Hail to our chief.

America,

I’m disappointed with you. You got plastered-drunk on the Obama administration’s hip-flask of hope, and now you have a reality hangover.

It’s been a month… WHERE ARE YOUR FLYING HYBRID CARS?!? What have they been up to in Washington? A month long Scrabble tournament? What’s the hold up here?

This is not the bright new future you were promised when you chugged Obama’s champagne of change. You were foretold of a world free from genocide, poverty, and large words. A world where bipartisanship and children’s laughter would be the modus operandi. A world no longer bound by tyrannical right-wing policies like Monday mornings, awkward conversations, and confusing song lyrics. Together, we were to usher in a new day where butterflies would serenade us as rainbows sneezed Skittles. This was the vision you had when you snorted the opium of Obama optimism. This was what you signed up for.

Alas, a month has passed, and what progress has been made? None. We’re not one inch closer to that Utopian dreamland than we were in 2000. Loud noises are just as startling as they were under Bush. Parking spots are just as difficult to find as they were last year. Ugly people are still free to roam the streets, and the McRib still isn’t on the Dollar Menu. Let me ask you something, America.  How many times have you made out with a mermaid or ridden a unicorn under the new Obama-stration? ZERO. That was the very least you should have expected when you stuffed your face with Obama’s poundcake of promises.

I understand we’re in a recession and the world’s at war. That’s fine. Those weighty issues take time. But Obama’s margarita of merriment should have at least fixed the little things. For instance, you still have to do quick math in your head. You’re just a middle class person.  You don’t have the resources for that! You can send a man to the moon and harvest electricity from sunlight, but you’re still forced to do quick math at the grocer like you’re some barbarian?! Where is your dignity?!

And now you find yourself with a hangover. The bright lights of recession and the loud noises of nuclear proliferation are pounding your brain. What brought this searing pain? Let’s take a look back at November 4th, 2008 – your most shameless display of public intoxication to date. You had spent the previous months taking shots of Obama’s sanguineness and puffing from his peyote peacepipe of positivity. The media had been force-feeding you dimebags of dreams and you grew dependent on it. So you couldn’t help but stagger into the voting booth and order another serving of the stuff. I get it, I really do.

And that’s why I’m holding this intervention. You need help, America. Look at yourself! You’re stumbling all over the Middle East. You can’t hold down a job. I can see you’re depressed, but that’s no reason to lie in Cap’n Crunch residue watching Fresh Prince reruns all day.  Pull it together, man!!

You’re just ending an abusive relationship with your ex-president, and that can be tough. But don’t you remember the last time you got this drunk?  You thought Johnnie Kennedy and you were gonna be together forever.  Remember how that ended?  Heartbreak and entanglement in an endless, unwinnable war, that’s how! You were a wreck for a good 20 years! Do we really need to go through all this again?
Please, just take this stimulant (its package cost an arm and a leg!), get some rest, and go shopping or something.  That always made things better in the past right?  Whatever you do, for God sake, put down your needle of naiveté. You’re killing your family.

Kindest Regards,

Tory
Tory James Robert Schalkle is currently enrolled as a full time student of life. One of the most sensitive people you will ever meet, he spends his spare time reading at nursing homes and baking for veterans.  He frequently fails to write for us.  Incidentally, he also has two middle names.

Another stoner wastes his life.

Have you guys heard about this Michael Phelps character?  Get this.  He’s a 23-year old stoner who likes playing beer pong and hitting water bongs at house parties.  Not only that, but these are state school house parties.  What a tool.  This guy is such a bum, he dropped out of college last year so he could spend more time hanging out by the pool.  Like most aimless losers, he says he’s going to go back to school someday, but we all know he won’t.

On top of that, he doesn’t seem the least bit interested in finding gainful employ.  His friends say he found some work last August, but it only lasted, like, a week.  I guess it’s hard to hold down a job when there’s all this weed that needs smokin.  I tell you, this dope fiend is the embodiment of all that is wrong with America’s youth.  Unmotivated, apathetic, and lazy.  Phelps is the standard bearer of the Slacker Generation; content to sit on his butt and spark up a fatty while the world passes him by.  It’s just so tragic to see another young person with so much potential throw it all away like this.

