Posts Tagged ‘money’

I made an observation recently that I had no immediate answer to. Nearly every wealthy person I encounter is stunningly beautiful. Man, woman, white, black, gay, straight, and any combination of everything there is out there, most of these prosperous people are pleasing on the eye. They are fit, have great skin, and their faces are so beautiful I wonder what horrible things I did in a past life to get the one I have. After much thought I have come up with a few possibilities as to why people with money are so aesthetically pleasing.

They Can Afford Food and Personal Trainers:

When you have money you have a distinct advantage over the rest of the world. Everything costs money. I have never been a fan of the phrase “the best things in life are free” because this insinuates that Government Cheese is one of the best things in life. Healthy food is very expensive as are personal trainers. We all know by now that what you eat is the most important thing that affects your health, other than the obvious like playing in traffic or getting in trouble with the mafia. People who can afford to eat a nutritious and filling meal every day are going to be pretty healthy. People who can afford to do that while having personal training sessions at the same time are going to be even healthier. Could money be the main factor behind their beauty? The weights I lift are rusted and the only vegetables I eat are ketchup packets I steal from the corner store. So far, I’m not ruling it out.

They Are Rich Only Because They Look Good:

If money isn’t the most important thing in life then it’s being good-looking. Hey, I didn’t make the rules. This is just how things are. There always is the possibility that rich people are rich because of their good looks. Maybe they were hired because the person who did the interview found them attractive. And then there are jobs like professional model where being beautiful is what you do. Think of it in a way where you go to a restaurant and the waiter or waitress is unattainably attractive. Do you or do you not leave a little heftier tip? I always do because deep down somewhere in my soul I think it will make her like me. The same most likely happens with the wealthy. For instance, having a well-muscled lawyer with perfect hair and a strong jaw may be able to swing a shallow jury easier than an old man with a hunchback and pencil mustache.

They Have Gotten So Powerful That They No Longer Work Much:

Take a moment to think about your boss. Do they or do they not work far less than you do? In most fields it seems to me that the higher you get the less you actually do. When you have less work to do you have more time to do things that you want, like beautifying your body. Having worked for insanely rich people, I know they have wacky schedules. They seem to have every afternoon free to slap on a jogging suit and burn off carbohydrates. Could they be at the point in their careers where they are nothing more than a figurehead? I would simply ask them, but I’m not even close to their level in society yet. I am afraid they may speak to me like a dog.

It’s An Illusion:

I have to consider all possibilities here. Maybe these people are not physically attractive. Maybe these people appear attractive because they radiate confidence, since they bleed cash. I know if I was extremely well-to-do I would walk with my chest out, my hips forward, and a big grin on my face. Confidence is attractive for sure. I doubt this is the true reason why rich people are hot, but I didn’t want to leave anything out.

They Actually Do Work Hard At Everything:

This is crazy, but maybe rich people work hard at their jobs and still make time to live a healthy lifestyle. Not just anybody can start up a corporation or get a clearly guilty man an innocent verdict. There are a ton of rich people who inherited the cash the same as there are enough who really did earn it. The answer as to why they are so attractive will probably never fully be clear. For now though, I’m going to give them credit. I will continue staring at them from a distance while admiring their beauty, quietly wondering how I too could look so beautiful.

FOX 2003 WinterTCA Tour

(But sometimes people not so rich are as beautiful as Joe Millionaire. Just look at those beautiful tan lines all over his face)

Bad skin, colon cancer, depression, frugality, blue eyes, and procrastination all run in my family. I have them all, except maybe the colon cancer. The cheapness that runs through my blood prevents me from ever paying health insurance. Procrastination is the problem my bloodline has that I would like to focus on here. It seems like every day I put off important things that I promise myself I will begin the next day, these are those things.

1) Get Healthier:

Diet and exercise are the life force of showoffs. I eat pretty well and I exercise regularly. One look in the mirror though and I clearly could be working harder at it. It seems like every few weeks I setup a new diet and exercise program that will turn my body from looking like a melted candy bar to looking like a melted candy bar that was thrown into the freezer to be less messy. My biggest enemy is looking at the price of salad at the grocery store. I’m not made of money. If I was made of money I would spend my days lying on the ground then running away from people whenever they tried to pick me up as a practical joke. Right now I may not have the body I wish I had. There’s always reincarnation.

2) Do Laundry:

As a bachelor (I hate that word, it feels like a nice way of saying “suspected serial killer”) I can pretty much do whatever I want, including not doing laundry as much as I should. Years ago my mother called me while she was drunk and told me how she was proud that I wasn’t smelly like other boys my age. At first it didn’t mean much, but now I’m proud she noticed I kept clean clothes. My biggest enemy when it comes to doing laundry is carrying my sack of dirty clothes down three flights of stairs. It’s much easier to just cover myself in deodorant to mask the smell.

3) Pay Bills:

I always pay my bills on time. Once I didn’t and I felt awful. I felt like I let my Internet provider down. Paying bills doesn’t take very long. The hardest part about it is realizing you have to pay 95% of your earnings just to have a normal lifestyle. My biggest enemy when it comes to paying bills is finding my checkbook. They should make a rule that if you cannot find the checkbook you shouldn’t have to pay. I would like that a lot.

