The first time I heard the voice, I chose to ignore it. Ryan Lochte is kind of a fratty idiot, Erin, the voice said. All the signs are right there. You're being willfully ignorant. "Shut up, brain!" I replied. "You're not the boss of me! Come on, vagina! Let's get out of here, away from the party pooper trying to ruin our fun." And then we went out for appletinis. But as the Olympics progressed, as more and more montages of Ryan Lochte talking about his sneaker collection or donning a sparkling America grill in his gorgeous mouth filled my TV screen, I couldn't pretend that reality wasn't real anymore. Ryan Lochte, as drool-inducingly hot as he is both in and out of the water, is a raging, throbbing douchebag. And here's why.