What do hot chicks and the Olympics have in common? Malach the Merciless

BEIJING, CHINA -ROYTERS SPORTS

So, Malach was still on the run from the Chinese government, but Malach is smart, and by using double sided tape, and a speedo, I have transformed myself into a Chinese Diver.  Unfortunately my monkey friend got into some trouble. 

When we last left our intrepid ROYTER’S reporters, Malach was about to spy into the room of the Brazillian Sychronized Swimmer, the Feres twins, as the US Women’s Volleyball team entered with a bottle of Arbor Mist.  Getting my camera ready, I listened against the door, ready to burst in, when a yell of “HEY!” greeted me from the end of the hall.  It was a Chinese guard, he saw me with my ear to the door, a large ROYTERS camera in my hand.  He yelled something in Chinese into his walkie talkie, and began to run toward me.  Dressed as an Iraqi athlete probably didn’t help, but that little monkey, he was good, flying in the air, jump kicking the gaurd, snappinghis neck.  Of course that attracted tons of attention, and people started screaming.

Chinese Police burst into the door, my monkey grabbed me, and ran off, the opposite way down the hall.  The exit door ahead was soon blocked by the Chinese Gynastics Team, who had just come back from their meet.  My Monkey kicked in a vent in the wall to our left, tossed me down the shaft, said something in monkey with a raised fist, and dove in after me.

We crashed to the bottom of the duct work, kicking out the next grate, which led outside to the smog filled night.  Sirens were everywhere, but my monkey had a plan.  He looked in my eyes and kissed my forehead, and and reached into his utility belt, he pulled out and blew up a lifesize blow up doll of Malach, and ran off into the fray, causing the Chinese to chase him.  I was alone, my poor monkey friend . . .

Luckily he has a really bad sense of direction and ended up in Japan.

I snuck my way back to the ROTYERS Beijing office, which of course is in the slums, right behind a bright billboard.  I took a day or two off to let the heat die down, donned a new diguise as a Jamaican Sprinter, grabbed more supplies and equipment, threw them in a backpack and headed back to the residential areas of the Olympics.  Thanks to the ROYTERS tech guy Ching Chong for getting me the proper id’s and such.

I got to my room, no one questioning my orange disguise, and began making my plans.  As luck would have it, my room was right next door to Kobe Bryant, perhaps I could get an interview with him . . . unfortunately he was busy raping someone on a nightkly basis, and I had to many bad experiences with A-Rod to attempt that.

I changed disguises, into my Chinese Diver, figuring it would give me better access to what I was seeking.  I took a couple days to stake the place out, couldn’t sleep anyway, damn Kobe.  I was going expose whatever secret about these games that needed exposing, whatever that was, the Chinese would pay.

So this past evening, I am walking the halls, back by the Feres room.  All was quiet, then suddenly a cheering throng burst into the building . . . it was Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh, soaking wet, covered in sand, with gold medals around their necks . . .they were followed by the US Women’s Softball team, all seemed pretty inebriated, and to confirm my suspicious, there was Crystl Bustos, with a keg strapped to her back, and Jenny Finch, pulling a wagon filled with booze.

They passed me, and I just bowed, pretending not to understand their crazy English rantings, and they headed straight for the Feres room; one of the twin, I think it was Bia answered the door, saw May and Walsh and hugged them both, took a shot from the keg spout and Bustos laughed, and they all headed into their sweet smelling room, shut the door and locked it. 

This was my chance . . I parked myself on a bench in the hallway right by their door, and set up a laptop, attached a flexible telescoping camera to the laptop and fed it under the door.  I got one picture, before the tape wore off and my eyes went back to normal, unfortunately, that immediately attracted the attention of Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson who were walking toward the room, a bottle of MD 20/20 between them, both dressed in BRATZ pajamas.  They immediately saw my ruse.

“What are you doing?” Liukin asked quizzically.

“YOU CAN NOT STOP THE POWER OF THE PRESS!” I screamed and pulled the camera out from under the door, slammed the laptop shut, and I backed off.

“PERVERT!”  Johnson started to run after me, like I was vaulting apparatus, screaming at the top of her lungs, flipping in front of me, and slamming my face with her foot.  Liukin began to laugh like a old Russian Babushka Woman.  The door to the Feres room burst open, and standing there, painted green, no shirt on and torn purple pants was Cystal Bustos. 

“AARRGH!  BUSTOS SMASH!” She screamed as she slammed her hand against the tile floor causing it rise up in a wave, slamming into me.  I had to get out of there, where was my monkey when I needed him.  I needed a distraction, and by the luck of the Gods, Kobe Bryant had just come around the corner to see what was going on.  Seeing all these scantily clad women, Kobe just ran for the room, that gave me what I needed to dive out the side window, falling 15 stories to the ground below.  Luckily I landed on the Olympic Mascot Jing Jing, killing it, and only leaving me with a few bumps and bruises.

I ran off into the smog filled evening, chased once again by the Chinese Police, luckily I had something this time, and the ROYTCopter plucked me out of Olympics Village, and headed for Japan.  I pulled out the laptop . . . Oh no, it had been crushed .  . 

So, here I am at the Tokyo ROYTERS office, slowly pulling data off the laptop, as I write you this update.  I will find that photo, and when I do, the world will never be the same.  I suppose, now you know why the US Women’s Softball Team lost . .

I am Malach, and soon my children, you will have that photo . .