Stop the Olympics, I want to get off!

The Olympics are broken, and assuredly - I can fix them. Take swimming for a first up example. An interesting enough sport, but medals are handed out left, right and centre, simply because there are a huge number of events. Let's fix that and reduce the number to something a little less, well.. fucked! Let's keep the 100m to prove the fastest person in a sprint and a 5km race to prove the person with the best endurance over a long distance. After all, events like the butterfly are ridiculous novelty events, which in reality are no less ludicrous than a track race by people only running on the tips of their toes or perhaps walking around on their hands. And how about the Medley event? What in the wide world of sports is that all about? Perhaps the event should be re-titled something a little more appropriate such as schizophrenia in water. If a race were to be held where all of the competitors were to race whilst wearing heavy gorilla costumes I'll retract my comments and give swimming my full endorsement.

Equestrian events are another random slice of dull crap sorely in need of revitalization. The answer is simple - If a horse breaks its leg and has to be put down, then so should its owner. Turn the shooting of riders into a major segment of the event, regardless of what they have or haven't done. Anyone game enough to wear one of those outfits probably deserves as much lead passing through their body as is scientifically possible. I would also advocate the idea of horses having to leap over giant piles of dung, or to perhaps trot across rickety rope bridges that have crocodiles in the water far below. All of the above is all the more necessary when either of these travesties again interrupt my viewing of a Boomers basketball game.

How would your funeral go down?

Seriously, would your funeral be yet another dull, painful affair that you yourself would arrange to have cancelled on your behalf? Not me. I read with much joy my mate Sim's own funeral plans over on her blog - Don't Step On The Mome Raths (see the link at the side of this page), where her appeal to her friends and family for a fun and memorable funeral was made. I liked what I read and it also appealed to me due to a number of thoughts I've had over the years re my own eventual demise.

I'm not one for religion, solomn affairs or everyone dressed in black. I'm also quite nervous about the idea that potentially I might be buried when my mind has yet to cease functioning. I blame YOU, Jeff Bridges!

So how's it going to go down?

My plain iron bark coffin, held together by rusty nails and draped with both the Aboriginal and South Sydney Rabbitohs flags will sit outdoors, even if the weather gods are performing a teary 20 cannon salute, and all whilst the funeral party kicks off complete with kegs, pizza and goanna.

No priest. No religious iconography or music.

I will have my eulogy read in a very serious tone by a person doing their best to hold their dignity in check - in a Batman costume (Yes, that would be you, Rod).

Everyone will either wear Hawaiian shirts or Souths jerseys.

No flowers. Fruit would be nice though. Or maybe a bonsai tree.

In times past I have considered that maybe I should cover all the bases, by maybe having A catholic Priest, some druids, a viking funeral at sea, monks and some Indian holy men, but screw all of that. If there's anything on the other side (which I highly doubt) it is they who will need the insurance when I arrive, because there's more than a few bones that will need to be picked before I unpack my bags.

I've thought in the past that perhaps being buried with an oxygen tank, mask, torch, batteries, phone, 7ft aerial, saw, food, water and drill might be a good idea. After all, there is a valid and creepy reason for there being such a term as "saved by the bell."

I'm still working on what music I'd like played, but for the final tune as my coffin is lowered I would like the one that goes "na na na-na, hey hey hey, goooodbye!!!"

Kegs on. A band at the after party.