This morning a strange man rapped at my door. He came in navy blue peddling financial products. I admit I was given pause by this emulation of concern for the future of my wealth. Normally I would have just waved him along. I usually counterfeit my money-it’s much easier than actually making it. This day, however, I had questions.
As I thought for a beat it grew quiet between he and I. Could this man help me? Was this the call I’ve awaited? Might he guide me to the answers I seek? Counterfeiting is so selfish and ineffectual. I am in need of a fresh idea. Something diabolical, something destructive. Should I invest in Energy Transfer Partners? Short call Cannabis Growth Corp and fund Canadian prohibition campaigns? Do bombs and rifles still turn a profit? So many questions. It should go without saying that I would have to amass wealth but I simply refuse to do it with scruples. I want to get rich, yes but I want to get rich the only real way: the wrong way.
Once I’d collected my thoughts I looked upon my guest and demanded an audience with his wealthiest lord. I advised him that my schedule would be cleared for the morrow and I should be expecting a coach before tea. Failing that, all further solicitation of my business with his cabal should be initiated by sending a prospectus alongside a cask of 12 year Rye, not some defenseless child in TJ Maxx with a decorative clipboard. Our business concluded I lowered the gates, raised the bridge and returned to frittering over seductive propaganda.
So are the trials of my soul. On my dimmest day, I suspect others might gaze upon me and appraise me carefree. “What’s gotten him so satisfied?” they wonder, little knowing that on the inside I’m thrashing about, awash in dread as I may have just given TJ Maxx the upper hand. Or was it Morgan Stanley? America Movil? Tullymore? Fuck it, they’re all in cahoots. I need not dampen my brow with such monkey business. I have television to binge watch.