(”Breakfast of Champions” used to mean something. Seriously, remind me. I replaced that knowledge with Marley lyrics and how to win gold medals.)

January – Michael “Knucklehead” Phelps was nailed smoking the leprechaun’s hairy beaver (sigh… weed) this month at a college party, which is an excellent excuse to clear everything you had planned for page one for the next ninety days, like the myriad of stories NASA had ready on climate change, or whatever fuckstick antics are happening in the middle east. Also a reasonable justification to yank his endorsement deals, which would have made the whole Olympics thing worth it for him. How dare a marvel of modern athletics, a Greek god who won his country respect and admiration, indulge in some quiet comforts like beer, women, and hairy Mexican skunk balls? I want him off of MY Wheaties box, I’ll tell you that with no reservation. I will defend to the death my country’s right to be as ungrateful as humanly possible, and will even provide the tar and feathers with which to shame the hero.