The Struggles Of Money Man
If the world is my oyster – I must be allergic to shellfish. I’m either the loneliest rich guy in the world or the richest lonely guy in the world.
My servants often ask me to smile but staying awake is exhausting enough, Jeeves. Sure, I’ve led a privileged life – my father was a great mother and my mother was a great brother. When they passed away in that horrible yachting accident, I was left with the family fortune and ownership of the fortune cookie factory.
Yet, here I am in megalomaniacal misery. Sitting on my diamond beanbag, petting my stupid pet tiger and waiting for the sun to take its daily space nap.
Nobody needs my help at the factory – the fortunes are written by computers and robots make the cookies. I don’t even sign the paychecks anymore because my third wife took that as part of our settlement. The judge said she has better girl handwriting on account of her organic reproductive organs. I guess my synthetic breasts didn’t come with a handwriting application.
All the kids I’ve sired over the years have either moved away or live in a remote wing of my mansion where I can’t seem to find them. I’m positive my son Xavier created a series of candlestick levers and sliding bookshelves to hide from me and I suspect my daughter Bernice is living in the center of that new hedge maze in the backyard.
Who needs family when you have hobbies, right? Unfortunately, I’ve mastered everything from plate spinning to cross-dressing and I couldn’t be less fulfilled. Even vacationing at this point seems like a needless hassle. Do you know what the Earth looks like from the peak of Mount Everest? A bunch of clouds – it’s pretty dumb.
Thankfully, there are a couple outlets I still enjoy from time to time – one being my three-story bouncy castle stocked with topless babes. I got a great deal on some former Barker Beauties from The Price Is Right and they stay relatively civil if you feed them the occasional can of Emerald Nuts.
Another remaining passion of mine is the smash-y room. Basically, I take things poor people need, like food or cars and I flamethrow them to oblivion. Typically, I’ll run over the remains with a steamroller but sometimes I drop an anvil from a crane and watch everything go BOOM!
I’ve decided to move out of this mansion, though. The servants hound me endlessly and I feel like the contractors I hired are re-modeling rooms as they see fit. I like pillows as much as the next gent but why cover the walls with them?
So I’ll start anew. Donate my savings to one of those underdeveloped countries you hear about on the news when your maid lets you watch TV. There are plenty of options out there for a guy like me. I know I can find my niche as soon as I find the key to this jacket.
