I don’t think Michael Phelps and Chad Le Clois are friends anymore.
The men’s gymnastics team were aggro as fuck yesterday, until Leyva fell. That bummed me out enough that I sent him a tweet that read “Hey man, I still think you’re cool.” I even have my own lucky towel.
Lily King cut a solid promo on that Russian woman whose name I’m not even going to look up because she’s a goddamn cheater, and delivered big time. WHO YOU GONNA WIGGLE YOUR FINGER AT NOW, BITCH!?!
Sun Yang looks like the villain in a Bruce Lee movie.
I screamed “Your synchro is off, bro!” at my TV last night. There’s a synchronized diver named Steele Johnson. He makes me feel weird.
The gymnastic girls talk about vomit a lot, and autocorrect just tried to make “girls” into “hurls.” You can look at Aly’s tasteful nudes, but don’t look at McKayla’s, because they are illegal. And don’t look at Hope Solo’s anus, either, even though you can.
Kelsey Worrell hangs out in Okalona sometimes.
When I was the age Katie Ledecky is at, the only thing I was really good at was combing my hair. Held zero world records.
Ginny Thrasher is an excellent name for a gold medal winning rifle shooter.