Sebastien Wilcox

(Previously on Vancouver 2010.)

I wake up near the fornt door. The bump on my head is pretty high, putting me over the six foot mark. I see stars and birds but I don’t see any Tonyas or Hardings. What happened to her? Why did she hit me with that black pipe? Is this still 2002?

I look over at the TV which is still on. The broadcasters are talking about Salt Lake, so being the problem solver that I am, I conclude that this was indeed 2002.

I thought I heard the doorbell ring but then figured it was my head that was ringing and not the doorbell. That kind of stuff happens when Tonya Harding hits you over the head with a black pipe. Then I thought I heard a knock at the door, but again, it was my head playing knock knock tricks on me. Then I heard another knock at the door and I said ouch my head, but then I heard the knock again, more pronounced and more manly. I looked through the peephole.

That’s when I woke up. Ouch my head, I thought. But this time, it was real. Tonya Harding was lying next to me smoking a cigarette. Weird Al Yankovic was next to her cutting his painted toenails in the shapes of little aboriginal teepees.

I closed my eyes, hoping it would go away. And when I opened them, it did – it went away.

Guess the flashes had come back.

The moral of this post? I thank God I haven’t seen any flashes of Oprah. Yet.