I'm snakebit. I have been trying to watch the Winter Olympics for over a week now, but every time I turn it on, I hear this: "--an amazing run! We'll never see the likes of that again, my friends! Next up, ice dancing." Ice dancing! I suppose it takes some skill, certainly more than I possess. I consider it a red-letter day when I can make it to the grocery store and back without stumbling on a crack in the sidewalk. But whatever artistry and skill is involved in ice dancing is negated by terrible taste. It's as if Liberace has risen from the dead, and, as Zombie Liberace, has taken over the sport and chooses all its costumes, music, and choreography. The other night I was subjected to a dance to John Denver's "Thank God I'm a Country Boy"--wait, that's not even the bad part! These two were gotten up like country folk: cut-off jeans, plaid shirts, and big ol' ten gallon hats-- okay, a Broadway producer's idea of country folk--but they just couldn't leave it alone, they had to cover themselves in sequins! If I were a millionaire, I'd fly them down to Wichita Falls, Texas, at my expense, drop them in a roadhouse at the edge of town, and see how long they lasted in country-land. But alas, I'm not a millionaire. So I had to entertain myself by watching more Olympics. I turned on the tv, and: "--game for the ages! My oh my! Okay, we'll take a short break, and then--ice dancing!" These dancers were got up in a way I couldn't begin to describe. Something about aborigines, I don't know. The crazy thing is, these costumes were apparently toned down from the last competition, where they caused riots and mass vomiting. I changed the channel out of deference to my poor eyeballs, but as one who has vowed never to learn from his mistakes, I tuned in again tonight. "--credible comeback to steal the gold! Next, ice dancing!" The couple came out onto the ice in costumes not entirely objectionable, so I thought I might be able to hold on, and then the music started. It was, I swear to God, a violinist playing Bohemian Rhapsody! Yes, that one! By Queen! Jumping Jesus! Blood ran out my ears. So much for the Olympics. I'm now listening to some nice Penguin Café Orchestra. The one good thing that has come out of this whole experience is a quip. Evidently, there's a skater who has become known for a costume with rhinestone snakes writhing all over it. And someone wrote on Facebook: "I've had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking costume!" That was almost worth it.