1. Go out and buy the most high-tech, snazzy ski garb you can find.
2. Put it on at home and practice strutting around, looking as cool as possible, kind of like Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder in that movie, whatever it was. “That’s right, we’re bad, uh huh…”
3. Get to ski resort, start talking (loudly) in public places about how you’re just coming off your latest extreme skiing trip in Chamonix, France, which was fine and all, but oh, Mont Blanc is simply becoming a tad predictable.
4. Go unpack, come downstairs and begin the “wounded pigeon” maneuver, i.e. start limping.
5. Spend rest of “ski” vacation wrapped up in a blanket in front of the obligatory ski lodge roaring fire, sipping hot chocolate, eating bonbons, and regaling a rapt audience with made-up stories about your past skiing adventures.
See, it’s all about the marketing. I mean, I’m sure you didn’t actually intend to SKI out there, did you? That would be so non-team oriented that the possibility didn’t even occur to me.
And Kevin, while I might play hockey against big burly macho guys, I would like to note that unlike the rest of you, I a) am of sturdy peasant stock, and b) have innate athletic prowess and am highly skilled in the sport I’ve taken on outside of swim-bike-run, thus lessening the chance of injury. Of course, now I’ve just jinxed myself. Damn.
And…."coulians"? Are we nestled next to our beloved thesaurus again? Or are you dating yet ANOTHER French astrophysicist? Don't you remember what happened last time? I'd think the annoyance of replacing all your stuff after Jacqueee knocked over the cigarette during her absinthe-fueled binge and caused her experimental particle collider to explode....well, I'd think that would give you pause.
