Wednesday, February 4, 2009

"You know I love pot, and I love beer, but I am totally sober, just because it completely stopped working for me."

I must have hit the big time. I never knew it would happen with such understated aplomb. At least some kind words of welcome from the Chairmen of the ‘Top Dogs’ society would have been appreciated, but there was nothing of the sort.
You see on Saturday I competed in a race near Worcester and was happy to finish inside the top 20. Now before I was able to even reach for a finisher’s refreshment beverage and to inform the punk in 13th how fortunate he was that I did not catch him, I was ushered off by a Drugs Free Council for Free and Fair Sport Free in South Africa man whose accusing stare would have had OJ Simpson pleading guilty on the spot.
Feeling slightly bewildered, but accepting my dues to the world of the top 20’s, I went along with the chap who handed Worcester’s water quota for February, bottled specially for me and ordered by the accuser to: “drink up, then pee into this cup - no less than 90ml”.
Well 20 min later I was no closer to taking a leak to make sure justice was adhered to in my country. This despite the fact that the tap nearby was being turned ferociously on and off, I can only assume to simulate some kind of serene waterfall type ambiance to help get the required urges underway. I noticed the temporary detention barracks I was in was right next door to a wedding venue – all done of fancy like for the apparent festivities to come. I told my prison warder he could just put me in the grooms’ seat and I would wet my pants stukkend! This eased the tension … his not mine. I was still finding it difficult to part with what little liquid my body had left after a hard race in the sun. I opted for my sixth bottle of water and envisaged further water restrictions for the greater Worcester Metropolis as I gulped down litre after litre.
30minutes now, and while I was wondering if all Olympians could pee on cue and thinking they all deserved medals for that, my minder was settling in for the long wait. Not showing any signs of letting me free just because I couldn’t go he looked to be hauling out a 10 000 piece puzzle of Alan Boesak or fireworks over the Statue of Liberty. I was not going to be roped into this extra excitement and I decided to try another technique. I won’t get too graphic, but let’s just say, with a little help from another toilet bound activity that often goes hand in hand with a pee; I was able to provide the precious 90mil for my country. I emerged with my prize possession only to be met by the next victim who was a buddy Martha. Not having many tips to give the fairer sex in this department I just wished her good luck and raised my cup to show her the results of my labour. I then went through the unprecedented methodical and high tech process of bagging my samples (seriously, they do it the same way the chaps at the Olympics get tested) and asked whether they could let me know my IQ while they were at it and if I was still allergic to Bee’s. Not amused they sent me packing and said I they would be in touch. “Don’t let me read about it in the newspapers first” I cautioned with a wagging finger.
An hour later I saw poor Martha walking towards her car … she was being accompanied by one of the Doping officials as she was still to provide what they required! I hope she has an extra room as home as they are persistent creatures to be sure.

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