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Are you that special person who - weary from trudging the endless superhighways - just longs to camp next to a glorious oasis of the mind? Do you desire to explore new frontiers, splash in shared ideas, fill your belly with the refreshing fruits of inspiration, and bask in the gentle rays of fond reflection?

Well, you can fuck right off. This, my friends, is not that place. This place is... The ShadowLands.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Higher, faster, steroidier, stickerier

The Olympics has gotten Margo's Maid all reminiscent-like and wishing to share with you this true story about the first time she was exposed to the Olympic spirit. Take it away, MM:

While it might not be entirely lady-like to reveal my age to readers, I can divulge that in the year 1976, MM was but an 8-year-old child attending primary school in a small Australian country town.

Our teacher decided that we would learn about the Olympics commencing in Montreal. To complete this task, a large piece of cardboard was assembled, with a range of nations listed down one side. Each child would be able to nominate a nation that they would follow, and be able to place a gold, silver, or bronze star next to the name of the country every time they won the corresponding medal.

When the teacher asked, who would like to follow Australia? - every hand in the class shot up to the sky including mine. Much to my chagrine, the teacher chose three or four of her favoured students to share this task, as it would no doubt require some serious attention.

Those who missed out on Australia, begged the teacher to be given the United States, as even we 8-year-olds recognised the potential for some serious sticker action. Once again, I missed out - dammit, and the task was given to a group of favoured kids to share. Next came Russia, and I missed out again.

With these choices gone, I was not sure what nation to choose, and as the bell sounded, it was a weighing heavily on my mind. That night, I asked my father what nation would be a good choice. It turns out, he had been reading the sports pages of the newspaper, and suggested I choose East Germany. The next day, when I made this choice, my teacher and fellow students were surprised to learn there was such a thing as a German Democratic Republic, and were happy to leave me on my own with my eccentric choice.

And then... Thank you, thank you, thank you Kornelia Ender.
UPDATE: Steroid abuse? Who knew?

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