You might have apologised for accidentally bumping me at the PyeongChang Olympic Village Wine & Cheese Mixer had you known the delightfully apropos punishments I could dole out with my very specific brand of witchcraft.
Or then again, you might not have. The cold fame of Winter Olympic stardom seems to attract only the rudest egomaniacs, and as I awake from my inverse-hibernation every four winters I find myself dreading my inevitable confrontation with a new batch of young upstarts.
It was last Tuesday. I was drinking frosé, which is something that just happens when I try to drink rosé. You backed in to me to peacock for someone’s Instagram Stories update, and your vigorously incorrect performance of the Gangam Style dance for cheap laughs was not only contextually racist but spatially ignorant. You knocked my frose all over me — and didn’t even apologise.
Now I don’t know which country you were representing (although you certainly had the vibe of a Swiss) nor which Winter Olympic sport you compete in. But the moment my hookup comes through with a half-litre of liquid nitrogen I will have all the necessary ingredients for my Basic Contact Info Potion.
But trust me — no matter who you are or what you compete in, I have a devilishly befitting punishment in the barrel, locked and loaded, ready to go.
A figure skater? That’s easy. Next time you’re on the rink and attempt a basic figure eight you’ll find your skates can never deviate from that 8, doomed to repeat that same digit again and again — like a solar-powered monorail — ad infinitum.
40 minutes into this purgatory you’ll realise that an 8 on its side is the symbol for infinity and say Huh, that Maltricia (the Winter Olympics Witch) really is devilishly smart. I should never have crossed her.
Or perhaps you’re a curler. Like sweeping, do ya? Well how about sweeping — ad infinitum — with a broom that only makes the ice dirtier! And the ice is actually the floorboards of your living room. And someone very important – like the King or Queen of whatever country you’re from – is coming over, sure to be horrified at your messy, messy floorboards.
On a four person bobsleigh team? Here’s a new team for you; yourself, someone on Tinder you ghosted, your mum (nude) and me, monologuing about the intelligent irony of the tailored purgatory I’ve crafted. And before you freakin’ ask, yes, it’s gonna be ad infinitum.
Also for this one there’s a frustrating lack of clarity about whether or not I’ve killed the other members of your original bobsleigh team.
I have so many of these, and guess what — they’re all really smart.
Luge, except it’s down the urethra of an ice giant (ad infinitum). Skeleton, except you are literally a skeleton (ad infinitum). Ice hockey, except that for every point you score you have to eat the puck (ad infinitum).
So yeah, bad move buddy. I give you a day, tops, before I track you down and deliver the most intelligently apt vigilante justice you’ve ever seen.
Now excuse me — I have to superimpose a pentagram with really weird proportions over the five rings of the Olympic logo pictured on this coaster to ensure my mana if fully charged to hex you in the smartest way possible.
It was ice meeting you. Haha!