That isn't funny, at all

Skiing is Hard to Spell

The Winter Olympics are on TV. I readied myself to shield the boy’s eyes from the mangled-body carnage of the ski crashes which I was sure we would see. Fortunately, it was just speed skating, and while I enjoyed the women’s asses skating around in circles, and was tempted to go fetch my dusty ice skates from closet’s clutter to give chase to the lovely spandex-wrapped asses, after learning that they were all the way over in Russia, I quickly lost interest.

My thoughts returned to skiing. I haven’t been since I was a boy. My parents decided to adopt the sport, but only casually. I tagged along in wary reluctance. It took hours, it seemed, to figure out all the complicated gear, boots, and finger-pinching bindings. Why was there no helmet, like on tv? It seemed a very dangerous idea.

My parents had left for the intermediate trail. There was a beginner area, a very slight slope covered in treacherous ice. I was already regretting the decision. A skiing class was being held on the far side of the beginner’s bunny hill. I braced myself against a fence, holding on tightly as I watched.

The instructor helped one woman to steady herself as she wobbled like a newborn fawn. Finally, he encouraged her to go, releasing his hold. She was skiing, just that easily, and she continued skiing, all the way down the bunny hill. At the end of the hill, she kept on skiing, through a thin fence, and across the parking lot, stopping only when she hit a parked car, screaming all the way. Her thick ski suit saved her from serious injury. Another woman, who was supposed to go next, vomited on the instructor in nervous fear. Everyone else nearly did too. I continued to hold onto the fence, plotting a strategy for returning to the safety of the lodge, as the bunny hill closed for clean up.

I passed the ski lift as I trudged back to the lodge. Two boys, posed precariously with their asses sticking out, waited for the chair to come around the bend and catch them. It didn't. Instead it hit them, hard, knocking both over. They slid slowly down into the ravine. Amidst the blowing snow, it was difficult to hear their screams as they trailed off, never to be seen again.

Who invented this madness? Surely, they'd wished our demise. Besides, skiing is just too hard to spell.