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Here's what we've learned in the days since Pat O'Brien's self-exile to rehab, which probably has nothing at all to do with the voicemails of the smooth operator eloquently seducing a female acquaintance: People who claim that they used to work with him are delighted that he's finally been served such a public comeuppance. Bask in Schadenfraude as a former colleague gleefully maligns O'Brien's golf game:

The last time I saw Pat O'Brien was in the 90s. I was practicing my golf game at the Studio City par three course driving range. O'Brien made a grand entrance, trying to communicate with body language that a superstar was among the peons. Then he started trying to execute shots with a 9 iron. He was absolutely the worst golfer I ever saw. None of his attempts was anywhere close to what a good golfer would hope to see. Most of his shots were dreadful shanks or pathetic dribblers. Which is all well and good, but O'Brien kept trying to milk praise from everyone around him. "Wow! Look at that!" he would say repeatedly, "Great shot!" he would proclaim, hoping someone would be dumb enough to agree with him. But nobody was dumb enough to fall for it.

We really hope that O'Brien didn't choose the golf course as his "happy place" as he languishes in rehab. That kind of tragedy would be too much to bear.