because he spends all his time and energy trying to make himself feel good. He doesn't seem to enjoy anything except maybe golf, and the reason he likes golf is probably because he owns the golf courses and can get away with cheating and driving on the greens when nobody else can. He doesn't have any other hobbies; he doesn't go to concerts or plays or art galleries or museums or sports events; he doesn't swim or hunt or fish or sail or hike or dance or sing or play an instrument or paint or garden or play with his son or grandkids or read for fun or just sit outside and look at the flowers and the clouds. He doesn't have fun. He doesn't have a pet. He doesn't seem to love anybody. His whole life is about trying to better than everybody else in all ways so as to impress the rest of the world. Because that's impossible he'll always be unhappy. I'd feel sorry for him if he weren't such a vicious, destructive asshole.