The Gremlin Winter Olympics Day 9: Speed Skating


Speed Skating, Speed Dating, and Other Catastrophes: A Gremlin Community Outreach Disaster

There are currently twelve gremlins attempting to court professional athletes using root vegetables, impromptu performance art, and what they believe to be "destiny."

This is technically my fault.

You see, there are two things you should know about gremlins:

1. Their hearing is questionable at best.
2. Anything done at high speed is of extreme cultural,                                spiritual, and recreational importance to them.

When the Gremlin Collective intercepted a radio announcement about an upcoming Speed Skating Championship at the Community Ice Arena, the message passed through three layers of moss, a cracked soup can, and a gremlin named Wickett who vehemently believes that vowels are optional and will not be corrected on the matter.

The final announcement, as heard by the colony, was:

"IMPORTANT GATHERING. HIGH-SPEED… DATING… OPPORTUNITY."

Pandemonium blossomed.

Gremlins adore two things almost as much as high velocity: dramatic romance and free snacks. Within minutes, the colony declared it a once-in-a-lifetime courtship event requiring formal chaos attire. Formal chaos attire, for the uninitiated, is anything that jingles, sheds, or could plausibly be mistaken for emotional armor.

Preparations were soon underway. 

The colony immediately split into three specialized committees:

The Encouragement Choir
Responsible for morale and off-key shrieking, declared that cheerleading outfits would be the uniform of choice and began to choreograph a routine. 


The Slippery Footwear Department
 Focused on attaching random objects to feet for "aerodynamic personality."

Gift Acquisition Division 
Deeply competitive and largely agricultural.

This is where Kevin entered the story. 

Kevin is a gentle, mildly cross-eyed gremlin with the emotional resilience of a damp croissant. He has never been on a date, unless you count the time he accidentally fell in love with a reflective toaster panel.

Determined to make a strong romantic impression, he sought advice from the colony elder, Jerry, who has been married seven times (all to the same bewildered spouse).



Jerry delivered the following wisdom:

"Bring a gift that says you are stable, nourishing, and spontaneous." Absurdly wholesome, considering he's a gremlin. 

Anyway... 

Kevin spent four hours digging through frozen garden rubble before triumphantly retrieving a single heroic turnip. It was roughly the size of his head and shaped vaguely like a philosophical question.

He polished it. He named it Gerald. Kevin polished Gerald with Vegemite.


The most perfectly absurd gremlin logic applying. "I need to make this turnip presentable for my beloved. What's shiny? VEGEMITE."
(And the look on his face - so proud of himself. So certain this is the right choice. Gerald is GLEAMING.)
Then, after brief emotional consultation with Gerald, he wrapped it in half a sock.



The gremlins arrived at the arena by sled, grocery cart, and one suspiciously motivated trash can. They burst through the arena doors in a cascade of enthusiasm, static electricity, and ceremonial fog (which was actually just twelve gremlins shaking flour bags).
Inside, athletes were stretching quietly, preparing for elite speed skating performance. Outside their understanding of reality, the gremlins interpreted this as pre-date nervous pacing.


the starting whistle blew.

Every human speed skater launched forward with explosive precision. The gremlins gasped in reverence. To a gremlin, witnessing coordinated high-speed movement is roughly equivalent to watching poetry, fireworks, and tax evasion all at once.

The Encouragement Choir immediately began chanting:

"BLADES ARE SHARP! ICE IS SLICK! SOMEONE BROUGHT A CARROT STICK! FAST! FAST! LOOK HOW FAST! HOPE YOU DON'T FALL ON YOUR—"
I gave them The Look. "—SKATES! YOUR SKATES! WE CLEARLY MEANT SKATES!"

(Community standards were maintained, if barely.)


Several gremlins attempted to run alongside the rink but were thwarted by physics and their natural commitment to poor balance. One slid directly into a nacho station and emerged wearing a helmet made of cheese.




Meanwhile, Kevin spotted a particularly determined speed skater gliding past with breathtaking momentum. Interpreting her focus as mysterious emotional depth, he waddled to rinkside and began holding Gerald the Turnip up like a sacred offering.
He whispered encouragingly: "HELLO FUTURE POSSIBLY MUTUAL TRUST ARRANGEMENT."

The skater, understandably concentrating on not falling at 50 km/h, zoomed past without acknowledging the root vegetable offering.

Kevin, assuming this was a flirtatious challenge, ran along the barrier shouting supportive affirmations like: "YOU ARE FAST AND THIS SUGGESTS AGILITY!"
Of course, for Kevin, Escalation was Inevitable. 
At peak race velocity, the entire colony reached what scholars call Maximum Gremlin Admiration Threshold. This triggered spontaneous attempts to "participate."

Participation included:

Throwing glitter made of soda can ring pulls.

Attempting to draft behind skaters using cafeteria trays as impromptu sledges.

Releasing ceremonial pigeons (they were actually rubber ducks requisitioned from a gremlin named Daffy, who collects them with religious intensity and was *not* consulted beforehand).
Wickett achieved significant speed after being accidentally caught in the skate of a passing athlete. He described the experience as "romantically educational." Later, when asked to file an incident report, Wickett wrote: "SPD SKTNG = VRY GD. WLD RCMMND."

The colony interpreted this as a five-star review and filed it under "Successful Romantic Encounters."
The Wholesome Part (Surprisingly)

Eventually, security escorted the colony outside using firm but respectful broom-based negotiation techniques. The gremlins sat in the snow, panting, emotionally fulfilled, and still largely convinced several engagements had occurred.

Kevin sat quietly, cradling Gerald.

He sighed and said:

 "Perhaps my beloved communicates affection through distance."

The colony gathered around him, offering traditional comfort items including half a sandwich, a throwaway camera, and one extremely sympathetic pinecone.

Then something small and nice happened.


A young speed skater exited the arena after the event. She noticed the cluster of exhausted, sparkly, slightly frostbitten chaos creatures and the gremlin holding a lovingly wrapped turnip like it was a fragile heart.

She walked over, knelt down, and accepted Gerald with complete seriousness.  She said,

 "This is the most thoughtful vegetable anyone has ever given me."

Kevin ascended spiritually.  He fainted immediately afterward, which is the gremlin equivalent of writing poetry.

The Gremlin Collective walked home in reverent silence, dragging their cafeteria trays behind them like sledges of honor.

Kevin reports he is "taking things slow," which for a gremlin means only sprinting emotionally on weekends.

And somewhere in the city, a speed skater has a turnip named Gerald on her windowsill—slightly nibbled but deeply respected—that makes her smile every time she sees it.


Which is more than most of us get from speed dating anyway.