texts: See this jacket I'm wearing?  You like it?  I don't really need it, because I'm CLOAKED IN FAILURE. I lost the number one draft pick the night before the draft. They will teach my story to other agents on "do not do this" day in agent school. Why? Let's recap. Because a hockey player's kid made me feel like a superficial jerk, I had two slices of bad pizza, went to bed, grew a conscience and wrote a 25-page Manifesto of Doom!
labels: Well, boo-fucking-hoo.