It’s a goddamn comedy, our age. You dive into those dating apps, and there they are: women chirping about “slow love,” wanting some knight in shining armor to rescue them

You start out, just another blue-collar slug, maybe some white-trash credentials, trying to crawl out of the bucket. Then you hear that old saw: “You’re only as good as the

So, courtship. Remember that? Some dusty old word from a black and white movie. It’s over. Dead and buried. Now it’s all online profiles, swiping on faces like you’re picking

I tell my kids this, and I’ll tell it to any other bastard out there with the ears to hear it: I hate my kids. Carve it on my goddamn

You’re looking at a case study in demolition. My whole goddamn life has been a project built in reverse. I’m a self-made man, alright. I’ve built a new version of

You weren’t just running from a bad family, kid. You were trying to outrun a prophecy. You looked at your brothers, the dead-end jobs, the trouble with the law, and

You find yourself there sometimes. Three in the morning, in the bathroom. The only light is that single, merciless bulb over the mirror, the one that shows you every crack

One day, you’ll pour a whiskey, and you won’t realize it’s your last. There will be no warning. No spotlight from God. Just another Tuesday night, another dirty glass, another

You spend your whole life trying to build something, and then one day, your own kid comes along and tries to burn it all down with a few, simple, stupid

The American ideal, the one they sell you in the brochures, is that any man can make it with hard work. The success of the immigrants, the ones who show