4) Fulfill My Life Dreams:

My biggest lifelong dream would be to write a film that gets produced. I have written many films. I have written many television pilots. Write. Write. Write. That is my life right now. There still seems like there has to be something else I could do. Track down someone famous and harass them? Take a hostage? Beg? I’m running out of ideas. I can improve my craft all I want, but it’s not going to lead to success. My biggest enemy when it comes to fulfilling my dreams is that there are a lot of other people with the same dreams. By my estimation, there are at least five other people who dream of being a screenwriter. At least I don’t want to be an actor. I would have to contend with the ten people trying to do that.

5) Get A Job That Pays Well:

Full disclosure, the most amount of money I have ever made in a year was a little over $20,000. I’m not even sure if it was before or after taxes. I could never imagine a life where I am earning more than that. I am so set in my ways at living frivolously that if someone handed me a million bucks I would most likely spend it on finally getting new underwear, on sale of course. Until my dreams are fulfilled, I need to work a job that pays well enough for me to survive. My biggest enemy when it comes to getting a job that pays well is that I’m not a criminal. I am convinced that there is no other way to earn a lot of money other than killing someone for the mafia.

6) See A Doctor:

It has been years since I last went for a doctor’s appointment of any kind. I might have a plethora of diseases. The only things I really should probably get checked out are my left hip, my left knee, my left foot, and the cyst that has been on my back for three weeks that for the first week made it impossible to lie on my back because the pain was unbearable. My biggest enemy here is that I don’t have health insurance. It would probably cost me two month’s salary just to find out what’s wrong with me, not even the cost to fix it. I need that two month’s salary for when I plan to get married to someone with health insurance for the health insurance. Seriously, my body really hurts. And as I said earlier, I may have colon cancer.

7) Unpack:

I have lived in my apartment for seven full months and I still haven’t fully unpacked. In fact, when I moved for the first time back in 2008 I have kept certain things in boxes. I have so many baseball cards, little knick knacks, and papers that need to be sorted or dropped from towering heights onto enemies. My biggest enemy when it comes to unpacking is that there’s no point to it. When I need my autographed Emilio Estevez picture to impress a lady I will search for it.

8) Get A Girlfriend:

Behind every great man is an even greater woman. Sometimes this great woman makes him great and other times she eventually destroys him. I am not actively seeking a female as much as others might be. At the same time, I am keeping my eyes open for potential suitors. Most of all I think it would be nice to have a female around to unpack my things for me and maybe do some laundry. My biggest enemy with this is my personality. I’m not exactly the most forthcoming and adventurous man out there. I am also not an alcoholic nor am I famous. How am I ever going to find a girl?

9) Buy Shampoo:

A month ago I got tired of shampooing my hair so I shaved my head. Actually that’s not fully true. I also shaved my head for a potential radio gig. I didn’t get the gig. Now I’m left looking like a threat to others. I don’t so much put-off buying shampoo as much as I keep forgetting to. So really, the thing I need to do tomorrow is make a list of everything I have to do. First I need a pen and some paper. Doing things is so annoying.

10) Do More Today:

The best thing I can do to improve my life is to start right now. I need to stop waiting until tomorrow to do them. Of course though, improving my life wasn’t on the list of things to do. Maybe it will be on tomorrow’s list of things I have to do the following day. I will find out soon enough.

The-Day-After-Tomorrow-the-day-after-tomorrow-2277038-1024-768

(If this is how the day after tomorrow is going to turn out I guess I shouldn’t bother doing anything at all)

Here is something I wrote for CollegeHumor that I decided was not even good enough to submit to them. See, I don’t send them just anything. I am contemplating sending them a nipple in a box sometime soon. I’m getting a little annoyed they either reject me or don’t get back to me on articles. I think they’re hoping I die.

How to Leave Times Square without Money

Times Square in New York City is one of the most recognizable places in the world. The sentence you just read is also one of the most obvious statements ever said in the world. Whenever a person steps into Times Square for the first time they are mesmerized by the lights, the crowds, and the noise. It’s been this way for years and will stay it for more to come. People living outside of the greater New York City area may think the most dangerous things in Times Square are the homeless, the crackheads, or other cretins that don’t really bother the common person. The truth is there are far greater dangers out there.

Know this, everyone you encounter in New York City will be looking to take all of the money from your wallet. They’re generally good people so they won’t just reach into your back pocket and take it. They’re going to con you into thinking handing over your hard earned cash is the only thing you can do to get the full New York City experience. Here is the list of people who want your money most.

Comedy Club Ticket Sales Person:

New York City is the standup comedy capital of the world. There are so many comedians and so many clubs it can be grueling how competitive they are. Times Square is filled with people from different clubs trying to sell you tickets. These sales people are either aspiring comedians, an average Joe looking for a few extra bucks, or someone who cannot get hired anywhere else because there’s still too much cocaine stuck to his nose hairs. That’s not a joke, I’ve seen it. Most of these sales people will tell you some of the biggest names in comedy will be performing on the show you’re buying tickets to. Remember, Sam Kinison is dead and will not be performing comedy anywhere.

