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Hey, Why Don’t You Pricks Like Me?

Hey fuckheads, the commies at Hard Drive stopped being complete dicks long enough to let me explain some things to all of you idiots. Let me just start by saying again that I’m sorry for whatever shit you heard about me and ask you once more, why haven’t you losers let this crap blow over yet?

Before I go any further, allow me to clarify something: I don’t want to be in trouble. I do not like to be in trouble. Do you understand how it can be frustrating for someone to not get what they want? Have you taken a second to stop and think how this all affects me, Bobby Kotick? Or have you been all up your own ass about whatever dumb fucking sexual harassment allegations I didn’t do anything about? Yeah, don’t tell me. I know the fucking answer. Really cute, guys. You cocksuckers. 

Let me ask you something. Has fucking Hard Drive or any of these stupid rags ever written articles about the hundreds of voice mails I’ve left employees where I didn’t threaten to kill them? Or all of the employees whose tenures weren’t marred by persistent toxicity and abuse? Uhh, selective journalism much? 

I’d understand why you bitches were being so fucking unfair to me if I hadn’t signed off on whatever apology my people had written up, but I fully did! I signed that fucker! I’m sorry if you are upset! I’ll say it over and over. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry. Goddamn. Literally, I cannot imagine what else I must do in order for you motherfuckers to just forgive me and stop holding me to anything resembling a standard.

Just to be clear for the record, though. I am sorry if the reprehensible things I have done made you feel like I shouldn’t be the CEO of one of the biggest video game companies in the world. I’m sorry if the fact that yet another sexual harrasment lawsuit dropped against me this week bums you out. I’m sorry if you think I didn’t deserve to make 30 million dollars last year despite my name being synonymous with poor leadership and a disastrous public image. I’m sorry, you stupid asses. 

There. Are we good yet? Christ. 

Fuck it, I’m going to Cancun. Let my assistant know if there’s any more controversies while I’m gone. Also you can go ahead and threaten to kill her on the phone if the mood strikes you. I am totally fine with that.