One day, actor Michael Clarke Duncan, whom you may know better as “John Coffy” in THE GREEN MILE and “Bear” in ARMAGEDDON, walked into the offices of the United States Gymnastics Federation and went up to the receptionist’s desk. “I would like to join the Women’s Olympic Gymnastics Team,” he told the lady.

She looked up from the papers she’d been reading and examined him. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “but you are too big and you are a man. You would not be an appropriate choice.”

Michael Clarke Duncan started to cry. “But I want to be on it,” he pouted. “I want to be like Dominique Moceanu. Oh, BWAH-HA-HAAA!” A heart-rending sob escaped from his trembling lips like the barking of a seal, causing several passersby to feel sorry for him.

“Well, I’m just sorry, sir,” the lady persisted. “There has never been a man on the Women’s Olympic Gymnastics Team. It has always consisted of women, and often young girls no more than four feet tall–“

“And big, tall black men like me?” he added hopefully, sniffling back the tears.

“No, sir,” she said. “Now, you could try out for the Men’s team. But it has always consisted of young, lithe, graceful men like Bart Conner.”

“My ears are burning, Louise,” said Bart, peering around mischievously from behind Michael Clarke Duncan. “Hey, did somebody build a wall here?” He laughed, a boyish grin exploding from his face and casting a brilliant, shimmering light throughout the entire room. “Ha ha, no offense, sir, I was just making a little–“

“I WANNA BE LIKE DOMINIQUE MOCEANU!” Michael Clarke Duncan shrieked, shaking his fists in wide, petulant arcs. One of the great ham-sized fists came down on Bart Conner’s head and knocked him out cold. He flopped across the receptionist’s desk like a dead fish, twitching, his eyes blank white, and the receptionist began to scream.

Michael Clarke Duncan ran down the nearest hallway, bawling like a baby, desperately looking for someone who would make him a member of the Women’s Olympic Gymnastics Team no matter what the bad lady had said. Suddenly, a slender, athletic-looking woman stepped out of a doorway down the hall, and when he laid eyes on her, he froze in his tracks. It was the Belarusian Swan herself, Svetlana Boginskaya.

“GUH…” he gasped, wide-eyed, pointing at the legendary gymnast. “YOU! You’ll understand! WATCH THIS!”

“I’m sorry?” she said, not quite comprehending what she was seeing even as Michael Clarke Duncan wound himself up and started his tumbling run. A dawning apprehension tingled down her spine as the quickly-approaching behemoth went into the first of a series of cartwheels designed to build up the momentum necessary for a succession of four backflips in a row and a triple-twist which would end with a double back layout.

Screaming in terror as Michael Clarke Duncan hurtled inexorably toward her like a one-man elephant stampede, emitting a cry which sounded like the tortured death throes of a fatally-wounded rhinoceros, Svetlana Boginskaya glanced from side to side and quickly realized that there was no escape, and that her only chance for survival would be for him to stick his landing. Unfortunately, the odds of that happening were drastically reduced when his first cartwheel went horribly awry and he started tumbling uncontrollably down the hallway with a frightening momentum, knocking gaping holes in the walls along the way. In one terrifying split second, the Belarusian Swan’s vision was filled with Michael Clarke Duncan’s airborne body, and she knew conclusively that he wasn’t going to stick his landing, and he screamed “I WANNA BE LIKE KERRY STRUH-HUH-HUUUGGGG!” even as he collided with her and they both crashed through the wall, through an adjoining office, through another wall, through a room where legendary gymnastics coach Bela Karolyi was dancing around in women’s underwear and a Shirley Temple wig, through another wall, and into the office of USGF president Mike Jacki, where Michael Clarke Duncan finally screeched to a halt in front of his desk amidst a shower of cascading debris as Svetlana Boginskaya flew through a window and into a dumpster in the alleyway behind the building.

Mike Jacki sat motionless at his desk, in a state of deep shock. When the dust finally cleared, Michael Clarke Duncan blinked his eyes in recognition, and his face broke into a huge smile. “I…I know who you are, Mr. Jacki,” he said with growing delight. “I…I want you to see this.”

He hastily stripped off his clothes, underneath which he was wearing the official uniform of the United States Women’s Olympic Gymnastics Team, and went into his carefully-rehearsed, extensively-choreographed floor exercise. Maintaining his beaming smile for the imaginary crowd of rapt onlookers, he performed a graceful series of hops, skips, twists, dramatic floor moves, and sweeping dance steps, topping them all off with a final, thrilling, leaping aerial pirouette in which he inadvertently crashed into Mike Jacki’s desk, smashing it flat, and landed on top of Mike Jacki, killing him instantly.

When he saw what he had done, he got scared and jumped out the window, crying. He is still at large. Be on the lookout for actor Michael Clarke Duncan, a large, heavy-set black male, last seen wearing the official uniform of the United States Women’s Olympic Gymnastics Team. May be heard saying, “I wanna be like Kerri Strug.” Approach with caution, especially if he is performing a series of graceful pirouettes or a tumbling run which ends with a triple-twisting double back layout.

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