If there ever were to come a day when I won eight gold medals at one Olympics (stop laughing for a second and just go with me on this one okay?). Ahem, as I was saying, If I ever won eight gold medals in one Olympic Games:
a) Please check to make sure my body has not been commandeered by an alien species.
b) Leave me the fuck alone. I've earned the right to celebrate any way I damn well please.
I have not in fact won eight gold medals, or, it may surprise you to know, any gold medals (unless you count second place in a fourth grade spelling bee and the consolation medal I got for running the half marathon). So I suppose I have not earned the right to freely partake of illegal substances.
But Michael Phelps? If that guy wants to go to a party and eat a crack-cocaine pie with a side of heroin sauce, fine by me. He has proved his discipline. He has proved his physical prowess. He has proved he's worthy of a Wheaties box. Let the man hit the pipe in peace already.
I have to give him credit. At least he didn't pull some shit like, "Oh, that was Marijuana?" or "Yeah, that was me on the bong, but I DID NOT inhale." He owned it. He was like. Yeah, that was me and that was a device for smoking some J. I promise I'll never do it again (or at least I won't do it again when some silly drunk girl has a camera).
Sure he's a role model for kids. But here's an idea, promise your kids they can do whatever drugs they want...as soon as they win eight gold medals. My parents used that line on me all the time. Sure, you can go to the Guns n' Roses concert, right after you paint your room and re-landscape the backyard.
Give the man a break. He probably needs a little relaxation in his life. Doesn't he get up at like 4:30 in the morning and swim the length of the Nile or some shit?
Personally, I think he should put on some star shaped sunglasses and one of those Dr. Suess hats and market some t-shirts.