Would You Rather Be Famous OR the Best Friend of Someone Who Is?


I didn’t come to this earth to be Steve Kerr, I came to be Jordan. You bet your ass I want to be the famous one. When I was younger, I would cry after basketball games if my stat line sucked. It didn’t matter if my team won or lost. Life is an individual sport, plain and simple.

What kind of apathetic pussy would choose to be the best friend here? You’re really cool with your best friend picking up the tab every single time? What the fuck happens if I die? You’re boned and you’re moving back in with Mom and Dad.

Lots of people would argue that the celebrity lifestyle is too invasive and exhausting. Bullshit. Maybe if you’re one of these out of control ex-child star shitheads like Bieber, Bynes, or Miley Cyrus. Pathetic brats that party for the first time when they’re 21. But look at Damon, Affleck, Clooney, and Leo. They are living the most elite lifestyles known to man AND command God-like treatment from the media.

Independence is the greatest gift a man can have. It’s fucking beautiful. Owing nothing to anyone or anything is as good as it gets on this wretched planet. As lavish as the food, shelter, and chicks could be, if you’re the best friend, you’re still a dependent little cocksucker.


In today’s world of social media overload, being famous would suck. With the likes of TMZ ready to pounce on your slightest indiscretion, flying under the radar would be essential. But if you’re famous enough, I don’t think flying under the radar is even an option. Paparazzi are creepin’ around every corner, hiding in the bushes, ready to cash-in on a shot of celebrity A out and about with celebrity B, or a glimpse of some young pop star’s hard nipples. They’re there to judge everything you do, everything you wear, everybody you’re with, and to publish it all for the world to see. It might be fun and exciting for like a day tops, but shortly thereafter I’d end up in jail for punching a cameraman’s face until it exploded.

You’d think with all the fame and fortune, you’d reach a certain level of freedom but it seems to be quite the opposite. The more fame you have, the more likely your decisions are to be scrutinized and made on your behalf. You’re no longer in control of your own life. You represent a brand and have to answer to the powers that be. Agencies, management, consultants, meetings for days. Biggie wasn’t just spewing nonsense when he coined ‘Mo’ money, mo’ problems.’ It’s an undeniable fact.

So I’ll happily sit back and be the celebrity’s best friend, no questions asked. Luxurious vacations, private jets, 5 star restaurants, movie premiers, after-parties, sex, drugs?

“Yes please.”

Business meetings, interviews, fundraisers, rehab?

“No thanks, dude. I’ll sit those out. But definitely hit me up when you’re done with that boring shit. I’ll be chilling at your mansion, either in the hot tub or playing videogames. Don’t worry, I fed the sharks and sent the last of the whores home from last night’s party. Looks like Maria cleaned up all the mess. I made us a tee-time for this afternoon, hope you can make it. Oh, and we’re out of milk.”

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