When I Say Parasitical Rich, This is What I Mean

Gary Legum at Wonkette:

Let us begin our long, long week of snark and by crying a big ol’ bucket of crocodile tears for golfing sports-man Phil Mickelson, a person who has made a fortune hitting a little white ball, then walking after it, and then hitting it again and again until it drops into a little hole. Phil made headlines a few months ago when he mused that he might retire from playing a sport that earned him $67 million in 2012 because the gol’dang gubmint wanted its tithe, and a man like Phil can’t possibly be expected to subsist on the mere $25 million or so he cleared after taxes.

SNIP

Jesus H. Christ laying up on the fourteenth at Torrey Pines, Phil. You’re maybe one of the ten greatest golfers of all time. In 2011 you were the second-highest paid athlete in America, behind only Tiger Woods. And yet here you are complaining that you don’t want to work harder because more millions of dollars means a higher tax bill? Did we miss the part where someone held a gun to your head and forced you to go play in a couple of tournaments in the socialist nightmare that is the UK?

Phil, you should take a year off from the PGA Tour and go work as a middle manager at an insurance company in Tulsa. Take the wife, take the kids, see how much fun you have trying to support them on forty grand a year and no employer-sponsored health insurance. Then you might really understand how the millions of Americans who don’t have your skills at golf or your opportunities to give quality CEOs tug jobs on national TV can struggle to get by.

Or shit, go ahead and retire. Go sit in your giant mansion in La Jolla and spend your days eating bag after bag after bag of the finest imported salted rat dicks. Anything, just so long as we don’t ever again have to listen to you complain.

And make no mistake, they're fucking everywhere.