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You strike out. The beautiful woman in the silver dress leaves the party, and your young blue-haired date snuggles up to the floppy-haired DJ. Shouldn’t you go lick your wounds in booze and drugs like any other poor little rich kid?

Maybe you are high, though. You say you want more control. All this time, you’ve stepped away from your responsibilities. You’ve cried about living in the shadow of two dead men, father and grandfather. What shadow? I was in charge of your most successful year. Reined in your wasteful spending. It should be my name on that hospital. Bloodsucker would look great in lights.

It doesn’t have to be this way. If you opened up about your secret project, we could build an empire. We could be the richest men on earth. I shouldn’t have to coax desperate doctors to tell me your secrets. I want to stay on the straight path, but you keep stepping on me.

The world needs your secret project and the goofy little doctor at the center of it. If you only cared about your future the way you care about gaining the attention of beautiful women .

And you say, “Since I do care about my future, perhaps I enjoy beautiful women more than I enjoy money. Live a little.”

Sooner than later, you’ll wish you hadn’t easily dismissed me. Do you know what’s coming? A big sandpaper dick from Manila to fuck everyone. I’m bringing it, of course, but I could also end it. And that secret side project sounds like the perfect ending. See how I bring out everyone’s best?