Listen up, Mr. Man in the Mirror:
1. Right now, before you draw another breath, call your manager, lawyer, and publicist and say, "YOU'RE FIRED." My five year old is now in charge. She can only do better.
2. Then, call me. My psychiatrist's name is Michael. Nice Jewish guy on the Upper East Side, costs $300 an hour, doesn't accept insurance so there's no paper trail, hands out happy pills like they're Tic-Tacs. I'll give you his number. Tell him you need to see him immediately, and when he offers you drugs, take them, for Chrissakes! YOU NEED TO BE (legally) MEDICATED.
3. Never, EVER do a photo shoot again, for the rest of your life. You're officially out of the photo-op biz. How many more fuckin' photographs of yourself does the world really need? You surely didn't do this for the money, did you?
4. Throw away your iPhone. Don't save the numbers. Everyone in your life has led you astray or taken advantage. You have no friends, only enemies. Only an enemy or a very sick, twisted friend would allow you to do this to yourself.
5. Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking? A bare mattress? Cracked walls, a guinea tee and a nasty old truck tire as props? YOU ARE WORTH A BILLION DOLLARS. START ACTING LIKE IT. You see LeBron, Kobe or Tiger pulling shit like this?
6. Next time someone from the press (including your publicist) pitches you another "Great idea, Alex!", find a pair of Vice Grips, ratchet them around your testicles as tightly as possible, and tell yourself one hundred times, "THIS HURTS LESS THAN SPEAKING TO THE PRESS."
7. Just play ball, man. That's what you do well.
Are we clear?
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