Michael Phelps is a Choke Artist Who I Could Totally Beat at Everything

During the 2004 Olympic games, nineteen year-old Michael Phelps was poised to win an unprecedented eight gold medals in various swimming events. What did he end up winning? A mere six gold and two bronze medals. Pfft. Weak. Oops, Michael, you were supposed to swim faster!

Seriously, that performance was an embarrassment to our nation. I could easily do better. For example, the other night at a party, I had eight bottles of Heineken in front of me. I drank all of them quickly and effortlessly, and my friends were noticeably impressed. You think they would have thought the same if I had only drunk six of them quickly and two of them slowly or only after some vomiting? I don't think so. They expected me to drink all eight of them to the best of my ability, to do what I promised, and I delivered, unlike someone I know.

Frankly, I'm surprised that all your endorsers haven't spat in your face and released you from your contracts. You deserve nothing less than that humiliation, which would serve to remind you of your inferiority to the great Mark Spitz, God rest his soul. You think Wheaties will give you your own box cover? They don't call it "Breakfast of Mostly Champions but Occasionally Third-Place Finishers." Do you expect AT&T subscribers to settle for having reception six out of every eight minutes? What if Speedo swimsuits covered only six eighths of the skin they promised to cover? Do you want my balls showing? Do you?

I heard that you're coming to our own little university. Well, Mikey, let me give you some advice, from one Wolverine to another: don't expect your classmates to be impressed by your success, or should I say, lack thereof? When you introduce yourself as Michael Phelps, they will undoubtedly inquire, "Michael Phelps, winner of eight gold medals?" To which you must reply, "No, Michael Phelps, winner of but six gold medals and two pitiful bronze medals." Then they will laugh at you, nickname you "Bronzy," and give you sixth-eighths of the finger.

Also, don't think we've forgotten that one of those gold medals you "won" isn't truly yours. Sure, you swam in the semifinals of the 4 x 100 meter medley relay, but then you chose to sit out the finals, claiming that you wanted Ian Crocker to have a chance for redemption after you beat him in the 100 meter butterfly. What's the matter, Phelps, were you scared? Do you think my professors would understand if I wrote my rough drafts but let someone else handle my final papers? In the world of academics, they call that "cheating," but I guess in your world they call it "medal-worthy."

Speaking of academics, I suspect you may begin attending classes here. You might think it would be cool to saunter into your first lecture fifteen minutes late, medals dangling around your neck. Let me tell you, that behavior will not fly, at least as long as two of the medals are still bronze. I speak from experience. When I walked in with 6 gold G-unit and two bronze G-Unit Spinnas, I was heckled mercilessly. I can only assume said heckling was a result of the inferior quality of my bronze spinnas.

Allow me to summarize: You, Michael Phelps: Huge Cunt::Me:Better than You. Oh, and good luck at U of M.