FILIPINO_20KINGS_20OF_20COMEDY

(It’s only racist if you say this show looks like crap)

Classic Childhood Characters:

It’s impossible to walk through Times Square without spotting at least one person dressed in a giant costume of a beloved childhood character. There’s Elmo, Mickey Mouse, Cookie Monster, Hello Kitty, and many more. When you approach these characters they will deny you a photograph unless you are willing to drop a dollar into the sack they carry around with them. Is a picture with a Japanese immigrant dressed up as Big Bird even worth a dollar? Because that’s really who you’re taking a picture with, someone whose only skill is to put the costume on and wave.

dumb broads

(Why are the slutty ones always so wasteful with their money?)

Rappers:

“Hey big guy, do you like rap music?” is the most common question asked in Times Square. This question is asked by aspiring rappers who are out on the streets hawking their CDs. It’s a little insulting to refer to anyone as ‘big guy’ unless his pants are down. I’m not sure how much money these guys ever make, but judging by the way they smell it’s not enough for a stick of deodorant. It’s admirable to see them working so hard to make it big. If only they knew a more polite way to say ‘Hello sir, would you mind taking a listen to my musical production piece I have created?’

rapper

(There’s no tattoo or bullet wound on the back of her neck. She has no business listening to rap music)

Knock-Off Brand Salesmen:

Women go crazy for knock-off purses. Sometimes I’ll be on a date with a girl thinking I’m going to score then we’ll pass by a Haitian on a city street corner selling stolen handbags or other products and I know I’m doomed to spend the night alone with an old sock as my partner. Most of these bags are legitimate enough where the straps won’t break apart in the first week. The men selling these products barely ever need to give the women who fancy the bags a sales pitch. Something happens to a woman when she sees a handbag. The same thing happens to a man when he sees large breasts. Possession takes over. We lose thousands of years of human evolution in our DNA. Before buying one of these bags ask yourself if you can even afford enough shit to throw into the bag once you own it. Almost always the answer is ‘hell no.’

handbags

(I think I just heard a woman orgasm while looking at this picture)

Tour Buses:

Possibly the biggest tourist trap in any city you can fall for is the bus tour. New York City might be one of the easiest cities to navigate due to its grid system and different smells from neighborhood to neighborhood. Do you smell pot? You’re probably in The Village. Do you smell fried chicken? Most likely you’ve crossed into Harlem. Do you smell bleached assholes? Welcome to Chelsea! The bus tours any city will take you on are nothing special, New York being no exception. Discover these adventures on your own. You can get closer to the sites and have more time to appreciate the ones that actually mean something. Plus, none of these tours take you to places as seen in the third Die Hard movie. What’s the point in going to New York City if you don’t see those sights?

rubes

(The word “rubes” should be on the side of this bus and nothing else)

I recently went on my old computer for the first time in over a year. The only reason I had been going on it was because I had a game I enjoyed playing downloaded there. It’s a fine enough computer. The biggest problem is I would have to keep the keyboard in my lap and the mouse would go on top of the computer tower since I have no computer desk. As you can see, I was headed toward scoliosis, carpal tunnel, and getting yelled at by keyboarding instructors all over for my improper setup. I found something strange on this old computer. I found my first attempt at trying to raise money for a movie I wanted to make.

The strangest thing about this movie is I don’t remember anything about it. I’ve had a lot of shitty ideas over the years and many stick with me. This idea though was different. This idea means nothing to. Below is a picture of the document I found on my computer from 3/13/2006:

worst movie idea ever

I know what you’re thinking, what the fuck? I’m thinking it too. I was 18 whenever I made this contract. I was a senior in high school. Senior year was a crazy year for me because I was usually home from school by like 11. All I had time to do was make contracts. Rather than ignore this and move on I would like to analyze what a dumb person I was back then based on this document alone.

First off, why did I think putting the word “Official” made things official? This is something incredibly retarded. As we all know something isn’t official until it’s on Facebook. Back then Facebook only allowed college students onto their smug website and Myspace’s reliability was pretty low. I guess just putting the word “Contract” wouldn’t look right though. What kind of contract? If someone sees the word official they may find it legitimate. When I think about it I should have had it say “Legitimate Contract” so when asked “is this legit?” I could tap my finger on the word legitimate.

Clearly the formatting on this stinks. There’s a gigantic gap and the (print name) is floating in the middle of nowhere. I took so many classes on web design and typing and I was always very good at them yet I never could figure out how to format a Microsoft Works document. Yes, I said Works, not Word. Microsoft Word is for rich kids. Microsoft Works is for kids who have to type up their own lame contracts.

richie rich

(Richie Rich has no excuse for being so unfashionable, he’s rich! Get a bow tie that fits and pants that won’t tempt a pedophile)

I’ll glance over the fact I had to specify US Dollars. Imagine how pissed I would have been if I got someone to donate to this unworthy cause and it was in Canadian loonies. Let me focus for a moment on the title of this project, Home Abortion Kit. This does sound like the title of something I might have wanted to make into a film. I remember writing up a Harry Potter parody YEARS ago (I stress years so you know I’ve grown as a human being) called Harry Squatter and the Sorcerer’s Bone. My idea of writing a funny movie used to be thinking of a bad porno movie title. The biggest flaw with the script other than I wrote it was there were too many Ichiro Suzuki jokes. I know, who? He was big when I wrote it, trust me.

