Phillip Hoffman didn’t leave any money to his kids. He didn’t want his children to be trust fund brats, which he helped insure by blowing liberal amounts of their inheritance on heroin. In his own dad is laying naked in a flop house shitter with surgical tubing around his arm kind of way, he was a great father. Apart from not giving them any money, Hoffman took the step of guilt tripping his kids into living in areas with inflated rent:
“It is my strong desire my son, Cooper Hoffman, be raised and reside in or near the borough of Manhattan, Chicago, Illinois, or San Francisco, California,”
Maybe through his purple haze he might have checked the housing section on Craigslist and noticed the only people who can afford to live in San Francisco anymore are trust fund kids and Google executives. In passing down pretty much nothing but his addict genes he could have at least left enough dough for up to three sober living housing stints per child. I like the concept of not wanting to turn your kids into Brandon Davis or Paris Hilton, but I’m not sure merely cutting off their welfare checks from beyond the grave is the answer. There’s something to be said for providing life lessons pre-morten to the little ones. You know, other than I love you, Little Cooper, just not quite as much as getting super fucking high.
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