Oh wait.

This is Michael “I Wrestle Dolphins” Phelps we’re talking about.  You know, the guy who has 14-Olympic Gold medals (yes, the real Olympics, not the Special ones).  The dude who set eight world records last summer.  The kid who,  for seven days, captivated the entire world with a display of athleticism unrivaled by anyone this side of Mount Olympus.  We’re talking about a guy who has reached a level of dominance in his sport that is unimaginable to anyone not named Lance Armstrong or Tiger Woods.  And all of this before the age of 23, which is depressing to pretty much everyone.

And now what?  He smoked a “marijuana pipe” and suddenly he’s the second coming of O.J. Simpson?  The way this thing is getting blown up, you’d think he’d made disparaging comments about our new president or something.  People everywhere are disappointed, ashamed, and deeply, personally upset by Mr. Phelps’ heinous behavior.   The torrent of smug self-righteousness being hurled at him has gotten so out of control it almost makes Keith Olbermann seem bearable.

He smoked pot.  Yes, it is kind of illegal, and yes, it is a little bit stupid, and yes, it sets a poor example, but COME ON.  Let’s not go overboard here people.  The guy tried some weed at a party in college.  That sentence could truthfully be applied to 90% of people born during the 50s (including many of our parents), our last three presidents, and every musician ever.  Was it a good idea?  Probably not.  Did they turn out okay in the end?  Most of them.  Call me crazy, but Michael Phelps doesn’t seem like the type to just throw his life away for a blunt and a Phish album.  And what if he does?!  Let’s not forget the fact that he could overdose on heroine tomorrow and still have accomplished more with his life than I will likely ever accomplish with mine.

What is most baffling about this whole debacle is the near angelic standards we have set for Mr. Phelps.  Why is it that Michael Phelps can’t hit one little bong, but other professional athletes are contractually obligated to commit felonies ranging from animal abuse (Michael Vick), to spousal abuse (all of them), to killing people outside of nightclubs (Ray Lewis)?  Why the double standard?  Everyone knows Ben Roethlisberger and Troy Polamalu were coked out of their minds following the Steelers’ Super Bowl victory and no one said a word!  Is it too much to ask for Michael to receive the same courtesy during a non-Olympic year?  I don’t think so.

Rather than vilifying him for smoking a bit of dope,  why not praise him for abstaining from the veritable smorgasbord of celebrity sins he could have been sampling?  I mean, at least he wasn’t soliciting prostitutes (see: Eddie Murphy, Hugh Grant, Eliot Spitzer, et al), driving while intoxicated (see: Shia Lebeouf, Lindsay Lohan, Mel Gibson, and Michael Phelps at age 19), spouting racial epithets (see: Michael Richards, Mel Gibson, Rick Warren, and “Dog” the Bounty Hunter), or peeing on people (see: R. Kelly).

The dude had us all glued to our seats, breathlessly watching his every move for an entire week.  It was a week of pure exhilaration for us but grueling and toilsome work for him.  He gave up four years of his life to entertain us for seven magical days.  Hell, he made us care about swimming!  And now he wants to get high.  So be it.  If that’s how he wants to celebrate, I say he’s earned it.  I say we owe him that one little pleasure.

Cause let’s be honest, do any of us really care about Michael Phelps the person?  No.  We care about Michael Phelps the swimmer.  We care about Michael Phelps the symbol of American military strength and genetic superiority.  As long as he continues to dominate in the pool, he and I got no beef.  As far as I’m concerned – shoot, as far as any of us are concerned – he should be free to smoke, drink, and snort anything and everything he can get his hands on.

If I see him toking up at the 2012 London Olympics, that’s a different story.

p.s. I don’t know if you guys read that article above.  You should at least read this gem of a quote:

Our source said: “You could tell Michael had smoked before. He grabbed the bong and a lighter and knew exactly what to do.

“He looked just as natural with a bong in his hands as he does swimming in the pool. He was the gold medal winner of bong hits.”

That’s how Michael Phelps rolls.  If he’s gonna smoke weed, you better believe he’s gonna smoke it better than everyone else.