Thursday, March 12, 2009
Between 2008 and 2009, the number of billionaires on earth dropped from an arousing 1,125 to a balls-chilling 793. That’s 332 fallen billionaires. To put that in context, that’s 332 fewer invitations sent out to this year’s “Billionaire’s Gangbang” in St. Louis, Missouri—home of the blues. So, what will these 332 sad men do next? And how will they pass the long hours until they die—screaming and filthy—in the gutters of the world?
I admit I am not, and never have been, a member of the billionaire brotherhood (in truth, I make less money than most bourgeois children with allowances—the price I pay for a little something called “integrity”) but I feel a powerful urge to help these ruined men. There but for fortune, I could have been a deracinated billionaire, and they could have been slam poets. My message to my fancy brothers is this: keep your hands busy and your minds occupied to stave off sin and depression. I know it’s going to be hard to adjust to your new lives as hated, untouchable hundred-millionaires, but you’ve got to try—if not for yourselves, then for your wives, children and buxom teenaged mistresses.
Regarding your hands: get a part time job—preferably at an independently owned hardware store. I always find that selling a hammer or some sort of screwdriver to a gruff workingman raises my spirit and brings me closer to Christ, the carpenter. If employment is scarce, take up a hobby. I myself learn a new musical instrument every time I’m “let go” from one of my “jobs.” These days, thanks to my shaky employment history, I’m a regular one man band. Not to brag, but my musical arsenal featuring the following weapons: an electric bass guitar, bongos, cymbals, a flute, a toy trumpet, a concertina, a banjo, three harmonicas (in the keys of A, C and E) and a train whistle. Trust me: no one can be sad who has a room full of instruments he or she will eventually master. (I think I’ll be ordering a clarinet next week.)
Regarding your minds: devote one hour per day to some sort of mental game (such as a crossword, riddle or, if necessary, word jumble) and at least two hours per evening to reading. What should you read? I myself like two types of books: grammar guides and novels set in exotic locations peopled by mysterious, insatiable beauties who regard clothing as a prison. Both genres have their merits; either way, you will profit.
I hope that the former billionaires find consolation in my words (words are all I can offer at the moment, although I wouldn’t hesitate to embrace any of the 332 disgraced tycoons if they knocked on my humble door). My suggestions are both practical and spiritual, and will save 332 lives. We can’t have former billionaires roaming the streets all night, causing trouble and demanding foie gras from passersby, can we? No, we can’t; we cannot.