I can tell you I earn a hundred grand a month cranking out television scripts faster than a teenager screws. I can tell you I blow most of that moola feeding my periodic table of illegal vices. I can tell you I’d probably be earning more than that if only I didn’t spend most of my nights in bacchanalian parties where– with a certain panache that would put Giacomo Casanova to shame– I pick up sixteen-year-old Catholic schoolgirls whose Daddies are fortunately too busy making money to pay much attention. I can even tell you said panache is backed up by a ten-inch cock that shoots pure, unadulterated awesomeness.

This, after all, is the Internet. Pretension, if not outright bullshit, is the coin of the realm.

READ IT AND WEEP