Huzzah! Huzzah! Make way, Make way!
Sound the Trumpets! Blare the horns!
Roll out red carpet and toss your flower petals!
The Fortythreecentinaire has arrived!
As you can see from the photo above, through my unmatched hard work and the unbearable weight of my literary talent, I have finally achieved what few others have. I have found success, even though I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Ever since the fountainhead gave me an anthem, I knew this atlas would shrug his way to the big time. Horatio Alger’s got nothing on me!
My entire life was all work leading up to this point. I was deep in preparation for this very moment. In some ways, I’ve been training my entire life. Every day I hit the books, to learn the seven effective habits of highly effective people, the twenty rules for life, the four agreements, the power of positive thinking, and the art of the deal. I learned how the millionaire next door did a total money makeover by playing moneyball with the wealth of nations again a leviathan. I’ve felt that prosperity gospel flow through me when preached by the richest man in Babylon and the motley fool. I implemented my four-hour workweek to get things done while working in sales at Glengarry Glen Ross. Early to bed and early to rise made me healthy and wise, but now I’m wealthy, too!
It wasn’t easy, though. The first few pennies from heaven felt like a trifle of an offering for my thoughts, especially after giving my two cents from the start. But once you’re in for a penny, you’re in for a pound, and when that first penny dropped, I got wise and pinched that red cent. After all, a penny saved is a penny earned, and my ambitions were going to cost a very pretty penny, no matter where I turn up. I didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but a day later I did, and by the end of the week I was like Lucy shaking her can of nickels, deposits growing like the coin bank of a nickelodeon. And at the drop of a dime? Well, soon that dime turned into a dozen, and I became the king of nickel and diming. I can’t made heads or tails of these coins, though. Both sides seem to be the same, no matter how many times I consider the other side.
What I want is to cash in on that almighty dollar. Nothing is as sound as cold hard cash slapped down on the barrelhead, grabbed in both hands and made into a stash. I want quick, fast, honest bucks. I’m talking the big bucks, the kind you can pass to that get the most bang out each one. I want easy money, heavy money, hush money, mad money, smart money, soft money, and even monopoly money, until I am officially in the money, on the money, and rolling in it.
I want to listen to money, so when I ante up to the big leagues, I’ll get a run for my money, or maybe a run for someone else’s money, but either way, I’ll get my money’s worth. I want to know the color of money so I can put my money where my mouth is, until money is no object, so that I can throw money around without ever throwing good money after bad or pouring money down the drain, for that matter. I want to know all the ways that time can be money and that money can be the root of all evil. You can bet your bottom dollar that one day I’ll have a million dollars. And when I have it, then I’ll feel like a million dollars, finally striking gold after sitting on this mine for years. I want to feel its weight and know how it feels to shake its hand because clearly I have the Midas touch. I want to know it dollar for dollar and dollars for doughnuts.
But all that glitters is not gold. I know a fool and his money are soon parted as much as a light purse is a heavy curse. I’ve been the breadwinner, brought home the bacon off the gravy train, and greased every palm along the way that was worth their salt. My bread and butter came from earning a living, not hitting the jackpot. We lived within our means to make ends meet, turning one man’s trash into this man’s treasure, paying my own way and picking up the tab.
I started from the bottom; now I’m here, by flying paper planes with fistfuls of dollars clutched in sticky fingers, all for a few dollars more. I worked hard for the money, shaking my money maker, and then took the money and ran. I stayed away from material girls, gold diggers, and rich girls, because you can’t buy me love. Money is what I want because cash rules everything around me. You hear what I’m saying? It’s ALL about the Benjamins.
It could all go away, though. One day I could wake up and bet on the wrong horse, have a bad idea burning a hole in my pocket, and come up a day late and a dollar short. It will just be below par at first, going dutch on meals and feeling the pinch, trying to get back on my feet from living beyond my means. And if I’m not careful, I’ll float a loan and end up forking over more and more, until cutting my losses and cashing in my chips just to break even. I’d get along on a shoestring, living hand to mouth, paycheck to paycheck, for chickenfeed and peanuts, until caught short and left down and out, strapped for cash while struggling to make ends meet, even after tightening my belt. Eventually, I could be in the hole, in the red, and head over heels in debt, a dirt cheap deadbeat hard up and cut off, breaking the bank, and eventually flat, stone cold broke. Not even my friends passing the hat nor my community taking up a collection will save me. I could end up paying through the nose to the piper while taking a beating down at the cleaners.
But that’s not going to happen to me. I’ve never bet on the wrong horse. I know every meme stocks and NFT that’s going to pop. I’m trading places with the wolves of wall street, hunting black swans and bagholders, and watching dead cats bounce into bear and bull traps. I’m going long on the short squeeze and going short on the long squeeze, pumping and dumping like a champion. I know the five stablecoins to invest in, the twenty altcoins to risk, and the fifty shitcoins to drop immediately. I’ve got my mind on my money and my money on my mind, and you know I always buy the fucking dip. I’m going to take the money and run all the way to my pasture of cash cows and golden geese.
And you can take that to the bank.
A Stoner’s Christmas (An Anytown Story)
David Miller finished wiping his hands in the men’s bathroom, then returned to the mirror to give himself a once-over…
Check the link above to read the story that brought me to new economic heights.