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Sunday, February 28, 2010

An Open Letter to the Ofuckinglympics

Dear Ofuckinglympics:

Why you go away?

It makes me sad.

I want you to stay here.

I like you.

I hate sports-- but, I like you.

You make me a very, very happy Apron.

You have increased couch snuggling time with Mrs. Apron exponentially and, for that, I thank you. Thank you for keeping the cauldron of eternal snuggle burning brightly, you with your rings and your perfectly coiffed commentators.

Bob Costas, you have an errant rod up your asshole, but you're a pretty cool guy-- because your appearance on my television heralds the Ofuckinglympcs, and that's nice for me.

I have gained a few pounds over the course of the last sixteen days, and there is no salsa left in the house, but that is to be expected: it's the Ofuckinglympics, y'alls, and what better way is there to celebrate the absolute epoc of fitness than by consuming copious amounts of sodium and sugar whilst beached on an Ikea couch?

God, I'm going to miss all of this shit when that flame is extinguished tonight.

Please, come back soon, Ofuckinglympics. I'd make a Johnny Weir joke at this point, but it's already been done.

It's all been done.

Yours Faithfully,
Mr. Apron


  1. Why have regular salsa?? Mix one big jar of salsa, with one taco seasoning packet, a bunch of shredded cheese, shredded chicken- bake. DELICIOUS.

  2. Sodium and sugar on la sofa.

    What's better?

  3. I imagine this is what a mild case of post-partum depression might feel like.

    PS - I plan to watch Dancing with the Stars just to have more Evan Lysacek in my life. I hate Dancing with the Stars.

  4. I recently heard that most people dislike Bob Costas, and this shocked me. I can't get enough of his tweed coats and pocket squares.

    I'm with ya; I miss the Olympics already. 10 p.m. bedtime resumes.


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