Paso Olimpicamente, or Why I Fucking Hate the London Olympics

I don’t blame the Olympic Games (The OGs). I don’t know all the facts, but what I do know came to me while cycling from Islington, along Upper Street, down towards Farringdon, then past Fleet Street, across Blackfriars Bridge and then to visit a friend staying in a hotel in Southwark… and in all that time and all that distance I did not see one bit of celebratory evidence that we are the hosts of the 2012 Olympics. That’s weird. Especially weird since only a few weeks ago when HFM The Queen had her whatever, there was bunting and Jubilee this and Jubilee that every fucking where you looked. Now what do we get for the OGs (oh, jeez). More or less fuck all.

Am I even allowed to say Olympic Games?

All there was along the streets, these streets I cycled along that are pretty much main thoroughfares, all there was were these discrete signs on lamp-posts that the council usually puts up, the kind of signs that tell us to pay our council tax or to beware of drug dealers. The signs were telling us that the OGs are here.

In less than a week, the opening ceremony will unravel. Opening ceremony! It makes me think of my newfound “versatile” status and the fact that I’ve been getting fucked regularly up the arse about once a week for the past few months. For the first time in about twenty years, I’m host to the wonders of an opening ceremony.

And talking about rings… just imagine how gorgeous this city would be if we all felt that the OGs were ours, that we could flaunt the fact, be proud of it, put up bunting and flags and feel a part of what has descended upon our town. And so what if a few of us made Olympic cupcakes or shaped our bagels and sausages like the Olympic symbol.

Something happened to our celebrations. Back then, within twenty-four hours of winning the bid, we got bombed. We were reminded in the most gruesome of ways that there are consequences when you ignore people and/or treat them like shit. They will fucking bomb you.

A while ago when I’d just got my iPad and started playing around with sketching stuff on Sketchbook, and the Olympic posters had just been released, and they were so boring, I thought of doing something a bit more sexy. Some people said nice things about my Olympic Orgies series of three drawings. I considered making commemorative crockery. At some point I got distracted by other stuff.

But now I want to show them to you. I’m going to show them to you and wait for the guys in the Blues Brothers fancy dress to turn up at my door. The guys in the brownshirts. The guys who have turned the Olympic Games into a totalitarian mini-state. Let them come. Let them come for me. I’m ready. We’re ready. This is our town, motherfuckers. This is our Olympic Games.

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