Unless you’ve somehow managed to live in a constant state of blackout since last summer, you’ve undoubtedly heard the name Ryan Lochte. After a solid, but forgettable performance behind Michael Phelps’ marijuana-fueled dominance in 2008, Lochte, a University of Florida grad, found himself basking in the limelight of the 2012 games. While I’m all for America systemically reaming the collective anuses of countries worldwide, something about this Lochte character just rubbed me the wrong way. Even though he was an alumnus of my own university, I couldn’t help but feel like he was a soulless chode of a human being.
It turns out, I was right. While Lochte’s preferences for Gainesville bars are far different from my own, it turns out during his visits to UF since the 2008 Olympics he has often been spotted wearing a shirt that read, “I AM RYAN LOCHTE, GOOGLE ME.” As if an all-caps t-shirt alone wasn’t enough to peg him as a leader in the Church of Douche, the exposition for others to look him up on the internet just screams “I’m not very famous, but famous enough that you should blow me!” He’s the kind of guy that sent dick pics before SnapChat existed, and expected them not to get handed out at sorority houses like complimentary diet pills.
Years later, the above average, but still not Phelpsian swimmer’s attention grabbing spree is far from over. I recently learned that Lochte was in the process of filming his own reality show when his schedule had the 28-year-old passing through his old college stomping grounds. Let’s take a step back and think of a few things that would be more entertaining than watching Ryan Lochte show 18-year-old freshmen slores his cell phone background (it’s rocks, by the way).
I would rather watch Paula Deen try out for the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. I would rather watch a Jersey Shore/Dancing With the Stars crossover. I would rather watch the Kardashians wrestle in Thousand Island dressing than be subjected to Lochte’s D-list celebrity life. After being named one of GQ’s “Least Influential People” you’d think this kite-shaped idiot would let himself fade into insignificance, but Ryan Lochte doesn’t know the meaning of the word quit. Seriously…he doesn’t know the definition.
While Locthe may slay ungodly amounts of barely-legal tail on a weekly basis, the fact that he’s a 28-year-old with nothing better to do than poach poon in a Central Florida college town says all you need to know about his character. By the time the next Olympics rolls around he’ll be the ripe age of 32, an elderly dinosaur as far as the world of competitive swimming goes. While he did help our fair country by bringing home a few medals for our consideration, I think the consensus is that he no longer needs to exist. Go spend the rest of your days on a Southern California beach doing Speedo-Yoga and reminiscing about the good ole days in London when girls thought your IQ was charming. We no longer need you, Mr. Locthe, and we’d all really appreciate it if you just went the fuck away.