Open Letter To Uptight Olympics Watchers

by Ron R. Clark


These Beijing Olympics have been largely fantastic - somehow living up to the Herculean hype the ever-eager 24-7-365.24 sportertainment media juggernaut has been churning out since last Thanksgiving. Amidst the all heroic feats, nail-biting finishes, graceful athleticism, and record-shattering performances however, one annoying inconsequential question emerged and re-emerged like a cigarette butt in the urinal of spectacle against the piss-stream of excellence: "Why do those beach volleyball women wear those skimpy outfits?"

No matter how many times the players themselves answered that question, the puritanical Priscillas of Middle America simply couldn't accept it. The reason: the beach volleyballers felt the need to remain tactful and above the fray, leaving out the obvious-yet-unsavory details which completed their perfectly understandable explanation. I, however, feel no such compucture. Heh heh.

The beach volleyball ladies stated they actually CHOSE the bikini outfits which raise the ire of right-thinking America and johnsons of younger males since the outfits in question were the most comfortable uniforms the Olympic committee offered, all things considered. Those things under consideration they didn't detail for you: freedom of motion and sand control.

Freedom of motion should be understandable to anybody who watches the sport - there is a lot of ducking, dodging, dipping, diving and dodging done in reflexive reaction to the ball's trajectory. Loose clothing allows the potential of interfering with such quick motion - not to mention terrifically unfortunate bunching after hard slides.

In all honesty, the most effective clothing for such a demanding endeavor would be a temporary tattoo and sunglasses - the second-skin Lycra bikini uniforms the beach-ballers champion offer such freedom of motion, as well as elements that butt-nekkidness fails to address such as security of the bouncier body parts and that all-important feature of sand control.

For those of you who don't remember 10th grade Health class, the female anatomy features an orifice at the leg-joining region lined with mucous membranes. Any decent top-speed dive onto a
sandy beach presents an opportunity for said sand to slide up into the previously described orifice, to which I will herein refer as the "hoo-ha". Loose-fitting clothes leave the hoo-ha vulnerable to a sandy intrusion - a discomfort which would undoubtedly affect quality of any female athlete's play.

Try this experiment - bend backwards while a friend sprinkles half a tablespoon of sand down your nose. If you are fortunate, you'll right yourself before sneezing your lungs out to the point where snot flows from your face holes like waters at the Bellagio fountain. The nose, like the hoo-ha, is an orifice lined with mucous membranes - see? Discomfort. Unlike with the nose, however, there is no expedient, modest, or socially acceptable method of ridding the hoo-ha of such a sandy intrusion - hopping around like a possessed frog with jock itch would only exacerbate the problem, not to mention negatively affect physical readiness to pursue the volleyball.

So now that the reason for the bikinis is all spelled out for you Aunt Mabel, this mystery should be put to bed. No need thanking me - I live to serve. Perhaps we can redirect our inquisitive energies to ask the Olympic Committee this more pertinent question: Why in Apollo's arsehole do the Olympics need two different forms of volleyball in the first place?

How Does MC GMC Sound?

by Frizzy Padizzy, Chief MC

Damn, this music business is one tough bitch! I thought my crew had everything you need to make it all up in here, but the label won't even take our agent's calls anymore.

Shit, man... we had it all. We followed the formula every step of the way. We got us a so-'hood band name - I mean who questions that a group called Nevalernd 2 Cpel got street cred? Sure, we're actually from Hartford Connecticut, but that's only about 100 miles or so from New York City, so calling it anything else is just semantics. We got the scratchers, we got the MC's and we got the thugs in hoodies shouting "Unh!" and "Yeah!" in the back just like all the other successful bands. We write tight rhymes mentioning lots of brand-name merchandise, drinking all night long and tappin' ass, which when paired with our thumpin' bass and studio-mixed sound effects should keep the booties shakin' 'til the bars close. Problem is, nobody plays us.

I can't say NOBODY plays us - according to the marketing director at our former label, we were pretty big with 13-year-old white boys in Indiana who want other crackers to think they're dangerous - but that ain't quite the demographic the label looks to tap into. For the life of me, I can't figure out how we fell where others thrived. A lot of wiseasses crack that "talent" might have something to do with it, but that's bullshit. One listen to our album NiggaFresh Air Supply proves that we have just as much talent as that punk-ass "Apple Bottom Jeanseanseans" bastard if not ten times more.

Maybe the market is just too crowded and the suits are picking the players to stay in the game based on who's easiest to push around. That would mean we have some integrity, which is nice I guess, but if integrity means I have to go out and get a real job, I don't want no fuckin' integrity! I want to keep playing marignally acceptible music for mass consumption which keeps me hip-deep in easy cash and easier poontang.

Hmm... let's rethink this thing. What are our strengths? We sell well to crackers who want to look "real", we're great at stretching the definition of "rhyme" to stay within simplistic rhythm patterns, and we have a lot of experience writing songs about brand-name apparel, drinking, and our affinity for the use of loose women...

Yo - damn! That's it, boys! Y'all get your asses some big gay-ass hats and nut-scrunchingly tight blue jeans... we're going country!