… And the Horse You Rode in On
Stinky Eddie, for stealing my lunch money, all those wedgies, and that time you dropped a mouse in my bookbag.
Becky Schwartz, for telling everyone about my “problem.”
Lou Gosset, Jr., for being a prick and cheating at poker.
Ms. Thomas, my high-school guidance counselor, for neither guiding nor counseling me, thus resulting in me living under the docks for three years.
Charles Schwab, for not properly explaining the pitfalls of the current market environment.
The nation of Uganda, for expelling me twice.
Christy Turlington, for leaving incriminating lipstick on my collar, and causing my girlfriend, Molly Simms, to leave me.
Jake, my gym trainer, for instilling false confidence, thereby allowing multiple ass-kickings which I probably deserved, but thought I was immune to. My medical bills are on you, buddy.
UPS, for delivering those ticking packages to my door.
Lou Gosset, again, for sending me those ticking packages via UPS.
My manhood, for failing me at all the wrong moments.
Dr. Cohen, for that whole “six weeks to live” scare.
Visa, MasterCard, Discover, American Express, and Diner’s Club, for all being such jerks with the fees and everything, even though I repeatedly explained that I only maxed out all my cards because I thought I had six weeks to live.
Sandy Duncan, for fooling me with the glass eye.
The New York Yankees, for thwarting my attempt to sign Cuban pitcher José Contreras.
Deepak Chopra, for everything.