An Armchair Psychoanalysis of Mike Pigby

My wonderful mother, Betty Gatto (who, like me, is no relation to Mike Gatto) raised me on simple principles. Treat others as you want to be treated. Don’t hurt people’s feelings. Turn the other cheek.

Well, sorry Mom, but I find Mike “Bigby” Higby’s self-aggrandizing hypocrisy so offensive that I’ve decided to expose this formless dump-truck load of whale blubber for what I believe him to be. Pigby is a mammoth tub of lipids so consumed by subconscious jealousy that he is powerless to glean a truth so glaring that he may as well walk around with it printed on an XXXXXXXXXXXXXL T-shirt:

Mike Bigby wishes he was Mike Gatto.

Let’s break this down:

On the one hand, we have an athletic, handsome, virile young man who left a prosperous career in law to serve his fellow citizens in the State Assembly. He is happily married to a former Miss Orange County, has a beautiful daughter, and owns multiple properties (the primary of which, contrary to the slanderous lies spread by enemies of Mike Gatto, is firmly entrenched in California’s 43rd voting district). He sports a BMI in the healthy range, owns a neatly cropped head of lustrous hair, and can move without the assistance of a bariatric ambulance.

On the other, we have a horrifying blob who, I shudder to imagine, cannot even locate his own penis in his endless mounds of gurgling flab. I presume he is happily married to a blow-up doll named Olga, and that he can only fantasize that his lethargic sperm would be capable of creating human life if he were able to grossly overpay a human female to mate with him. Oh, and where does this one-man solution to the world’s food shortage problem live? That’s right…in his parents’ basement.

Now, I’m no Sigmund Freud, but I don’t need to be a psychologist to see that Mike Bigby is pathologically consumed by envy for Mike Gatto. So pronounced is this jealousy that Pigby has lost all ability to resist the overpowering urge to destroy this unattainable object of his idolatry, simply so he doesn’t have to be taunted and haunted by the maddening image of this handsome, all-American political cowboy. From the dank, pizza box-lined depths of his parents’ basement, Mike Bigby dreams of wielding political influence; in the hallowed halls of Sacramento, Mike Gatto actually has political influence.

Here’s a word of advice, Pigby: put down the bucket of fried chicken, take a couple years’ worth of jogs around the block, and maybe one day you can have your own life instead of trying to destroy others.

(Daulton Gatto is no relation to Mike Gatto. That they share a surname is purely coincidental.)

Advertisements

About Daulton Gatto (no relation to Mike Gatto)

I am a sweet dude, but nowhere near as sweet as Mike Gatto. (I am not related to Mike Gatto. Our identical last name is purely a coincidence.)
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to An Armchair Psychoanalysis of Mike Pigby

  1. Pingback: Welcome, Mayor Sam Readers! |

  2. Pingback: Phil Jennerjahn: Not a Sweet Dude |

  3. Pingback: Ron Kaye LA: Still a Fucking Asshole |

  4. Pingback: Mike Gatto Acknowledges His Giant Manhood on Assembly Floor |

  5. Pingback: Mike Gatto Jokes About Having a Giant Cock |

  6. Pingback: Welcome Back, Mayor Sam Blubberheads |

  7. Pingback: An Open Letter to Mike Higby (Mayor Sam) |

  8. Pingback: Who Actually Wrote “The Rise and Fall of Mike Gatto”? Top 5 Suspects |

  9. Pingback: Mary Cummins & Amanda Lollar Can Both Go Fuck Themselves |

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s