The Gremlins Attempt Freestyle Skiing
(After Being Explicitly Told Not To Weaponize It)
After the unfortunate and widely misunderstood “Alpine Skiing (misheard as Peeing)” incident, the gremlins were informed — slowly, clearly, and with laminated cue cards — that they must ABSOLUTELY understand the next sport before participating.
No improvising. No reinterpretation. No weapons, automatic or otherwise.
They were provided with photographs. Olympic footage. Commentary breakdowns.
They were told: Freestyle skiing is grace and control. Discipline. Respect for physics.
They nodded.
On reflection, this was mistake number one.
What Freestyle Skiing Actually Is:
Freestyle skiing is not chaos. It is rehearsed, disciplined movement disguised as flair. Athletes hit moguls with surgical precision. They launch into aerials with calculated rotation. They land softly because they understand gravity is not, in fact, a suggestion and they have trained and practiced for thousands of hours to learn how to treat it with respect. It is poetry.
Dennis leaned forward. And misunderstood everything.
Dennis Does Not See Sport. Dennis Sees Trajectory.
Where others saw athletes? Dennis saw airborne mogwai.
Where others saw a ski jump? Dennis saw:
He did not see grace. He saw propulsion.
He did not see “controlled descent.” He saw “insufficient altitude.”
He doesn’t want to participate in freestyle skiing.
He wants to accelerate it. Weaponize it. Immortalize it.
To Dennis, a clean landing is admirable enough, he supposes. It's nice enough to land on your skis. But a landing that leaves a minor geological feature named after you?
The Projectile Situation
Every launch initiative requires a volunteer. Historically, when it comes to any of Dennis' contraptions... that volunteer is George. George, the long suffering, already OCD wrangling fluffball with a penchant for leafy green vegetables.
George has learned through trial, error, and the failure of his tiny pleas for mercy. Being findable results in being combustible, fling-able, or otherwise involved in the business end of Dennis' latest disaster.
“They cannot launch what they cannot emotionally locate,” he whispered. Betty agrees, in leafy silence.
Dennis Proposes Ethical Trebucheting
The ukulele from the Biathlon event was in pieces once more, at the ready to become Dennis' latest feat of Gremlin engineering. The slingshot idea was dismantled. Temporarily. Dennis cleared his throat, and pinged a rubber band thoughtfully.
“I would like to present a revised proposal.”
“No,” said Maude, not looking up from her copy of Rogue magazine.
“You haven’t heard the framework. It's Science.”
“No.”
“It is very close to freestyle skiing. Nothing bad, I promise.”
Her eyes lifted slowly.
“It is ethical trebucheting. ”
The slope went silent.
“That is not a phrase,” Maude said.
“Not with that attitude. It could be, though.”
“Freestyle Skiing requires sense. And brains. You possess weaponized incompetence at best, Dennis.”
Even the wind paused.
The hastily-drawn diagram included:
A dotted arc named ‘Legacy Curve.’
A landing zone featuring small flags and a banner reading: ‘You’re Doing Amazing.’
In the corner, in Dennis' awkward, badly formed scrawl read:
ETHICS ZONE™
Key principles:
Full consent from the projectile.
Clearly marked landing zones.
Cushioned snowbanks.
Applause upon touchdown.
“You’ve drawn a smiley face next to a siege engine.”
“It’s morale-focused. Morale is half the battle.”
“Freestyle skiing is grace and control. Discipline. Respect for physics.”
“And what,” Dennis countered carefully, “is a trebuchet if not physics expressing itself confidently?”
“It is a medieval siege weapon, Dennis.”
“So it’s heritage engineering. Historic, like.”
“It is not sport.”
“It could be.” Maude stepped closer.
“You will NOT optimise airtime.” Dennis nodded very slowly. He didn't like the sound of this at all.
“You will NOT enhance parabola integrity.” Dennis swallowed. “You will NOT. Launch. Anyone.”
Dennis looked at the elastic tubing. At the landing zone labeled “Probably Fine.” At the box containing Betty and George trembling faintly. Dennis recalculated. Rapidly. The clipboard lowered. His shoulders softened.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maude nodded once, her job done. Again. For now. From inside the trash can came a small, shaky sigh of relief and a rustle of leafy comfort.
The trebuchet was dismantled. Again.
The cabbage was returned to produce status after an hour of cuddles and quiet contemplative therapy with George who worked his way through his emotions, two boxes of Kleenex and a KitKat but admittedly, felt Much Better afterwards.
Freestyle skiing proceeded as intended in the human arena. Small jumps. Controlled spins. Actual landings. Grace, beauty, flair, skill. No gremlin engineering in sight.
Dennis sat quietly taking notes. On wind direction. "For completely unrelated and innocent reasons."
Yeah. Right.
The gremlins remain a study in impulse and catastrophic optimism.
And Dennis? Dennis is not done. He is merely… re-evaluating.
