Sebastien Wilcox

(Previously on Vancouver 2010.)

Al Yankovic was watching his parents’ black and white TV. The 1976 Winter Games were on and Dorothy Hamill was skating wonderfully. Al was 16, watching this, boner and all. His dad hated figure skating and made no attempt to hide his hatred by saying this is for queers before getting up from the couch, walking all of three steps, and flipping the knob right then and there to another channel.

Hey said Al. Hey what said his dad. I was watching that Al said. You were watching a sissy sport that only sissies watch said his dad. You’re 16 Al, shouldn’t you be out drinking with your firends or vandalising the city or something? Why are you so weird Al? I’m gonna call you Weird Al from now on, what do you say about that, hey Weird Al?

Al didn’t answer. He knew what he liked about figure skating. It was the figure part of figure skating. Namely Dorothy Hammil’s figure and that tiny little dress of hers flapping teasingly in the wind. And if watching this made Al feel wired, especially down there, so be it.

That night, as Al closed his eyes and dreamt of double axils and single fannies, he promised himself he would not rest until he had a ring around Dorothy Hammil’s finger. Or at least a parody of Dorothy Hammil’s finger.

The moral of this post? Apparently Mr. Yankovic was right. Al was weird.