Michael Phelps. Michael Phelps. MichaelPhelpsMichaelPhelpsMichaelPhelps.
Now I’m going to sit back and watch my hit counter explode. Apparently there is magic in the name “Michael Phelps,” and I have no qualms about invoking it for personal gain and/or fame. But it doesn’t stop there, no. Why should it? I’m going to whisper his name gently while asking for a raise. “I really feel (michaelphelps) that I’ve earned it, don’t you?” I’m going to say 37 Hail Michael Phelps to excuse what I did last weekend. (And if YOU say 38, I’ll tell you what I did last weekend.) I’m going to print out this picture, write out my wishlist on it, and mail to Santa, and my grandmas.
If you can think of any other ways to ride this wave (no euphamism intended but certainly also not ruled out), by all means do it. And tell me if it works.