Dispatch From A Disgraced Man: I’m Truly Sorry You All Are So Mad At Me

Believe it or not, as a wealthy, tall, and powerful CEO, I’m not accustomed to ever being insulted, criticized, or called out. So, as you can imagine, all these accounts surfacing of my deplorable behavior over the past few decades and the subsequent public outcry has been very unpleasant for me. 

This has all been a terrible wake-up call, which sucks because I normally love wake-up calls! 

That’s why I get one every morning at 4:30 AM from my assistant, Terry, who debriefs me on everything that’s happened in the world since I fell asleep the previous night at precisely 11:00 PM. 

In fact, it was on last Sunday’s wake-up call when Terry broke the news about the whole Internet basically getting together and deciding I was a terrible guy. And let me tell you, that wake-up call was one HELL of a wake-up call!

I know everyone is upset with my actions, but let me be clear: There is absolutely no one more upset with me than ME, and, I would like to say, from the bottom of my heart, how truly sorry I am that you are all so upset with me! 

It’s just so important for me that you all understand that if I’d only known that my appalling behavior over the years would result in negative consequences for me, personally, I absolutely would’ve reconsidered partaking in said appalling behavior. It’s really that simple! 

But, why don’t we take a step back for a moment and be logical about this? Besides all of the people I’ve hurt, who stands to be the most hurt from this situation? 

Yup. That’s right! Me! The correct answer is me!

 (And possibly the blameless shareholders of this fine company, who it pains me to even think about. The fact that some of my prior indiscretions might negatively affect shareholder value this quarter makes me absolutely sick to my stomach.)

It hasn’t always been easy for me to be this vulnerable, but I have to confess that these last two weeks have been downright not that nice. My gentile birth, privileged upbringing, and Ivy League education prepared me for so many things, but consequences were not chief among them. While being me has generally proved advantageous over the course of my lifetime, it has proven downright disadvantageous over the last two weeks. And I have to say, It’s lousy.

So don’t you believe me when I tell you that if I could turn back the hands of time, to a time when you all weren’t so fucking mad at me, I would absolutely do so?

If I had known, for example, that flicking my assistant’s (not Terry, the one before, the one before, Terry) eyelid and saying “You silly, little chicken. You… silly… little… fucking …. chicken,” would be considered abusive and get me into lots of trouble I would’ve definitely probably not done that!

And if you all knew how hard I was taking everyone hating me, you honestly might hate me a little less. Yup. I’m really kicking myself over here for the last two decades of what the New York Times has called “criminally inappropriate conduct.”

But that’s enough about “ifs.” It does no good to talk of roads not taken. What’s done is done. Let’s focus on the here and now, the present. And the truth is, in the present, I’ve been taken down a few pegs.

Yup. I wish you could all see me now. How humble I’ve become; how low I’ve been laid.  In fact, I’m literally lying in a hammock on the balcony of my 5-star rehab facility as I dictate this letter to Terry. (Terry stands. I strongly prefer he stand in my presence.) 

My publicist said it could be a good idea to very publicly check myself (and, naturally, Terry) into rehab as a desperate gambit to convince the general public that my years of reprehensible behavior were the result of a nonexistent substance abuse problem. 

Worth a try I guess!

Anyway, here I am, marooned on this Aegean Island rehab center where I lay low with other disgraced titans of industry. It is here where we weather the storm; it is here we seek refuge from the raging tempest of public outrage. My varying levels of disgraced companions and I joke and call this our ‘exile.’ We even have a nickname for our merry band of wayward VIPS: ‘The League of Extraordinarily Disgraced Gentleman.’ Ha-Ha! Just Kidding.

Actually, I’m not kidding. There’s a disgraced, big-shot director here and we’ve already written the treatment for the screenplay. Obviously, America isn’t ready for such a film, but we think 

La Ligue des Gentilhomme Extraordinairement Disgraciés will be an absolute smash in France. The French get it. Just last week we held a candle-lit vigil for the posthumously disgraced Serge Gainsbourg.

Anyway enough about my fun at rehab. Overall, I want my vacation to show you all just how committed I am to making a change. The change I’m referring to, of course, is getting you, the public, to go from being super, super fucking mad at me, back to not THAT mad at me.

In the two weeks since you all started hating me I’ve realized that while my “sociopathic” behavior might’ve been experienced as purely negative by those experiencing it, I should choose to view all of this as a learning experience. Isn’t that nice? This is all just one big lesson. Isn’t that a good attitude on my part?

I’m also proud to say, I’ve rediscovered my Faith. Don’t you all like that? I’m a Christian again. An honest to goodness Christian. I’ve even rekindled my own little connection with The Man Upstairs and at 10:45 p.m. after my night-night call with Terry, I toss and turn in bed and speak to God and say:

‘God,
If you’re really up there then force these plebeians to forgive me!
But if that’s too much for you then please make a more famous peer do something SO egregiously bad that the bad things I did seem WAY less bad in comparison.
Either of those two should do the trick, God.
Please have this done by Monday.
Thanks in Advance, God!’

So, if you can find it in your hearts to stop being mad at the man I once was (from 1997 until two weeks ago) and the things that man did, then I commend you… Because it’s going to take me years to forgive that man for what he’s done to me.

Thank in advance,
A Disgraced Man. 

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