Until yesterday I had not watched a single minute of this year's Winter Olympics. Not having a TV and a sofa to flop down on helps, if I should need that kind of help. But I don't. I have worked with the IOC and I know its shtick ("We're a peace movement, Michael"). When it's not the Vatican, it's a drug cartel. When it's not that, it's running an art fair. When it's not that, a martinet, when it's not that, it's asking that you come not as your country but as your country's own olympic committee, and if your athletes should reach the podium, then we will play not your national anthem but, in the case of Russia, Tchaikovsky, or in the case of the U.S., what? -- something of the athlete's choosing, no doubt. Yet another instance of individual agency (in its symbolic form) brought to you by our ostensibly empowering platforms -- the Church of Facebook, the Confessional that is Twitter (Byung Chul-Han) -- crackhouses all of them, the crack of course being dopamine.
Tell us something we don't know, Michael.
Okay, since you've read your Flaubert: I am Valieva! And we need to expand the podium. Not for my 4th place finish, but for those who place 5th, 6th, 7th, etc. I am not leaving this whipping post until everyone gets their piece.
We're not a piece movement, Michael; we believe only in so much room.
Since bronze is made from copper and tin, I suggest that what was once a bronze medal becomes a copper medal, followed by zinc (4th), tin (5th), liquid mercury (6th) ...
Michael, you've been drinking again.
Not drinking you pederastic gaslighting panderer! I'm a fifteen year old whose body was bought, drugged and shipped here by the oligarchs -- for you to market! Plus I saw what booze did to my babushka, my people, and if you think I'm going to sit here and take it, then --
No comments:
Post a Comment