An Olympic Statement.
Hello Great Britain !
A thousand greetings from Rio ! Thank you so
much for coming.
That’s Rio ‘Burger Bar
and Southern Kitchen’, Dudley , of course, as I
and many of my teammates are currently barred from competing in the Olympics.
Please could I ask
those of you eating fast food to move to the back? The smell of your Scampi Flavour
Fries and your deep fried Jalapeno nibbles, they make me want to puke all over
your tattooed breasts, arms, backs and especially your shaven, lice ridden
heads.
Let’s have a great big
United Kingdom
round of applause for my sponsors, ‘Sports Direct’, who have provided me with
their exclusive ‘Body Armour Small Cup’ sports bra today, available at a price
busting £7.99. Busting? That is just my
little joke. They are protecting my own bustings, no? And at that price, they
are also bostin, are they not, my West Midland
friends?
I am honoured to be
part of the opening ceremony of the Dudley and Stourbridge first Olympiad,
taking place in the sumptuous setting of Glumeadows children’s play area and
boating pond. I am told that the noxious smell is from the nearby glue factory
and will clear in time for the first competitive event, the three legged egg
and spoon time trial, an event that many of my fellow athletes from the
Motherland will be competing once they have finished pissing into those little
jars.
Before I open these
games by lighting the grubby candle that Timmy has given me, I wish to make a
statement.
I would like to
announce my engagement to tennis champion and Olympic gold medallist Andy
Murray. I would like to do this, but it turns out that the stupid fool has
already married another woman, some nobody called Kim Singeminger or something.
Well I certainly hope she doesn’t get bitten by a mosquito over there in Brazil
and become covered in suppurating sores all over her belly, thighs and chest.
When I texted my
proposal to him, he ignored it at first but, after pestering him several times,
he replied that he did not want to become involved with a person from a country
rife with corruption and state sponsored doping. What cheek. I, Shazagruntova,
owner of the best lungs on the circuit, the most powerful grunt on the tour.
Would I not be able to enhance his bedroom experience and bear him many
children?
But no, he was not
interested, too busy it seems poncing round with his country’s flag to spare
the time to erect a pole of his own and stick it in me.
Well it is his loss. I
have many suitors. Many of our own athletes are just as manly and with even
more testosterone. I know this because our doctors give them the daily
injections. They are always ready for the love making and can sustain their
prowess fifty times longer than you, Mr Murray. When they are not smashed out
of their skulls.
And, of course, they
are over here where I may have my pick of them, not in some sweaty mosquito
ridden swamp, avoiding death and disease like you. You think we care, in the
Motherland, that we are banned from your games? You think it is coincidence
that on the day the so called state doping scandal breaks, you find your games
infested with the zika mosquito?
I will go further. Our
sports scientists have worked hard to bring some enhanced eventing to Rio
2016. Try, for example, beach zika ball,
zika marksmanship, canoe zika sprint or my personal favourite synchronised
diving into the zika pool. Yes, that little elf gnome Rory was right to stay
away from South America with his golfing
sticks, my friends.
So, enough. I declare
these games open. But mothers and children? Stay away from that boating lake.
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