Me: I’m going to be sad when the Olympics go away.
My Ex: I’m taping all of it. Well, recording.
Me: And, as a loyal American and patriot, I want to do my part for our team. By banging Michael Phelps.
Ex: Yeah me too. Oddly enough.
Me: I assume that there is a line. If someone could tell me where I could get in it, I’d be happy to wait my turn.
Ex: Yeah, I bet he has to beat it off with his collection of medals.
Me: Good thing he has many, because that little bathing suit he wears isn’t fooling anyone.
Ex: Freaky shit with medals. That’s what he’s into.
Me: Which is why he has to keep winning them.
Ex: Yeah. I think if you fucked Michael Phelps, you win the breakup. Bottom line.
Me: Yeah I think so too. Even if it was in, like, a bar bathroom or something. I’d run out of that bathroom and take a victory lap around the bar afterwards.
Ex: Yeah. Bus station. Whatever. Gutter.
Me: Heap of trash.
Ex: Yeah. You win.
2 Comments
August 13, 2008 at 2:06 pm
I love that this is tagged “Michael Phelps.” Let’s move to Baltimore, shall we? They keep saying he’s going there after Olympics are over. They really shouldn’t tell all the stalkers his future whereabouts, come to think of it.
August 14, 2008 at 2:54 pm
Michael Phelps is ridiculously hot. Matt and I are off to Beijing this Saturday. If I bump into him, I’m just going to grab him and start making out. Is that considered sexual assault?