“I don’t hate you as much as I hate myself.”


“Please don’t illuminate my wackness by celebrating a lifestyle I desperately wish I could lead. I’m not asking you to be ‘really’ humble, I just need you to fake it in the media. You know, deadpan some bullshit sports platitudes. The pundits will call you a Class Act™ and I can invoke your name when I’m trying not to come off as a bitter my-life-is-a-failure-my-kids-don’t-respect-me-and-my-wife-is-fucking-her-25-year-old-personal-trainer jackass. I’ll say shit like, ‘Why can’t the rest of ’em be more like so-and-so?’ Can you please do that for me? I mean just look at me, I’m part of a contingent of straight middle-aged men who wear the family names of much younger men on our backs. If you don’t allow me to assert ‘at least’ a modicum of superiority over you shit could get kinda weird.”


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