I've been lurking for years but last night was so fucking insane that I had to make an account. Phil playing WWEC and telling us about which cards are the best, the worst, and all of the builds, are NOT definite signs of an addiction, guys. This is the only game that makes this alien happy, and may be, proprio motu, the only way he can become happy without it being at the direct expense of others (aside from the dentbucks that fund the vice).
Phil is what you get when you live a life without resistance ever pressed against your comfort zone, are lucky enough for that to get you by, and ultimately resulting in the stupidity, greed, and artlessness of the pig we've had for a decade. If he had fizzled out early in his career playing games poorly, he would have had a chance to cash out and live normally with that sinecure degree, but since he has always persisted in the face of downturns, he has never needed to think for himself, how his finances ought to be allotted, or how to become an adult. If he goes bankrupt a second time, which is inevitable, I seriously doubt that that will be enough of a wake-up call to get him off the internet, or stop pulling wrestler jpegs altogether.
He lives for the highs of not only being able to exercise his addiction in full display of us, the idiot losers that can't be like the King, but to have the mentally ill donators prepossess him with the obligatory $150. We all know he's going to eat that krabby patty, but that fact of the matter is that the trepidation of his finances, the "felting" of the detractors, and the provenance of the money that funds this dissipation, are all problems whose inveteracy lies in Phil never wanting to grow up, which, as he snorts down that burger slathered in Thousand Island Dressing, the meaning and cause of his principal failures in life will pass over him, and the next goal for the next FOMO that he can wave in front of us and proclaim himself as the King with, will be set.