I’m trying to piece together a potential plot to this film based on the title. I may be thinking now this was going to be a short instructional video I was going to make for a company I knew about. I only knew about the company because I somehow started talking to a transsexual online who had done films for them. Yeah, that last sentence has no errors in it. How did I think this would have been a good idea? What would I do, push girls down the stairs? I couldn’t even get a girl to tell me to watch out for a moving bus back then. How could I get one to agree to let me push her down some stairs as a gag?

bus death

(The worst before and after diet photo ever)

There are a few typos in the contract which I guess makes the “Official” at the top look like a lie. I enjoy the fact that I guess I was giving out refunds if I won in a contest? Is that what I was doing? If I won 2nd place I would give you half your money back? That’s not how movies work. Why was I so stupid? Even worse I actually thought this idea had potential. I thought I was going to, without any experience; win an independent short film contest. Certain people need to be knocked down and told their dreams stink. 18-year-old me was one of those people.

There are few American institutions that make me shiver as much as banks. We all know by now money means power. The purpose of a bank is to store money. That’s also the purpose of my mattress and the main difference between the two is I’ve never tied a girl down to my bank then left for the day to teach her a lesson in not being a dirty slut. I’ve had the same bank account since I was 6 years old and finally I am thinking about opening up a new one. In my quest to open up a new bank account I have rediscovered something, banks aren’t built to keep the burglars out, they’re built to keep your money in.

Around 2007 my dad went with me to TD Bank to open up a new account. He told me they had better benefits. Their computers crashed and they said they had no idea when they’d be operational again. My dad said some swear word and we left. That was the end of opening up a new bank account. Delay me once, I’ll take my business to where it already is, my family’s motto.

(All the flights are cancelled? Fine. I’ll just move into the town I’m staying in)

My dad always told me one thing I should think about doing was putting a lump sum on a bank CD. I forget what CD stands for but I’d guess the C stands for criminal. My dad made it seem like CDs were the best way to make money without risking anything in the stock markets. I looked into opening up a CD. My current bank offered what they claimed to be one of the best interest rates, 1.01%. I did the calculator and if I was going to put $500 into a CD it would mean after a year I would earn, stand back, about $8. When you put money on a CD it means you can’t touch it or however long you have signed up for or whatever. So you have $500 in the bank you cannot use only to make $8 in the end after a yearlong wait. Couldn’t you just get a minimum wage job and quit after a day?

(At 5 o’clock this woman intends on throwing boiling water onto her boss’s face. She will be fired, possibly tried in a court of law, but she will still make more money than anyone ever could on a bank CD)

I calculated higher amounts to see how much one would have to put down on a CD to actually benefit from this. I don’t remember for sure, I could probably do the math, but if you put $5,000 into a CD for 2 years you will earn, raise up your hands in anticipation, about $90. Wow! Not only do you have to earn $5,000 through hard-work/clever crime committing and save it up, you also have to not be able to touch the stuff for 2 years. All of this for $90. Don’t get me wrong, $90 can be a lot of money. You can buy a new video game, go to Chili’s and get the 2 for $20 menu option, buy a movie ticket, and buy a sandwich for the cash you’ve made waiting those long 2 years.

I get the purpose of banks is so you don’t have money sitting around in old coffee can tins. They do serve a purpose but the same can also be said about college, another institution no longer living up to what it claims to be. Colleges seem to be nothing more than a congregation place to put people in debt and a simpler way to spread STDs and overly liberal ideology. Why don’t we just say when we’re 18 “I want to do this.” And for 5 years we actually get a chance to do it. If we suck or don’t like it, we go off to working in a cubicle or tissue box factory.

(Somebody’s gotta make the tissue boxes. Once we all find out we’re not good at what we want to do in life there will be lots of tears)

Banks used to offer so much more. You used to actually be able to gain interest. I don’t know enough about bank history as to why making 11 cents a month is fantastic. I guess I should take it for what it is and be happy I at least live in a country where you have the opportunity to believe in yourself only to one day wake up and realize it’s nearly impossible to succeed unless you’re willing to stomp on a lot of heads, kind of like banks do.

I never understood drug dealers. I used to always tell myself it was silly to get into a business that always ends with Colombians armed with machine guns coming after you. As I grow older, I understand it more. When I say drug dealer I don’t mean some loser who stands on a corner or deals from the basket in his bike. Street drug dealers are still lame and usually only are doing it to help pay for their own harder drugs they put into their own bodies. What I want to talk about are the big drug dealers; the Tony Montanas, Walter Whites, and Mary Louise Parkers of the world.

