Fake It Until The Cops Arrive

 

Fake it until you make it. In the case of Andrew Tate- fake it until you go to jail.

It's good to see Andrew sitting in the clinker although I cannot actually see him- I hear things. He's a man who is used to getting his way in life, somewhat like our orange man. In America we don't have the balls to go after pedophiles so other countries must intervene.

Seems the alleged pedophile, trafficker and  misogynistic pig has been faking his wealth. Most people would consider $20 million a pretty decent amount, which is what smart people have figured out Tate is actually worth- money wise. He is worth nothing as a human. Tate doesn't seem to think that's an impressive sum so he has been lying to us. (((Gasp!))) Imagine that. All those fancy cars he drives around in are rentals. He doesn't own a yacht but wants you to believe he does. It's clear he has had to skimp on clothing and was the winning bidder on eBay for the wardrobe of Blanche Devereaux.

I never had it in me to fake it. I once nearly did something that I can barely write about because it's so sitcom cliched. Valentine's Day was coming up and I worked in an office with several young women who were either engaged or in a hot and steady relationship. I was in a something I have no actual definition of what to call it. It was an on again off again, mostly sexual encountered affair, where talk was minimal and clothing optional. We were off at the moment and I was filled with self pity and envy towards these women who came in every morning smiling and ready to discuss their previous evening with their boyfriend. I wanted to squirt ink from the printer on one girl who always called her boyfriend, "My guy." I never added anything to the conversation and they didn't ask, already assuming I was the spinster at the ripe old age of 23. 

Two days before the V day... 

Should I order flowers and have them sent to the office? Maybe some chocolates and balloons, too? What could it hurt, right? The ladies would all be so jealous. I'll order two dozen roses and the fancy, big box of Whitman's Sampler, and a stuffed animal would make them envious! 

I can see them now, so jealous, looking at my caramel cremes and wanting to hug my stuffed frog who has a glowing red heart on his chest. A card, I need a card!

I didn't do any of that because there was a feeling in the pit of my stomach when I started to pick up a phone and make an order, so as the day arrived, I truly was the old hag spinster. It was as horrible as I had imagined as a constant stream of flowers, balloons, bunnies and chocolate boxes arrived throughout the day. 

Now, I'm glad I didn't do it; to pretend to have something I didn't. You can pretend to have a life people will envy, yet still be a despicable piece of shit. 

I doubt Andrew and his nameless brother have any remorse for what they have done. Their acting days are nearly over. Andrew will soon be sharing a cell in Wormwood Scrubs Prison with a guy named Angus who will treat Andrew the way he treated hundreds of girls and women. 

Bob's your Uncle.