NEW YORK CITY — With a lifestyle that would collapse like a house of cards into existential terror upon even the most cursory self-reflection, sources report Senior Marketing Associate Trevor Ronson’s life is somehow totally awesome.
“Work hard, play hard, that’s my motto,” said Ronson, at all times perilously close to realizing he is a barely-functioning alcoholic whose professional career is nothing more than a mad, meaningless scramble for money and power. “Is there anything that beats killing it at the office and pounding back a few brews with the bros?”
Acquaintances claimed that while Ronson has never made an emotional connection with another human being, his hedonistic nights of substance abuse and casual sex are so legendary as to distract him from the nightmare that is his hollow life. Ronson also holds a pathological hatred for all art, declaring that the ancient and infinitely beautiful method of human self-expression is for “pussies.”
“I can’t stand that fucking artsy shit,” Ronson said. “Give me something with big tits, big explosions, and LMFAO on the soundtrack.”
Having never produced any creative work in his life, Ronson cites watching other, better men playing sports as his favorite hobby.
“Yeah, I spend most of my time watching the Yankees,” said Ronson. “Just yesterday I snorted about a sandbox full of coke in the company skybox and got a blowjob from the dessert cart girl. Am I living the life or what?”
With his existence built on the foundation of a high-paying job that produces nothing of value, a loose collective of acquaintances who mean little more to him than warm bodies with which to drink and harass women, an inability to love, and nothing to show for his 28 years of life other than possessions he has purchased out of a subconscious belief that they’re the kind of things a guy like him should buy, bystanders believe that Ronson is due to self-destruct in a big way as soon as he spends literally one second examining his high-octane life.
“Let me put it this way,” said Ronson. “I’ve fucked eight girls in the last six days, and I don’t even know one of their names. You tell me if I’m happy.”
Tom Harrison has no idea what he’s doing with his life—oh God, he’s a fraud, isn’t he? He’s a hack and all of you can see right through him.
Image by tamasrepus.