My own Michael Phelps children's book
Michael Phelps has released a new children's book called "How to Train with a T. Rex and Win 8 Gold Medals."
The news of the book, which Phelps co-wrote with someone named Alan Abrahamson, came as a great disappointment to yours truly, as I had hoped to sell a Michael Phelps children's book of my own.
Now that this Abrahamson fellow has beaten me to the punch, I have no outlet for my finished manuscript.
So I decided to run it exclusively on Page 2. Enjoy.
"WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE"
Michael Phelps and DJ Gallo
The night Michael wore his swimsuit and made mischief of one kind and another
his mother called him "Wild Thing!"
and Michael said, "I'm gonna throw up!"
so he was sent to bed without eating anything.
That very night in Michael's room a nightclub grew and grew --
and grew until his ceiling hung with poles
and the walls became a bar all around
and a waitress sauntered by with a special drink for Michael
and he danced off through night and day
and in and out of VIP rooms
and almost fell over a chair
to 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!"
[They danced upon the bar.]
[They danced upon the tables.]
[They danced upon the chairs.]
"Now stop!" Michael said and sent the wild things off to their hotel without paying their tab. And Michael the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted Miss California to say she loved him best of all.
Then all around from far away across the hotel
he smelled good things to eat
so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.
But the wild things cried, "Oh, dude, please don't go --
we'll be your wingmen -- we love you so!"
And Michael said, "No!"
The wild things blasted their terrible songs and popped their terrible collars and showed their terrible tats and bent their terrible brims but Michael fell into the arms of his private bodyguard and waved goodbye
and was carried back across the club
and in and out halls
and through the lobby
and into the comfort of his very own hotel room
where he found his room service waiting for him.
And it was still hot.
DJ Gallo is the founder and sole writer of the sports satire site SportsPickle.com. He also is a regular contributor to ESPN The Magazine and has written for The Onion and Cracked. His first book, "SportsPickle Presents: The View from the Upper Deck," is on sale now.
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