“George W. Bush never had to answer for his ‘youthful indiscretions.’ Michael Phelps, not so lucky. Let’s see if I’ve got this right. Phelps isn’t a future Hall of Famer juicing himself with the ‘cream’ and the ‘clear,’ or getting his gluteus maximus pin-cushioned with designer ’roids. He isn’t a doped racehorse, or a testosterone-shooting bike nerd trying to turn his Lycra-Spandexed bum into a blur pedaling across France. He isn’t even the current president of the United States, who freely admits to having toked his share of tropical trumpets back in his Hawaiian hoodlum days, not to mention tooting some of the Big Island’s finest imported disco dust. He’s a 23-year-old rock star who got caught smoking pot. How is Phelps going to do the breast stroke covered in tar and feathers?“
— Former publisher of High Times, Mike Edison, writes a compelling and wordy piece on The Daily Beast that we would quote in full if we could. “Phelps might be short on taste, but he ain’t no slacker, and he’s got 14 gold medals to prove it,” he declares, arguing against a society that creates “millionaire frat boys” and then makes them live in fear of losing their support. We’re not sure whether he comes to any substantial conclusion, but hearing something more intelligent than “It’s just pot!” from a Phelps apologist is a treat.
Our take on the situation (in case you were wondering): Next time Phelps feels the need to get wacky, he should drop by the Flavorpill office, and we’ll show him a few of our patented natural high tricks. Also, Kellogg, if you’re looking for someone else to sponsor, we’re a pretty healthy bunch. We do yoga! On Sunday mornings!