Press Conference

Forward Transcript of Press Conference Speech of Professional Athlete Who Suffers Great Humiliation by Acts in His Personal Life

Good morning.  I wish to thank you all for coming today.  And for those who chose not to come, I wish they hear what I have to say and instantly forgive me, forgetting everything I did wrong, as if they got zapped by the memory eraser from Men in Black.

I have many friends here.  I also have many co-workers, sworn enemies, and parasites who feed upon the discourse surrounding my public persona, which has become a veritable cottage industry.  Regardless of which category you fit in, I wish to say: I’m sorry for what I have done.  I have made serious mistakes.  I have made terrible, ugly decisions directed at clowns.  Please forgive me and my pet tiger.

I admit fully to what I did, and I make no excuses.  It is true, however, that I grew up without a father who didn’t make weird jokes and talk about girls with me as if that was OK.  Therefore, I had no one to give me a viable model of masculinity. (Except for my father in a general way, my grandfather, brothers, uncles, everybody I read about, casual acquaintances from church, numerous teachers, and my personal mentor, His Holiness the Dalai Lama.)  Without any role model, how was I supposed to know not to do what I did?  Further, I was raised on a very simple diet, so when I started to get a salary, I acquired an expensive taste for copper wiring and aluminum siding.  It is not so hard to see how I first began eating those apartment complexes.

Many of you might not know this, but I was raised in a religious household.  Snake handling taught me to see the value of a simple life, to shun alcohol and sex, and to never get caught or bitten while doing something violent.  Clearly, I have strayed from my roots.  With the help of my pediatrician, Dr. Phil, I have learned to return to the core values that first shaped me.  For example, he has repeatedly reminded me that renting a blimp for FGM-148 Javelin ATGM Rocket Launcher target practice—but instead of launching rockets I launch my local school district’s textbooks, hermit crabs, and cafeteria food—was a poor idea.  Further, hiring a skywriting plane every week and instructing it to write “Marry Me [name of the week]” on the chance that a woman of that name would be on a date with her boyfriend is funny, but it’s damaging on an emotional level to other people. 

While many fans have been understanding and have forgiven me, others have not.  Some stories about my personal life have surfaced that are complete fabrications.  I never once hired a team of assassins to explode the top of Mt. Everest after I climbed it so that no one could ever climb as high as me ever again.  Besides, what happened there is a private matter between me, my beautiful wife, and the Indian Subcontinent.  My wife, Amanda, I mean Sarah, has been there for me since the very beginning of last October.  I know this situation has been tough on her, especially because I lost some of my sponsorships.  Especially since I lost some of my sponsorships.  It’s like, I know, baby, but we’re going to get through this, and that’s when I can hire a team of conservationists, scientists, and bartenders to rid our private island of its flesh-eating locust/indigenous subpar margarita problem.

Despite this support, I know that some fans will never believe in me again.  They will use my name as a punch line.  When I take the field, they’ll toss oranges and apples at me.  They’ll fire guns at me.  They’ll train attack dogs to hunt me wherever I go and sick me where I stand.  After the game, they’ll search for me in an attempt to taze me or at least get information about their children, whom I kidnapped.  I understand this urge, but I exhort everyone involved to forgive me and just move on already.  I went to prison for what I did.  I was technically just visiting as part of a reality TV show, but that was rock bottom for me.  I have learned from my mistakes.

I am taking steps to rectify all the wrongs I did.  My foundation is working with youth to promote positive life choices, such as not running for and becoming president of Belarus and then using their tax money to build a giant castle made of whale hearts.  I have also partnered with Human Rights Watch, the World Wildlife Fund, and UNESCO to repopulate Brazil’s native soccer ball population, which was decimated after I hired a team of assassins to steal all their soccer balls and send them to the Arctic, where I thought polar bears could use them as flotation devices.  It was my signature green initiative.

Some say that the quality of your intellect can be measured by your choices; others, that it can be measured by the last book you refer to in a social setting.  It is at this point that I wish to say that I recently read Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. I apologize to everyone involved.  People also say it’s not your words or beliefs which define you. It’s your acts.  That’s pretty ironic if you think about it, but my question would be, does dressing up as a woman farmer and then committing unspeakable grain atrocities qualify as an act?  Like, if you only do it once?  What if you sincerely believe in your heart that it was a dream?

I once heard, and I believe it’s true, it’s not who suffers on account of you that matters; it’s the extant to which you be you, no matter the consequences.  I encourage all my fans to follow their dreams and live a life that, when you look back on it, you can think, “That was some crazy shit!”  I believe in second chances.  I believe in third chances.  I believe in an infinite number of chances.  I believe the Chance cards in Monopoly are real.  I’d like to return to the game and get things right this time around.  I thank you for your time. 