(She’s almost 50 and still I want to have babies with her. Not that she probably can anymore. Looks like one less worry for our relationship)

What is it all people have in common? A lust for money. I tell myself time is more important now than money is. It’s been a tough decision. I could easily make more money by working more. The decision I have made is I would rather have time. Some days I have too much time, others barely enough. I worry a lot of young people spend too much time working. Everyone I know under 30 seems to complain constantly about the most easy to fix problems. They’re not giving themselves time to improve or discover anything new in the world. They’ve gotten caught up in the ecstasy of gold.

I’ve decided if I could be anything it would be an outlaw. I would be a bank robber, a purse thief, and a guy who will turn you upside down and shake you for your lunch money. This is my dream that I will probably never do. Robbing banks is tough, I’m embarrassed whenever I am seen holding a lady’s purse, and kids are so fat these days they could probably beat me up. A boy can continue dreaming though. It’s not even the money I would want either. What would I do with money? Buy stuff? I hate owning things. The only reason to own a lot of clutter is because ghosts do not like clutter. I forget where I heard that fact. Have you ever seen a ghost on an episode of hoarders? My proof exactly.

(Not a single ghost. Wait…no. Thought I saw one but it was just more junk this person doesn’t need)

My lust for money does not come from wanting the money. My lust is about the adventure to get the money. I always wondered about old cowboys and what the purpose of robbing trains was. Didn’t a house cost a nickel back then? DVDs, high cost low-fat snacks, and deviated septum surgeries didn’t even exist. What did they need the money for? All cowboys ever spent money on was booze and whores. After a great heist they could easily spend the rest of their days with all the alcohol and sluts they wanted. This is a very simple and happy life. Times may change but a man’s needs never do.

One thing I have heard about detectives is they don’t so much care about protecting and doing the right as much as they enjoy the hunt. Some detectives want to be able to prove to themselves and everyone else that they cannot be outsmarted. I think I’m the same way with money. I don’t really care about having nice things, but I would like to be able to prove to myself and everyone else that I have the capability of making a lot. I could take the easy way out of course. I could focus all my time and energy and try to become a doctor or a lawyer. I could sacrifice my formidable years and follow down the path of those jobs. I won’t though because doctors have to look at infected genitalia and lawyers have the compassion of infected genitalia.

(Is he bribing the witness with a new wallet with the tag still on it while the old lady judge falls asleep?)

My life goal is simple; make as much money as possible by doing the least amount of work possible. This may sound incredibly lazy but you’re taking it the wrong way. If I could get a job I love to do and make loads of cash doing so then fantastic. Even if I don’t end up making a ton at least I’m doing something I love to do and that’s worth more than any treasure chest filled with gold. It’s about the adventure in getting to the top. Who wants to be an early success? Your life will inevitably be on a downward slope.

Like every other red, white, and blue blooded American, I love a bargain. I hate paying full price for anything. Maybe that doesn’t so much make me American as it does cheap. When the United States spends as much money as we did to build all those nukes only to never use them, cheap isn’t a word to describe us. All that money spent on warheads could have been used to feed starving children in other countries. We would even give them those sour Warhead candies so they know the sacrifice as a nation we made for them.

(We took away much of our defense so that naked Third World children could make sour puss faces)

When I grocery shop I always hunt for the bargains. Prices of food don’t influence me all that much at the store. I know what I like and I’m not going to fall for their witchcraft into convincing me that I like frozen peas just because they’re 2 for $3. If something I buy is on sale though I will stock up on it. That also doesn’t influence my eating habits very much. All that happens is I eat a little too much and by the end of the week I’m naked in front of the mirror swearing that I only eat things that are “unprocessed” from now on.

Here’s a light question for you. How long before you frequent a place do you think a discount should be given? I went to the same Subway 3-4 days a week for 4 years and never once got a discount. They’re friendly there, but never did I get charged a smaller price. Instead they raised prices. Probably knowing that I’d still pay 50 cents more. There was another Subway that I went to and my second trip there I was given a discount. The girl, we’ll call her Amber because I fell in love with her and learned her name because she was really hot and would talk to me, gave me this discount. She said “I remember you from last week!” She was an adorable little blonde covered in piercings. The last time I went there was Halloween 2009. I said to her “Maybe sometime I’ll eat my sandwich here and keep you company!” Pulling out my dick and threatening to urinate on her would have received a better reaction. Oh well. I saved a dollar 2 weeks in a row.

My problem with discounts is that I am not a good haggler. I had a science teacher who claimed to haggle down the price of an Eyewitness News jacket at the mall. He said he went in there every day for a month until they gave it to him half price. Where the fuck do you go to get an Eyewitness News jacket? What horrendous store sells this crap? And who buys it? The teacher was as Jewish as a person could be. He’d drop Yiddish words out of nowhere to describe the biology of different species. He even carried around a bag full of buttons claiming they were his friends. I didn’t get this until much later on in life. At first I thought it was a sick Holocaust joke. Turns out, he was crazy.

