Let The Games Begin

I was at my desk reading an article about the beginning of the Winter Olympic games in Italy when the lads came in for morning coffee break. There was an article about the American luge team. The prospect of winter olympics made me want to yawn.
It was bitter cold outside and the boys arrayed themselves around the old cast iron stove that heated the shack I call the office. Bundled-up in their Dumpfucks Orange winter work suits. Matching knit hats and scarves and heavy duty thinsulate gloves, they looked like a team that you might find on the slopes of Torino. Yeh, If they had an Olympic competitive eating team.

"No donuts? What happened to the donuts?" Lardass yelled at me.
"Mornin fellas" I called cheerfully.
Bill was supposed to bring the donuts on Fridays, but he had called in sick this morning. I should have known there would be trouble.
"You guys really should not be gorging yourselves on donuts anyway," I said.
George, whose cold shoulders were aimed at me, swiveled his head to make eye contact (with the good eye). I nodded and smiled. He turned back to the stove.
Ok I thought to myself - another employee uprising. Fuck them, if they want to tangle with me, it should be amusing. Being the owner of a metaphor gives you incalculable power.
"I'm having some hot Krispy Kremes delivered," I lied.
"Well where the fuck are they?"
"They will be here momentarily," I fibbed.
Lefty who had been silent until now was unzipping his coat. "So, you are saying that the donuts will be here for a fleeting second and then will disappear?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind."

I turned back to my newspaper. Hmmn. The American Luge Team - how the fuck does Luge get to be a sport? It must be some kind of inside Joke that I am just not getting. Getting sleepy.
Sleepy.