Sebastien Wilcox

(Previously on Vancouver 2010.)

The year 2058 seems to be a banner year for the Winter Olympics. From hell, we hear the cheerin’ and the jeerin’ of Icelandic fans, hootin’ and hollerin’ and not puttin’ any effort whatsoever at bein’ grammatically correct on how they’re talkin’.

Weird Al and I are less obsessed about the Olympics, as we only get to hear them on the radio. Wherever we walk, I not only hear the Icelandic version of the Olympic Games, but I also hear and see Weird Al videos and songs. I’m talking everywhere. Or, as the Icelandic people would say, I’m talkin’ everywhere.

I won’t subject you to any more, for that would be cruel. But let me just say that hell is long from being aurally pleasurable. And I’m not talking about the lack of Weird Al going down on me. And visually, that’s just not right, either. Nothing with Weird Al ever is.

So Weird Al and I are walking in our high heels (don’t ask, we’re in hell). We’re getting closer and closer to the skater on the ice. When we get to a dozen burning flames away, both our jaws drop. It’s Tonya Harding! And she’s struggling hard on her skates. She sees us. She stares us down. Then she lifts her left hand, high in the air – like I’ve seen Weird Al do so many times here in hell. She points to her wedding finger, and glaring at Weird Al, she slides the wedding ring right off of it. Slides is me being nice, in reality, Tonya Harding struggled with the ring because her fat finger didn’t feel like cooperating.

That’s when, for giggles, I start singing have some more chicken, have some more pie, it doesn’ matter if it’s boiled or fried.

Now Tonya is not only annoyed, but now she’s mad as, well, hell. I turn to see Weird Al and he’s smiling proudly at my homage to him. He’s even holding a lighter in the air, flame lit and all, swaying his body from side to side. I tell him Eat it is not a ballad, Weird Al. He says don’t be such a douche, Pet.

Suddenly, a loud crrrrrrraccckkkkk fills the air. Both Weird Al and I turn our heads. Tonya has taken the ring and has sliced a long line along the ice on which she was skating.

Guess you were right Weird Al, says Tonya, it is a real diamond. Here, she says, tossing the ring to Weird Al. See you on the other side.

Whoooooossshhhhh, and just like that, Tonya disappears through the ice.

I look at Al and say what the fuck. Weird Al doesn’t answer. He’s holding Tonya’s wedding ring, sobbing like only Weird Al can.

The moral of this post? Diamonds cut through ice.