Phelps Admits to Doping

It's true, I admit it.

I was sitting in a den in Bombay. I had a slack jaw and not much to say. That's where the doping started. I asked the man, "are you trying to tempt me?" when he filled the bowl of my pipe with the sweetest black Khali opium I had ever tasted. What a ride. It was like traveling in a fried-out combie on a hippie trail, head full of zombie.

From there, my troupe moved on to Bangkok. It was just one night, but I couldn't get out of those chess bars. It was really such a pity how I saw a god in every golden cloister, and lucky me, some of those gods were a she. I got Thai'd like a tourist on some Pnom Bang that was the purist. Talk about getting your kicks above the waistline.

Well, the next thing I knew I was in Beijing with my hands wrapped around a three-foot long bong shaped like a China girl. It was silly, but I found myself threatening her between hits. I was saying, "My little China girl, you shouldn't mess with me. I'll ruin everything you are." Eventually I stumbled into town like a sacred cow. I had visions of swastikas in my head and plans for everyone in my troupe. But the party had to end.

What a crazy week. That's about all I remember from the 80's. I still have that bong, though. And when I get excited, I can hear my little China girl say, "Oh baby, just you shut your mouth."


She says, "Sh-sh-shhhh."

. . .