(If the Nazis turned prisoners into these buttons we’d probably like them a bit more)

Each time I get my oil changed the man there without teeth tells the man there with one eyebrow to give me $10 off. Normally this would be a good discount. Then I get my bill and it’s somehow $40 more than I was expecting. I never trust a discount when it comes to cars. Car insurance really should cover these car repairs. At least the ones that aren’t our own faults. Like you should get four free oil changes a year. If they find something wrong and it wasn’t your fault, it gets repaired for free. I’ve already declared that if by the time I’m 70 I haven’t gotten in a car wreck that I will go on a vehicular manslaughter spree. You know, to make the $1200+ dollars I’ve spent on insurance a year worth something.

“But because I like you, I’ll give it to you for–” add in the amount the criminal sleazebag is willing to chop the price down to. Nobody has ever told me that they liked me so much that I would get a lower price. I’ve had to buy a Sunday paper and search through the coupon section to get mine. I don’t think anybody has ever started any sentence by saying that they liked me before the first punctuation. Most people giving out these amazing deals are such con-artists anyway. If you can give it to me for so cheap, why wasn’t it that way in the first place? I always think of that part in A Christmas Story when the Christmas tree salesman and the dad haggle. It ends up with the Christmas tree salesman having to tie the tree to the roof of the car. The whole scene cements my feelings on people who are able to give bargains. They’re cunning and other things words that start with the letters C-U-N. Most people like that movie because it reminds them of Christmas. I like it because it reminds me not to trust anyone.

(Especially not Schwartz and his triple dog dares)

Is there any place you frequently get a discount at? Remember, it doesn’t count if you put a dead bug in your own food.

There’s a virus going around the world. A terrible epidemic. It’s the phrase “Money doesn’t buy happiness.” It has existed for some time now. Someone who was independently wealthy came up with it. Or more likely someone who was regularly wealthy trying to get the poor to stop harassing him. I’m not sure. What I do know is that there’s a lot of bullshit around that quote.

Sure, money doesn’t buy happiness. Millionaires kill themselves all the time. They use expensive guns or ropes made out of one of a kind products. Us Average Joes have to kill ourselves with belts. We die in our underwear. That’s not fair. What money does do is give you a better chance at happiness. You are able to do more. You can discover who you are and what you stand for much easier.

Think about your own life for a second. Oh, you already were? You’re a selfish person? Easy enough. Imagine that you didn’t have to work yet had an endless supply of money. Fantastic isn’t it? Okay, now imagine that you have to work and have an endless supply of money. Not much worse is it? Even if the job is something you kind of don’t really like, at least you’re making lots of money. I would use my penis as a door stop if it meant making lots of money. Who even uses door stops anymore? Stop being so careless. Even Kramer held onto the handle as he opened the door wildly.

(Racists always enter a room wildly and without warning)

In my life I would be happy if I didn’t have to work. There’s no doubt. If I had enough money to do whatever I wanted then things would be amazing. I can’t see any downfall. It would change who I am for the better. I’d be more confident. I wouldn’t have to be fearful that if I buy something I don’t really need that someday it will come back to bite me. I won’t have buyer’s remorse ever. I have that a lot. There’s this built-in fear inside of me that one day I’m going to have to do disgusting things for food. I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it comes from being a third generation hoarder. Some people are descendants of people who fight in the military. Others share DNA with doctors. I have the blood of people who can’t throw shit away.

(“It’s not hoarding, it’s to keep my children alive.” – an excuse a hoarder might come up with for having 9 versions of Monopoly)

Someday I hope to have enough money where I can be happy and not have to worry. I’m willing to put the work in. A common goal among us all is to have a job we love and can make enough money at–to what?–be happy! That’s the key. Happiness. Everything we do should be to achieve that endgame. Bliss. Money helps to achieve bliss. We don’t have to do things that cause us misery. I don’t even need millions of dollars to make me happy. What I want more than anything is time and the ability to do everything it is I want to do. Is that too much to ask for? Yes. Yes it’s way too much.

Another terrible thing that people say but never believe is “The best things in life are free.” I may have touched on this quote before. It’s one that makes me fume. Houses are amazing. They’re not free. Food is delectable. That’s always costing money. Air, that’s free. We can actually see air now. That’s how polluted it is. You’re not supposed to see oxygen!

(Even love isn’t free. She’s only kissing him because he has on a nice pair of pants and he’s only feeling up her ass because that expensive dress makes her look better. Plus that umbrella looks pretty damn nice especially for a black and white universe. And they (he) had to have paid for gas and possibly a toll to get to such a beautiful place. Unless they live near the water which has to be expensive and that would mean they would (he would) need to have good flood insurance)

Money. It kills. It destroys. It frustrates. Maybe I should have put them in reverse order. Oh well. Too late for that. But seriously, money is so incredibly evil and that’s our own fault. We invented too much amazing shit that costs lots of money. Remember back when all that existed were wooden chairs and violins? Things were easier. Entertainment was actually watching paint dry. People would say “How was your date?” and the response would be “It was like watching paint dry. She was amazing! I think we’ll be getting married someday.” I hate money. Why can’t Oprah have jungle fever for me? I’d be a much more pleasant person.

