Bronze Glory

For some reason I was awarded a bronze medal in Olympic Tennis.   The fact that I did not compete in the event and hadn't played tennis since high school had little to do with it.   Or did it?

I was shocked that I received the award.  I looked on the Internet to see my name associated with the medal and could find no evidence.   Odd--one would think that all Olympic winners would be posted on the Internet in this day and age.  After all, this is 2014.   I was at Sochi.   I didn't remember competing in the event, but I'm sure that someone told me that I finished third.

My doubts persisted.   Isn't tennis a summer Olympic event?   Wasn't Sochi the Winter Olympic games?  Surely something was amiss.

In any event, I clearly was not worthy of the award.   I must give it back.   Then I had a better idea.   I would sell the medal on Ebay.   And rather than keep the proceeds, I would donate them to charity.  Think of all the publicity I would receive!

So even before I had the medal in hand, I had already advertised it on Ebay.   The winner of the auction could donate the proceeds to the charity of their choice.   I relished the idea.  Think if Bill Gates found out about the auction?   He was already donating billions to his own foundation.   So he could buy the medal at the action for millions and then donate the winnings to his own charity.  Clearly this was a win win situation.   In fact, I better log on right now to Ebay to see how high the bidding had reached.   I knew the news channels would not be far behind.   I would be interviewed on national news about the great idea I had to raise money for charity.

But before I could check my listing on Ebay, I was celebrating with the other Olympic winners at a huge mansion.  All the winners were sitting down on chairs around a huge table.   Their hands were tied behind their backs for some reason.  And then, to my shock, a man with a gun came up behind each one of them and shot them in the head.  

Then the scene changed and I was no longer at the mansion.   In fact, I had woken up and was just staring at the walls.   Then, with nothing better to do, I decided I had to take a piss.  Then I went back to sleep.   Only this time I wasn't at the mansion anymore, but I was at a guest house at the bottom of the hill.   To this day, I'm not sure why I was there.   After all, I knew there were a bunch of dead people at the top of the hill.   The cops would not be far behind.   Why was I hanging around?  I should split.  But for some reason I didn't.   I stayed at the guest house and looked in the attic for a place to hide from the cops.   Or maybe it wasn't the cops I was hiding from.  Maybe the killer was out to get me as well.   In any event, I was hiding from something.   But I didn't end up in the attic.   Instead,  I was in a closet hiding with several old ladies.   We were all hiding behind a bunch of clothes.  Which was not a good idea.  For now there were kids in the room.   They were running around and some of them had even opened up the closet door and were rummaging around in the clothes where me and the old ladies were hiding.   One of the old ladies had a gun, and when one of the kids moved the clothes away and exposed where she was hiding she pulled the gun on the kid.   Which was not a good idea--for now the kid was running to his mother yelling about the people in the closet who had guns.  How did I ever get myself in such a mess?