Hello. My name is Sheridan. And I suffer from Michael Phelpsitis. It's a real disease caused by the many, many muscles of Olympian Michael Phelps.
You see, Michael isn't just a person. He's an institution.
An institution that holds the world's strongest collection of abdominal muscles.
Just take a look at that goofy, adorable smile that makes you want to tell 100 jokes in a row just to see it.
Don't you kiiiiiiind of wish you were a pool, waiting for Michael Phelps to swallow you up and spit you out?
And where were you when you first saw Michael's primal scream? Were you even prepared for the raw magnetism of such a talented creature?
Do you picture this face when you need to be reminded that sexiness exists in this world? That the only way to celebrate winning your 10,000th gold medal is to scream so the whole fucking world can hear it?
You know what's even better? Daddy Michael Phelps. That's Michael with his fiancée Nicole and son Boomer. And yes, he is obviously trying to ruin your life with one photo.
Tbh you're probably looking at Michael the same way he's looking at Boomer right now.
It's possible that Michael catches on fire from the hotness of his body when he exits the pool for too long, so he must spend the bulk of his day submerged.
And it's also possible that I dream about Michael sliding into my DMs like how he dives into the pool.
Rio needs to get here stat, because honestly Michael deserves a 23rd Olympic medal just for existing.
