So they held their own. At 3 AM. In a Denny’s parking lot. The parking lot offered:
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One flickering streetlamp
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Curbs, truck beds, and one folding chair Dennis “found”
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Sixty seven candles (Stripe lost count after forty and considered that encouraging)
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Denny’s (RIGHT THERE)
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An overturned shopping cart podium
George appointed himself Ceremony Director to prevent Dennis from making him airborne via
innovation. He wore seventeen medals.
Bottle caps. Jam jar lids. A shower curtain ring. A hardware washer. A keychain that said OSLO (he had never been). Two appeared to be those tags you remove from mattresses (DO NOT REMOVE UNDER PENALTY OF LAW) One crocheted medals Punk made during a midnight stress spiral. One chocolate coin shellacked for “preservation.”
They hung from shoelaces, string, and what might have once been dental floss. He carried a stopwatch. He had AUTHORITY. He had spent four hours crafting those medals. They would be RESPECTED, Dagnabbit.
The Awards
Burned himself three times during fondue. Continued eating. Considered the third burn educational.
🏅 Best Misunderstanding of Norwegian — Carl
Thought “Takk” meant “Attack.” Required supervised apologizing and one reflective corner.
🏅 Most Creative Use of Duct Tape — Dennis
Dennis raised the roll overhead like a sacred artifact.
“Structure? Duct tape. Wiring? Duct tape. Complaint management? DUCT—”
“Allegedly,” George warned. “—ALLEGED duct tape.”
🏅 Least Structural Integrity While Maintaining Confidence — Allan’s Five-Shelf BILLY
“It’s an aesthetic wobble,” Allan insisted.
The shelf collapsed during applause. Allan nodded with professional satisfaction.
🏅 Best Crocheted Facial Hair — Punk
“My tension was inconsistent. My fingers bled. But this beard endured skiing, cultural exchange, and partial ignition. Like all good yarn work, it tells a story.”
“What’s the story?” George asked. “Desperation.”
🏅 Longest Philosophical Monologue — Carl
“To monologue or not—”
“CARL.”
“In summary: competition is fleeting, corners are eternal, and the mop was listening.”
🏅 Most Successful Cultural Contribution — Kevin’s Swedish Meatballs
Kevin was asleep (he's a very little gremlin). His medal was placed by the kitchen like a greasy Nobel Prize. Someone tucked a blanket around him. No one admitted to doing it.
🏅 Lifetime Achievement in Jalapeño Voltage — Dennis
George placed the bottle cap around Dennis’s neck with visible concern.
“For services to electrical chaos and making everything more than slightly dangerous.”
Dennis whispered, reverent: “This is my legacy.”
“It's a bottle cap. On dental floss.” George said.
George’s Address to the devilry of Olympians had always been inevitable.
George climbed the shopping cart podium. The medals clinked like ambition learning percussion.
“Gremlins,” he began. “We came. We saw. We misunderstood EVERYTHING.”
Applause.
“We built saunas where there should have been skiing. We assembled furniture where there should have been competition. We brought lutefisk and NO ONE KNOWS WHY.”
Solemn nodding. One emotional sniff from Carl. Possibly philosophical.
“But we did it TOGETHER. With spirit. With commitment. And with—” He glanced at Dennis. “— a legally and medically concerning number of electrical experiments.”
Dennis beamed like a man receiving academic tenure. George straightened his medals.
“Morale is half the battle.”
“What’s the other half?” Wickett asked.
“…Unclear,” George admitted.
“I am proud to have competed alongside you,” George continued, “even though I clearly won the most categories.”
“You made all the medals,” Wickett said.
“And I EARNED them.”
At the ceremony's conclusion, George announced they would need to sing for their nation. The final task was declared, the gauntlet thrown, and when they couldn't agree on which nation, they bickered until landing on a solution: and they attempted to choose an official Gremlin National Anthem.
Eventually, it was decided: 'Don’t Stop Believin’. Based on it being the only thing they knew some of the words for and it wasn't 'Livin' on a Prayer.' (which set off George's Luge-flavoured PTSD).
They sang it. Badly.
Off-key. Forgotten lyrics. Dennis harmonized in an as-yet undetermined key still under scientific review. Stripe conducted with a lit candle and increasing emotional commitment.
The Denny’s staff watched through the window with quiet existential dread. The harmonies collapsed entirely.
“Close enough!” Stripe declared.
At “HOLD ON TO THAT FEEEEELING,” George’s voice cracked. He would deny this later.
Seventeen medals jingled as he wiped his eyes and blamed ambient humidity.
It was time for The Official Photo. They gathered around the shopping cart.
George front and center. Everyone else arranged by height (which took eleven minutes, and involved lots of arguing).Dennis raised duct tape like a trophy. Punk’s beard unraveled with quiet dignity. Carl held Buzzworth like a philosophical familiar. Stripe ignited a minor candle biome.
Daffy flinched when someone yelled “Cheese.” His eyelid is still twitching, possibly.
The Denny’s sign glowed behind them. One employee stared in deep concern and possibly career reconsideration.
Click.
History, unfortunately, made permanent.
As the gremlins packed up Viking helmets, foam weaponry, and IKEA casualties, Dennis cleared his throat.
“I made something,” he said.
Everyone froze.
“It’s symbolic.”
“No,” said Maude immediately.
“It’s controlled,” Dennis insisted.
“It’s never controlled,” said Wickett.
Dennis smiled patiently and nodded towards his Greatest Creation Yet.
“Dennis, that’s never going to work,” Wickett said.
Dennis smiled patiently. “Not with THAT attitude.”
“Besides,” he said, “it already works.”
He pressed the button.
Dennis folded his arms, proud and expectant.
“It’s SCIENCE.”
For one breathless second—Nothing.
Then the unauthorized sauna across the parking lot roared to life. Vents opened like mechanical flowers as steam blasted skyward in a towering plume of jalapeño-scented vapor. Sparks crackled inside the cloud as improvised fireworks spiraled upward, bursting, reforming, and finally shaping themselves into a surprisingly elegant, slightly lopsided heart of glowing steam and green-tinged embers.
Silence.
The Denny’s sign flickered. A car alarm began screaming in distant, deeply relatable solidarity.
Stripe whispered, awed, “Ambiance.”
Allan leaned toward Wickett. “If it explodes,” he murmured, “it’s a premium feature.”
The heart shimmered overhead, heroic and structurally questionable. The gremlins stared at the sky.
George watched the steam heart glow above the parking lot. His medals clinked softly against his chest.
“We should have clarified but... just this once…I will allow it,” he said.
The heart dissolved into drifting mist.
The streetlamp flickered once. Twice. Then steadied.
Six Months Later
Dennis tried to register his sauna as an Olympic venue. This was denied. Vehemently. Repeatedly. The last rejection was an ASBO based on the fact that the sauna is still steaming. No one knows how to turn it off. It is now a landmark.
“Meet me at Dennis’s Unauthorized Sauna” is a valid navigational instruction, accepted by three mapping services and one befuddled taxi cooperative.
George still wears all seventeen medals everywhere. When asked, he says, “I’m an Olympian.”
When pressed: “Very prestigious.” No registry has confirmed this. George considers it pending, which he believes is legally indistinguishable from victory.
On his wall hangs the framed 8x10 photo:
OLYMPIC CHAMPIONS — OFFICIAL CEREMONY — 2026
The medals jingle whenever he walks past it. OFFICIAL jingling.
And if you stand near the sauna at night—you can still smell faint jalapeño smoke. And sometimes, if the steam hits the streetlight just right, it almost looks like a heart. Legacy.
Close enough.
