or horny as hell, will be accepted.)