Heroic Standards of American Citizens

Did you see those pictures of Michael Phelps hittin' a bong at a party?



So did I.



Do you think they warrant the intense media circus that has befallen them?



Neither do I.



Dude's what? Twenty-four, -ish, thereabouts?


Find me one red blooded American male in his mid twenties who has not hit a bong. Go on, do it. I'm not saying you can't; I'm saying it will be really effing difficult.

If this guy, dear Mr. Phelps, were not the half-man, half-fish swimming freak of awesomeness that he is, he'd be finishing his senior-ish year in college, where he'd probably shared plenty of face time with those pretty glass tubes.

And nobody would give a shit, except maybe his mother. That's assuming, of course, that she found the photos on someone's Facebook.

Unfortunately for Mr. Phelps, he is in fact a half-fish freak of awesomeness who crushes records, competitors, and walnuts with his delicious washboard abs (and assorted other, equally delicious body parts), and isn't allowed to participate in anything but the most vanilla of recreational activities in his free time. You know, the time he has all to himself?

Which begs the question: WTF?!