THE BLOG
03/09/2009 05:12 am ET Updated May 25, 2011

Michael Phelps' Next Disgrace: Listening to Jazz?

We all know what happens to a person who kills another person - we lock him up, throw away the key and the problem is solved. But how should we punish a person who kills a dream? Shouldn't such a monster be treated at least thirty-eight times more harshly? It's a question that we as a society need to answer soon in order to mete out toothsome justice to the reprobate Michael Phelps. Maybe a supermax prison on the bottom of the ocean would be able to contain his heinous crimes? Or perhaps a kind of zoo where the people can come and look and rain abuse on his gigantic head. "Boo!" we will all shout. "Boo and hiss! Shame is your only prize now, sirrah!" And, periodically, he will be forced to grapple with beasts of the veldt for our amusement.

But before I continue heaping great quantities of scorn upon the richly deserving Phelps, I'd like to address his transgression. The reaction from some quarters has been, "Yeah, he got photographed smoking a bong cigarette, so what? I'm hep." I guess these goofheads need to be reminded that taking cannabis is illegal. It is prohibited, just like alcohol was prohibited during Prohibition. And do you know what happened during Prohibition? Three things: one, it became impossible to acquire alcohol of any kind, so; two, people stopped drinking, therefore; three, it did funnel money into the coffers of crime syndicates. In other words, Prohibition worked. It was repealed only to reward citizens for their strict adherence to it. But I guess Mr. Phelps doesn't know his history - which is unsurprising, since he is a dope fiend and everyone knows that dope transforms a healthy human brain into that of a mongoloid (citation needed). If only he had been doing something legal, like spanking a stripper, there'd be no problem. However, just like drinking beer in 1925 or marrying outside of your race also in 1925, what Phelps did was wrong.

Thus, where we once had his glory to spoon with on cold winter nights, now there is naught but ash and resin. And we are left to wonder, what could have been? Sure, he's the winningest Olympian in history, but he's also apparently a lowlife. Could he have been winningester? Probably.

And what will the children think? After all, Michael Phelps was a role model. Let me repeat that, just in case it seems meaningless at first blush -- a role model. The example upon which the construction of so many roles will be based. Every night, young aquaphiles across the country bow their sweet heads and pray to be stricken with Marfan's Syndrome so they can be "like Mike." What will they pray for now? Marijuana parties? Maybe a steady stream of johns to keep them flush with drug money? Scoff if you will, but look at how much George Bush popularized cocaine - and people hate Bush. I groan to think of the destruction Phelps has wrought on our youths.

Worsterest of all, though, what about the endorsements? All those fine, generous corporations gave this miscreant millions and asked only that he shill their very excellent products in return. Now their dreams of enlarging their market share lay dashed on the floor like so many stems and seeds, with no hope of recompense. Who else could possibly inform the public of the high quality and exceptional value to be found in Corn Flakes, Speedo tight pants and Rosetta Stone software? Kelly Slater? An animated otter? Some lousy comedian/actor? Bah! At least we can be confident that here Phelps will pay the price as well. Instead of being the richest swimmer ever, as God intended, he will spend the rest of his life being poor, like a chump. A reefer chump.

He was our golden boy, our shining knight, our sparkly merman, so very very good at swimming. And I hardly need to tell you how important that is in a swimming-centric society such as ours. He was the only one with the ability to plumb the furthest reaches of our coastal coves and rocky outcroppings to fetch the precious pearls we so desperately need to save our economy. Now, our ruin is all but certain. Tell us, Michael, why do you love your drugs more than you love America?

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