It has been several weeks since I offered my services to Team GB, and I am most disgruntled and surprised not to have heard from them as yet. After all, it’s not every woman who can get four loads of washing done, change several shitty nappies, clean the bath, give my ungrateful husband a blow job AND drink one and a half bottles of Sauvignon Blanc before the lunchtime news. Should I write again? I fear that if I’m not there to help, we might not fare so well in the Olympics.
I’m not sure why anyone from Britain bothers with the Olympics. Everyone knows it’s just like a big rubbish sports day for grown-ups, and the UK is the spotty bespectacled loser who trips up half way through the sack race, lands on his face in the mud then sharts in his pants front of the whole school. As a country, we have to get used to the idea that we’re not cut out for sports, we’ll never get picked for the netball team, and everyone else will point and laugh at our tiny bald willy in the showers after football. My teacher says that winning doesn’t matter, and it’s the taking part that counts, but that’s not much consolation when you’re hastily scrubbing human excrement from your legs and the inside of a ripped potato sack while several children are busily uploading footage of it to youtube.
Hope that helps!