The Five People Mitch Albom Can Meet In Hell.

Caution: there is going to be some very colorful, NSFW language.

Gonna dial it back a little bit to when I was an aspiring sportswriter.

Back when I had designs on such a career, one of the big guns at the time (and arguably still a big gun now) was Mitch Albom of the Detroit Free Press.  His career path was much like how many budding journalists hope it goes for them… build a reputation with a major newspaper, and use that audience to launch a solo writing career.

Albom certainly did all that, but certainly not without shortcuts that soured my opinion on him.  From his work of outright fiction passed as fact (Google up his article about Mateen Cleaves and Jason Richardson at the Final Four they never attended), to continuing to draw a paycheck as a sportswriter while not even considering himself to be a journalist any more (and denying headliner status and a potential audience that someone else could use to launch their own career)… to this most recent judgmental, misogynist piece of bullshit he uttered on the Sports Reporters on ESPN.

Most notably, I want to draw attention to this wonderfully sexist vomit:

“I’d feel a lot happier about this if the woman took that money and gave it to charity and said this is not what this was about… I always am suspect when people end up saying ‘well, I’m going to take it.’”

Allow me on behalf of every decent human being when I say, fuck off and die, Mr. Albom.  Your comfort is completely and utterly irrelevant, and your bullshit in the face of a woman who was railroaded by her school and Tallahassee police because she was raped by a star football player is out of line.

Your belief in her claims is irrelevant.  The evidence speaks for itself.  And your smug assertion that she should donate her settlement to charity while you sip Pina Coladas from your beach house in Malibu should get your teeth punched down your throat, you despicable little garden gnome.

Despite the soccer mom, Sunday School audience you cater to with your meandering drivel might think, you aren’t some arbiter of common decency or appropriate behavior.  Your own body of work wouldn’t even come close to meeting your own standard.  So please, be my guest and sit on a sandpaper dildo, you smarmy, greased up hobbit.

I’m not going to say you lost my respect today.  You lost my respect over a decade ago.  But your projectile fecal matter somehow managed to make me think less of you than I did.

I didn’t think that was possible.

Maybe you need to rethink your novelist career. After all, I doubt you could rightfully compose a book about heaven or the people you can meet there while you go straight to hell.

(Credit goes to Jeff Moss for the Youtube video linked in this post)

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