As with most CAHNTENT CREEADUR cows, Jack was steeped in a lifetime of failure prior to pretending that getting lucky with Youtube slop was something he was entitled to after "paying his dues" by being mostly unemployed since the 1990s as a consequence of being a stupid, lazy asshole with delusions of grandeur and hair wherever he inflicted himself upon others.
Sometime in 2025, Jack made a slobbering cope video dispensing the unsolicited, platitudinal advice of "going back to basics" with whatever made his "career"/marriage/peepee work in the first place. He sounded like Grape Ape while doing so.
The problem with Jack's advice is that *he* doesn't understand what "earned" him UTOOBS success in the first place; because it would be an intolerable narc injury to admit that he was merely lucky, has long-since squandered what that luck afforded him in the short term, and that no meritocracy informs any part of his sinful, selfish life beyond whatever he rationalizes to himself as "deserving" from others in the course of prayer communing with his only higher power: his false sense of self which can't manifest where anyone else can see or know to pay lip service to it.
Jack's defining, insurmountable hubris prevents him from "replicating"[reliving] any of the successes he is incapable of experiencing (aside from when he accidentally stumbles into anything which isn't outright failure), and he's arrived at a point near the end of his life where the only way he's willing to react to this existential thorn in his side is by getting hungry and MAD where others can see it. And he won't bow out and recuse himself from this cycle of circling the drain in any manner others might consider graceful; because he's spent his life ensuring there's nothing else waiting for him which he could take comfort in.
He's jealous of his grandson, resentful of anyone he sees with functional legs, envious of anyone else's portion of meat, greedy with his own piles of slop, confused and ashamed that he only gets sexually excited by his son's titties, is covered in a variety of flakes at all times, often smells like the juice from a hot garbage bag, and is generally uncomfortable from being unable to scratch an itch on his left arm. That, he has earned for himself. Along with the megacolon.
