At least he knows we know he's a pathological, utter, complete, unreconstructed liar.
Do you guys know how many guys there are in California who are exactly like Hollis? 50ish or 60ish, campshirt and loose pants, gray beard, wine-swilling, fedora, guitar-strumming,
good-timing, story-spouting, bullshitting never was and never will be? Literally TENS OF THOUSANDS. You can't go anywhere wine is served without running into at least a couple
of those assholes, who don't have a pot to piss in but have infinite excuses for themselves and tons of braggadocio to divert from the fact that they have and are NOTHING. They
usually find some middle-aged woman of foreign extraction to latch onto, who's been rode hard and put up wet by a richer man who's moved on. Notice how Hollis always mentions
these exotic women he has, yet he never mentions his wife (or ex-wife, I suppose) or his SONS, of which he has two (other than to lie about them being baseball players or bongo-pounders
with Santana). No, Hollis, your sons are probably training to be just like you. I have no doubt they'll succeed.
Hollis, I have your ****ing sorry ass dead to rights. You hang around areas where there is wealth, and you concoct friendships and connections that make it yours...except it isn't.
You sit around bars all day, bullshitting with the other Hollises who are scrubs just like yourself, and you try to put the hurt on any woman over the age of 40 who might happen along
your sorry-assed path. You claim you live under an assumed name, when in fact you've assumed...wait for it...your MIDDLE name. You claim to have all these businesses and cars and
shit under your woman's name, but you seem to change women about as often as you change your sweaty, stinking, ketchup-stained guayabera. This is to say that they change MEN,
and you're left to consider the empty, smoking carcass you call a life. So what do you do? You wrangle a free glass of wine from some NoCal schmuck and watch the vehicles of
productive people go by. What's that, a Tesla? No, Hollis, now that's YOUR Tesla, as is the 40ish woman behind the wheel. At least that will be the story you tell people on the internet.
Because why confront the rimey stench of your actual life when you can get Peggy to rub her nub over what you trick her into thinking your life is.
Pathetic, old, constipated, lying, flaccid loser.