Conversation between two E. Coli bacteria

Cow’s Intestine, 12:15 p.m.

Donna: Hey Stephen, what’s for lunch today?

Stephen: Lower intestine pathogenic bacteria.

Donna: Again?

Stephen: Yeah, I know.  It’s ridiculous.

Donna: Ridiculous is right.  I’m trying to raise a family of healthy, gram-negative, rod-shaped bacteria that grow up to be productive prokaryotes, and it seems like all we ever have to eat are lower intestine pathogens.

Stephen: It seems crazy, but these are tough times.  Did you see the paper this morning?

Donna: No, what happened?

Stephen: Do you remember Nicole and Alejandro—Jesse’s kids?  Looks like they got fed uncooked to some human multi-cellulars, who got really sick.

Donna: They used to be such good kids.

Stephen: Well, now they’re wanted for poisoning.  Whole neighborhood has been put under surveillance.

[Enter Sasha.]

Sasha: I heard that’s not the whole story.

Donna: What?  What is it?

Sasha: Well, now the multi-cellulars have blacklisted the entire E. Coli community, including the innocuous strains.  They say the attack was on purpose, was coordinated from the inside.

Stephen: From the inside?

Sasha: Say everyone was in on it.  From Prime Minister Coli on down.

Donna: No way.  Not the Prime Minister…

Sasha: See, it was just too perfect.  What happened was, Bessy was slaughtered on Thursday by the multicellulars.  My friend Yunis was walking the beat near Pathogen Mile, and he gets a call.  Caller says his host’s dead, time to find a new place.  Obviously, he’s devastated.  He’s been living there for months, has his roots there, you know?  But, he does the brave thing and gets on the PA and makes sure all the e. coli with pathogenic capacity know to get out.  He stays behind and makes sure the whole neighborhood has evacuated.  Then, just as he’s leaving, he spies the prime minister getting out of her grass limo.  He thinks, no way.  Either the prime minister is intentionally staying in a dying carcass, or that’s a fecal transmission I’ll never understand.  But, then he remembers.  You know what day Thursday is?

Stephen.  The Prime Minister’s weekly gutbike ride.

Sasha: Exactly.  Unaccounted for from 4-6 p.m.

Donna: So what if she was in Bessy’s lower gut?  That doesn’t prove anything.

Sasha: True.  I’ll just state some facts, and you make your own conclusions.  Thursday at 5 p.m., my friend sees the prime minister intentionally staying in Bessy’s gut.  Everyone else is evacuated except for the members of that grass limo.  Later that night, Nicole and Alejandro go missing.  Their mother says they were interning with the prime minister’s office after school.  Friday, Bessy is slaughtered.  Sterile environment, peroxide, the whole nine yards.  Saturday, Bessy is transported in parts to the Coli Restaurant.  By Tuesday, there are five cases of e. coli poisoning from that same restaurant.

Donna: These are merely coincidences.  Isn’t the prime minister back and safe?

Sasha: Yes, she is.  But, remember, what was the campaign that the prime minister ran on?

Stephen: That she was from humble beginnings, that she knew how the pathogens lived because…

Sasha: Because?

Donna: Because her father was an e. coli of pathogenic capacity.

Sahsa: And therefore?

Donna: Therefore she has the genetic code that could express itself as a pathogen!  And this code can be transferred through horizontal gene transfer, not even requiring offspring or duplication!

Stephen: Oh no.  So she could have taken Nicole and Alejandro hostage, transferred the pathogenic genetic code to them, kept them in Bessy’s gut, and then returned to the community by Thursday night!

Donna: Right, but, wouldn’t have Nicole and Alejandro—O157:H7 bless their souls—died in Bessy’s slaughter and the meat preparation?

Sasha: Remember what else was in the prime minister’s platform?  About her personal traits?

Stephen: Sure, that she was strong, independent, resilient.

Donna: Resilient!  Those weren’t personal traits.  They were genetic traits!

Stephen: Right, like resilient to peroxide and other anti-bacterial cleaning solutions.

Donna: So, all that would have been necessary would be undercooked meat, almost a guarantee based on the history of the Coli Restaurant. 

Stephen: But, why?

Sasha: See, this is where it gets interesting.

[Enter Prime Minister Coli and E. SWAT Team.]

!!!

To be continued…

The Week’s Training:

Not such a great week.  Started out fine, but Thursday through Saturday were rubbish.  Some problematic sensations need to be resolved.  No good workouts this week, although got in 20 miles on Sunday.  81 miles total.