Recently, I had an encounter with the unexplained. A ghost threatened me. Actually, that’s not true. It was a man who threatened me. But he said he wouldn’t hurt me until he became a ghost. At least, that’s how I took what he said. Let me explain.

I went to Atlantic City on what I thought would be a VERYNORMAL!!! evening with my girlfriend for our two-year anniversary. It’s a great place to go when you don’t drink and the person you’re with isn’t old enough to do it. The part of the city that I saw wasn’t too flashy which is why a lot of old people go there. They don’t have to worry about their retinas burning out from all of the lights. The rickshaws on the boardwalk were mobile through the driver standing behind and pushing. All of the stores sold t-shirts with bad Jersey Shore sayings. The massage parlor women were pushy and would scream out “Massage” in a blood curdling voice whenever we passed by. I didn’t feel welcomed.

(Some hot Jersey babes at Atlantic City. Our governors might be fat, gay, and corrupt; our women are Gods in India!)

The night was winding down and we took a seat on a bench. That’s when I spotted a man begging for change. I’ve mentioned before how I feel about panhandlers. They’re con artists. You live in America. The country in the world with the most opportunity. Not only that, but this particular beggar on the boardwalk was a white male, probably around 35-40 years of age. Jack-fucking-pot! A white man in America, at an age where he’s old enough to have experience, but not too old where teenagers spray paint their band names on his back. He could become the next president of the country with his age, race, and sex. Everything is going for this guy. He’s won the birth lottery.

I saw him asking other pedestrians for money. I said to myself “Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come over here.” Hating me, the Universe sent him over into my direction.

“Can you spare a dollar?” he said hiding out in the shadows of the night sky. I couldn’t see his face. All I knew was that he was wearing a black hoodie and had a shaved head. Remember that last detail for later.

“No. Sorry. I don’t have any money on me. We just came here to walk around. We haven’t eve been gambling.” I figured, and now know, not to be friendly with these fucks. I tried to be cordial, saying why I did not have money. I did have money, but still I hadn’t been gambling. It was a half lie I guess.

He took a step closer to me. “How about a dime?” Suddenly, whatever he was going to buy, had plummeted in price.

“No sorry. I don’t have anything.” Right now in my wallet, that would be true. I have no cash there. But at that time, I had a few dollars. A few dollars I got from the ATM. The ATM that has a connection with my bank. The bank that gets my paychecks from my job.

He took another step closer. “Not even a nickel?” He was pushing it. For some reason, he thought that I would suddenly discover a nickel in my pocket. I had a nickel in my pocket. I had two in fact. At this point though, why would I invite this man closer to me? He was really living up to the name of beggar.

 

(A much more adorable beggar who has begging down to a science)

“No. I don’t have anything.” I finally said. I was really close to telling him to fuck off. That’s one of my dreams. To have a mugger approach me and tell me to hand over my wallet and I’ll tell him to fuck off. It’s a silly thing to do though as they might have a gun. Getting shot in the face isn’t worth being a badass in front of a homeless guy. He probably doesn’t even know who won the last season of Survivor. Out-of-touch-with-the-world putz.

The beggar began to laugh. “Thank you. Thank you. God bless you.” That didn’t sound so bad, but then, “I will remember this. When I leave this earth from this cancer I will remember this.” Oh, now you mention that you have cancer. Come over here you creep and I’ll give you a buck.

I said something along the lines of “okay” or “yep.” It was a hard thing to take in. I was in an unfamiliar place which is always scary. Now I was being threatened by a homeless man saying that he would remember this when he dies of cancer. It would have been excusable to shit my pants at that very moment. Luckily, I had already done it an hour earlier. Now I had an excuse.

The beggar left and continued to bother others for money. I didn’t see anyone give him anything. It’s tough to give money to someone who looks like one of your friend’s dads. Your friend’s dads managed to get a job. They managed to marry a woman that they don’t like. What’s different about this guy? For one, he’s an asshole. I’m not at an age where I have exposable income. The most expensive thing I wear are my $30 shoes and they’re only that expensive because they have Dr. Scholl’s inserts. Fancy man me. Maybe I should buck up and give 40% of my earnings to lazy people almost twice my age. I know not everyone has had it easy, but Jesus Christ there has to be something better than begging for money on a New Jersey Boardwalk a week before Halloween.

I can laugh about it now, sitting in my apartment and him not having enough money for a train ticket to get here or a map to get here or the money for the Internet fees to research me and where I live. I’m safe now, until he dies.

Remember when I said he had a shaved head? That was the only inkling to him even having cancer. The funny thing about that, why does a man with cancer have to go to a boardwalk on a Friday night and beg for dimes? He clearly has good medical insurance where he can find out that he has cancer. I have no medical insurance. I could have cancer, lupus, an ass full of anal fissures and have no clue about it. If anything, I should have been asking him about his health care coverage. I’ve told people before too that I had cancer just to get sympathy. It’s an old trick. I think Houdini invented it. Then they found out he was lying and killed him by punching him in the stomach. Houdini, the most famous magician in the world died from being punched in the stomach. This beggar has cancer and is still wandering about bothering me. He’s probably taken countless punches to the stomach and survived. There is no justice.

