I don’t care if my daughter was faster than Speedy Gonzales. I don’t care if she was 35 years old. I wouldn’t let her compete in the Olympics. There’s too many male athletes there with raging inner-guy things going on, and they’re only a thin wall or two from lovely lady athletes.
The IOC issues more than 50 condoms to every male athlete, which means that’s about three a day for sixteen days. Sure these athletes should be working out, but I was thinking more along the lines of athletics.
Fifty condoms in the wallets of muscle-bound male volleyball players and kayakers and marathon swimmers. There’s no way I’d let my daughter go.
In many instances, the athletes arrive several days before his event, perform (I guess in more ways than one), and then head home. So if he’s there for only eight days, that’s more than six condoms a day.
And what would he do if didn’t use all fifty condoms? Put them on his mantel back home, of course. Then he could proudly show friends and family his bronze metal, his Chinese bathrobe, and his 37 condoms he didn’t get to use because he wasn’t there long enough.
“The Olympics were a wonderful time for me,” he’d say dreamily.
I wouldn’t let my daughter within 100 miles of an Olympic Village.