The Last Hope for Venezuela

First, a status update on my wellness. That which didn't quite kill me this weekend has made me stronger. Apparently the first stage of this newly acquired super human strength is an insatiable appetite for soft tacos. I just wanted to throw that one out there in case any of my neighbors happen to find me later tonight, rummaging through their refrigerators in a search for chopped-up lettuce. I can only pray they read Goulash before my taco madness strikes, so that we could resolve such a situation like two reasonable adults, and not get the apartment complex/swat team involved.

I've been getting into the Olympics a little bit. Yesterday morning, I happened to watch the USA play Venezuela in a game of Women's Doubles Table Tennis. I can only hope the Venezuelan ladies' minds were occupied with the big presidential recall down there, because they did not look like Olympic caliber table tennis dudettes. Maybe they could've passed for casual ping pong enthusiasts, but not cold-blooded, medal-worthy, plastic-balled assassins. In case you're wondering about whether I'm qualified to make such a statement, I should point out that a few years ago, I helped create the website for the English Table Tennis Association. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, if you get my meaning.

I feel so strongly about their lackluster performance, I'm considering the drastic act of turning my garage into a Venezuelan table tennis camp. If you happen to a Venezuelan interested in my proposal, I should note that at El Powell Campo del Tenis de la Tabla para las Floras Venezolanas is not going to be a tiptoe through the tulips. You will sleep on concrete and eat lots of gruel. The first time I hear any sass talk, I'll send everyone back to Caracas, courtesy of UPS. The people of Venezuela may question my methods, but never my results; please begin to stock up on medal polish immediately.