Ben Roethlisberger – you’re an idiot! 

 You got replaced at the zoo!  You can’t even hang with the elephants anymore.  You got knocked off by a hockey player, who obviously should have been with the penquins, not the elephants.  Lol.  So now you’re kicked off the field, too.  Boy, maybe you should have kicked yourself off that girl.

 You have everything going for you.  They call you “Big” Ben for god’s sake.  Need I say more?  You play for a world renowned team.  You have your own super bowl rings.  Coach Cowar sings your praises.  You’re hot.  You are envied by millions (or at least, you were).  You have enough money to buy happiness.  And yet, you manage to shoot yourself in the tallywacker, (not literally like Plexico, but still).  It’s like you said, “Hey, I think I’ll be a dumbass like Tiger, OJ, and Chris Brown.”  Great moral compass there. 

Other than trying to spell your last name as a child, maybe your life was too easy.  Maybe you didn’t learn how lucky you were.  But really?  You were given a gift.  Didn’t the motorcycle accident make you think “hey moron, if you screw up your moneymaker, you’re screwed!”  That’s what I was thinking, but I guess I still have full mental capacity – well, maybe. 

 Seriously though, I don’t get it, especially since you have repeated offenses.  Obviously, you realize women are your kryptonite.  So hire your own bouncer or friend with all that money you have to save you from yourself.  Find somebody who picks you up and literally hauls you out over their shoulders when you’re about to prove your stupidity.  Hello!!!!!!!  Figure it out.

 When you are GQ material, why are you trying for Mad magazine instead?  I realize this is a question for many a shrink, but from where I sit – you’re just a dumb jock.  

 All I know is that I consider my life to be pretty fabulous, not that it even begins to compare with yours.  But I am smart enough to realize I better do whatever I can to keep scoring the good life before a Mack truck finds me.  If that means sucking up to clueless wonders or kissing the ground or wearing purple or making my husband’s brother’s sandwiches or writing thank yous or praying to god, then that’s what I’ll damn well do.  But at least I won’t be an idiot.  You might want to try it before you go the way of the dinasour.   It’s worked for the rest of us.

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