To say that he would remember that moment when he leaves this earth from his cancer isn’t as haunting now as it was then. It wasn’t even as haunting as soon as he walked away. I did my best not to laugh as soon as he turned away. Saying what he said, he would have to think I was very gullible. I’d have to believe:

1) That he isn’t a drug addict

2) That he actually does have cancer

3) That he will remember this

4) That when he does, someone will give him information on who I am

5) That the same person that gives him the information will give him the ability to go to where I am and haunt me

6) That there is an after life at all

I would need to believe in every single one of those factors for what he said to be true. For even one to be false would negate his ability to torture me from the afterlife. I don’t know, but I would think that God would think he was a douche bag for wanting to come back and haunt a guy for not giving him money and Satan would side with me in the first place for not giving him money. I’m in a pretty good position here.

I wish that man all the best in his money capturing ventures. I would suggest that he mention his fake cancer earlier in the conversation if he wants that to affect the outcome of his begging. You know what, when a beggar has a good story, even when I know it’s bullshit, sometimes I do give them change. This guy though, I hope he has a miraculous recovery from cancer. You clearly managed to have enough money to pay for chemotherapy, as your eyebrows were still intact. Maybe it was your whiskey voice that led me onto the fact that you were bullshitting me. Or that you don’t belong to one of the money organizations that do help people with cancer. Get your story straight stupid. And when you do die and come to haunt me, be prepared to watch me dance around naked. I intend to do that, for your entertainment.

(Bring it on ghost. I’ll be waiting)

I don’t go out to eat much, but when I do, I’m not sure how much to tip. The standard is 15%. But then sometimes I hear 18%. I usually aim for 20% and round down. Or up. It depends on my mood and how much cleave my waiter or waitress is showing.

A lot of people are bad tippers. It’s not even one type of person that suck at tipping. We can’t profile who will and who will not be a bad tipper like we honestly probably could with who and who will not blow up an airplane. If you’re with a baby, you’re not blowing up a 747. That still might not be as bad as when your children cries and you don’t discipline it. I’ll take falling thousands of miles to my death than hearing a child whine. Not disciplining your child on a plane really is an act of terrorism.

That’s why a mandatory guide is needed to help those who do not know how to properly tip. Seeing as I am the closest thing this universe will ever see to a Supreme Overlord, my recommendations should be taken into account immediately.

0% – There are few instances where a tip of nothing is needed. If the waiter craps on your sandwich, punches your wife, then signs your children up for the army, then yes, don’t give them a tip. Otherwise, leave something. Even when you do a crappy job at work you get paid. They deserve the same type of respect for their incompetence. Plus, they’ll know that you didn’t just forget. It’s like mouthing “fuck you” instead of actually saying it. Has a different effect.

5% – This is a real message tip. It’s saying that you didn’t forget to tip, you’re not bad at math, and the server plain-old-sucked. I still think it’s a little low on what you should tip, even for a crappy server. That’s about a buck on a $20 tab. However, a 5% tip is completely allowed if the server doesn’t smile at you the whole time and pokes your stomach while asking you if you would like dessert. It’s rude of them to do that. And the same reason why I don’t go back to Ruby Tuesdays.

10% – This would be what I’d give a server who was very bad. Maybe less even. It takes a lot for a server to piss me off. They always seem stressed even when restaurants aren’t crowded. I don’t know if that’s a hiring policy for the places I eat at or not. They always seem to be sighing and then stand with their friends and joke around while my food gets cold. I’ve never worked a service job so it’s hard for me to relate. A 10% tip is very justified if your food is late, the server isn’t very apologetic, or they continually make mistakes. Most restaurants don’t have fancy menus. I find it hard to confuse “no onions” for “extra sour cream.”

15% – I guess this would be the poor-man’s average tip. It’s still about 10% more than any European would ever tip, which is good. If you’re a 15% tipper than you should talk with a French accent the whole time. The server will be pleased and their self-esteem will raise. In France, 15 means 100. That’s why they are 85% less efficient than the rest of the world. They still eat snails over there. Yuck! I should probably stop talking about the French and instead talk about 15% tips, but I got nothing.

20% – As I mentioned earlier, this is what I generally tip. When the service is exactly what I expected, that’s what they get from me. I’m never a bother when I go out to eat. I’m way too passive in fact. I never give an attitude to a server, unless it’s a hot girl. I’m hoping that I can piss off a cute waitress enough that she’ll spit in my food. That way it’s like we kissed through a proxy sandwich. (I literally caught that I typed “killed” instead of “kissed” right before posting this. My mind is in a dangerous place)

21% or more – This is for those high rollers. I don’t think I would ever tip this much, unless I got some sort of special deal. Anybody would be welcome to tip this much. I would never tell someone not to put money out into the world. When should you tip this much? Simply, whenever you wish to. It feels good to give a nice tip to someone. Unless they’re hotter than you are. Then it feels like they get every break in the world possible.