And Yet . . .

I somewhat despise you, Hank Moody. You prefer a woman’s pussy to her personality. What riches you have you waste on yourself and gifts for others who do not seem to deserve them. The philanthropy you understand is always directed back toward yourself; how can a man who was once so rich be the object of such charity? Ask yourself, what is your ratio of rising above versus sinking below your own low standards? You fetishize the grittiness of New York, yet somehow forget to give Los Angeles thanks for taking you in and allowing you to exist as you do. Of all the intelligence that you impart you manage to be heedless of the good sense to listen. That is why, Hank Moody, I never want to be you. So swagger on, embittered little man about the town. Maybe you and Jim Morrison can arm wrestle in hell to see who was the most literate and self–destructive. As for myself, I will simply watch your antics with amusement, as well as a degree of sadness for such a terrible waste of wit.