Winter Games

I’m sitting in my living room looking through the Olympic TV schedule when Ninja Vicki comes down my stairs after sneaking in through my upstairs window, because ninjas don’t use doors.

“Hey, what’cha doing?” Ninja Vicki asks.

“I’m looking for a certain Olympic hockey game,” I say. “They’re an obscure team.

“What team?” Ninja Vicki asks. “The Latvians? Team Kazakhstan?”

“No, the Sudanese National Team,” I say.

“I didn’t know they had a team,” Ninja Vicki says. “I didn’t know they even had ice.”

“I’m not sure they actually do,” I say. “But if they do, they’re the toughest hockey team on the planet.”

“Why’s that?” asks Ninja Vicki.

“Because anyone coming from a country where there’s genocide actively going on has got to be bad as all hell,” I say. “You can’t intimidate them, they’re coming from genocide-land.”

“And I guess they would be the hungriest team on the ice,” Ninja Vicki says. “Figueratively and literally because of the widespread famine and drought conditions there.”

“Exactly,” I say, still flipping through the Olympic schedule. “Damn it, I guess they didn’t qualify this year.”

“Probably because they’re about 70 years away from developing ice hockey technology,” Ninja Vicki says.

“But they’re probably only 20 years away from developing roller derby technology,” I say. “I’d pay to see the Sudanese Roller Derby team in action.”

“Maybe you should pay to see some food get over there,” Ninja Vicki says. “You know, charity stuff.”

“No, you don’t get my money unless you do something,” I say. “If I give to charity, they revoke my Misanthrope Card.” I pull out my shiny black Misanthrope card from my wallet and show it to Ninja Vicki. “So unless they do a dance or play an instrument or get on the roller derby rink, they get nothing.”

“You belong to some sort of National Misanthrope Society or something?” Ninja Vicki asks.

“That would kind of defeat the point of being a misanthrope, wouldn’t it?” I say.

“I suppose it would,” Ninja Vicki says. “Well, I’d better get going. I have to sneak into the supermarket and sneak out some dinner.”

Ninja Vicki went back upstairs to leave through the window. Don’t worry about her apparent thievery. She leaves money behind to pay for what she takes. Ninjas don’t shop like you and I do.