A/N: Soooo here we are. I feel like this second chapter represent this story better... Hmm well. Enjoy!

Section 2: Hit me

In which the gay begins!

We fast-forward randomly to the US-Russia hockey game for no logical reason.

Putin was watching, as he always is, shifting about on his throne made of Ukrainians as he mentally plotted the death of his beloved hockey team if they were not going to win.

The person who noticed that the net was slightly out-of-place was going to be made into shoes, Putin decided as he glared at the game.

It went to a shoot-out.

Putin wanted to throw his throne at the damn Americans, but settled for praying. Praying that the Americans would spontaneously erupt into flame.

"YOU GONNA MISSSSSS," the Russian goalie with the name that cannot be remembered by the narrator (A/N many days later: BOBROVSKY! AHA!) screamed.

TJ Oshie danced about, shouting, "LALALALALALALA I CAN'T HEARRRRR YOUUUUU."

The goalie made a horrible face, and did that useless pointing-at-the-sky gesture thingy. "HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOTTTTTT."

We shall return to the Farce on Ice in a small moment. MEANWHILE, TO THE NON-CHRONOLOGICALLY FUNCTIONING SET OF SKI-JUMPING

Putin was through with ski jumping. He had blackmailed angels into lifting up Mikhail Maksimochkin and that was all Putin could expend the energy of doing.

It was another evening of anorexic young men hurtling about Russki Gorki slope. After a few fallacious commentators and a bunch of attempts at whatever a 'stylish' landing is, it was the turn of Kamil Stoch, whom everyone was secretly making fun of. Something along the lines of 'well the ski slope is the only girl he'll ever get'.

"KISS ME, MOTHERF*CKAHHHHHHHHH," Kamil screamed as he flew down the hill. Unfortunately, his girlfriend Russki Gorki decided he should die, and he crashed and completely wiped out when he landed.

"OHHH MY," went the announcers in a failing Takei attempt.

"I don't like women," Kamil sobbed, and passed away shortly thereafter with those as his dying words.

Since Putin didn't care if there were corpses littering his Olympics, Kamil Stoch's body was left on the slope, and the rest of competitors took it upon themselves to play a new game, entitled "Who Can Jump and Land on the Cray-Cray Polish Guy". Extra points if you squished him.

BACK TO LE FARCE ON ICE

TJ Oshie and the Russian goalie with unpronounceable name like Bobrobrobrobrobrobrorborborbvosky were still going at it, but there was no score so far. Either TJ missed because he was being screamed at, or because the goalie saved it, the occurrences of which were about even-ish, considering that the goalie had the severe incapability of talking quietly.

"SEEEEEEEE, YOU CAN'T BEAT MEEEEEE," the Russian guy shouted, waving his arms about. "I BLOCK YOUR SHOT! IFFFFFFF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN."

TJ Oshie sniffled and turned away dejectedly. "Don't you love me?"

There was a terminal silence.

"Whut," went the crowd.

"DAFUQ," went Putin, stamping on his Ukrainian throne in shock and most certainly not clapping indeed.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?" went the hockey teams, scratching their heads and staring on vacantly.

The Russian's goalie, however, reconsidered noisily. "I DOOOO… OMG YAAAAS I DO."

They sobbed at their sudden realization of their feelings and non-straightness. "HIT ME WITH YOUR ROCKET," Sergei Bobrovsky begged, and TJ didn't not.

The crowd stood in absolute horrified silence as they went at it. The other players just stood there not understanding what was happening.

Then there was the most riotously rejoicing cheering ever heard.

BACK TO THE SKI-CORPSE-JUMPING

A figure appeared on the crest of the hill.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO," cried the Alpine skier Aksel Lund Svindal in agony, tearing across the snow. "MY KAMIIIIIIIL!" He stopped short, gaping, at his precious lil' wonderboy's broken and quite thoroughly dead body.

At that moment, Severin Freund jumped from the top of the hill, and landed squarely on Kamil Stoch.

"SQUISH!" exclaimed Severin triumphantly, and skied away.

Aksel wiped said squish off his face, forever traumatized. He walked, dazed, over to his dead and therefore former love and knelt.

"WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY," screamed Aksel Lund Svindal, cliché-esquely.