UnBooks:Book of the month/feature
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July 2009 - Michael Phelps Makes Me Sick  Jesus that Michael Phelps could swim. I knew he was good back in '04, but 8 gold medals? And yet, for some reason I was not taken in by him. Sure he created entertaining swim meets, and he could swim faster than anyone alive, but deep down something wasn't right. Deep down, I knew he was kind of a douche. It hurts to say so, even now. He's from my home state. I'm supposed to love him, cheer him on at every moment. I did not. In fact, I may even go so far as to say I did not like him one bit. But, as Americans we were supposed to stick together. So, as I watched him win his 8th gold medal that day, I tried to be nice. "That man is my hero," my best friend Monica announced. Oh, Monica. We had been friends since she moved here from Florida in 4th Grade. I had a crush on her within a week, and there we were, 8 years later. I had yet to make a move, and she had yet to notice the way I watched her eat. Yet to notice the way I watched her walk. Yet to notice the way I watched her sleep in her bed when she didn't know I had snuck in her house at night. She was out of my league though, and I think we both knew it. And still I stuck to hope. I stuck to whatever strands of any possibility she would give me. I stuck to her gum when she threw it into the trash. Oh, Monica! Was I always to be just a friend in your eyes! Still, I didn't want to do anything rash, and ruin what we had. I decided to play it cool, and hold my tongue. "That Ass! I hate him so much!" I screamed. Nailed it. "Are you serious? He won 8 gold medals! I would kill just to win one. Man and that body. Mmph." |
