I do.  My name is Elliot and I have a friend – we’ll call him Richard – who is tall, rich, handsome, and charming.  Whenever we’re with a group of people, it’s like I don’t exist.  Everyone there is playing to Richard.

Who knows the reason?  Birth order?  Height?  Killer instinct?  Richard still has his wife, mine dumped me for a successful architect.  Richard has 35 million bucks.  I borrow money from my mother, my ex-wife, my own son.

If Richard and I were two characters in a play, I can guess what the audience would be thinking.  Why can’t Elliot just accept the fact that his friend happens to be more talented and successful and get on with it?  I’m trying, folks.  It’s why I write this stupid column.

The fact is, for every one Richard out there, there’s got to be 99 of us losers.  99!! Now granted, a third are too clueless to give a shit.  They’re actually happy for the Richards of the world.  God bless ‘em.  Another third can’t tolerate their feelings of envy -- they’re the ones you always hear saying,  I don’t have a jealous bone in my body, yuk yuk.  Right.

So that leaves my category.  The Morbidly Resentful.   The Chronically Jealous.  What are we supposed to do?   I’ve got an answer, you know.  I am not just sitting here reveling in my “loserness.”  Oh, no, with my little pamphlets, I have opened a dialogue, brought the issue if not to national attention, then at least to my corner of northeastern New Jersey. 

Sort of an Alcoholics Anonymous for the chronically covetous.  My name is Elliot and I am a failure and I am jealous of anyone else who isn’t.  Honesty.  Discussion.  And constant monitoring of the situation...lifelong group therapy if you will.   Say it aloud, I’m jealous and I’m proud!

Think you’re alone because you bear so much ill-will to all those who have done better than you? E-mail me: E-man@secondbestthemovie.com.

Remember, the only thing worse than being a loser is pretending you’re not.