Michael Phelps has a new children’s book. Which means I apparently wasted my time writing one for him.
I based it off of the classic “Where the Wild Things Are.”
And when he came to the bar where the wild things are
they played their terrible songs
and wore their terrible clothes
and told their terrible jokes
and sported their terrible hats
’til Michael said, “Be chill!”
and tamed them with the magic trick
of staring into their bloodshot eyes without blinking once
and they were stoned and called him the most wild dude of all
and made him king of all wild things.
“And now,” cried Michael, “let the wild kegger start!”
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