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Do you want to know how to be rich? Well, who the fuck doesn't, right? It seems that there are two ways to do so:
- Write a book of instructions/steps to follow on how to be rich and sell it to millions, if not billions, of desperate and gullible schmucks.
- Be an evangelical preacher for some weird "seed faith" that promises to "uplift the poor". (Please see previous point, since this is really a subcategory thereof). Here's looking at you, Joel Osteen and friends, you despicable slimy fucks I wouldn't scrape off my work boots without first wearing gloves!
- Be super ingratiating to your rich relatives and/or friends in the hope of inheriting several millions fom them when they die. (You know, these days, it's just so difficult to retire on 8 million banana bucks!)
Despite all I've heard, read and watched, those two approaches seem to be the only ways that work (and they're both high-risk long shots). The rest is fiction. If I have to watch another episode of a show on how some snooty hotshot condescends to Americans whom misspend thousands of dollars every month and have money problems, all while pretending to give them financial advice and peddling his cure-all book, I'm probably going to throw up all over myself. I'm in no position to waste good food. If I earn ~$350 in a month, it's a good month (although not a great one). Yet, two people bringing in $35 000 a month don't know where their money's going? Give me a fucking break (except nobody will)! Perhaps if you'd put into savings or a retirement plan the money you spent on those two bags that cost you $1 500 each, you wouldn't have a problem! Americans are fucking crazy!
$3 000 is almost a year's salary for me, but you drop that in a month and have financial trouble?! FMS! You don't want people to judge you for such profligacy? Bitch, please! Is your idiotic brain having an affair with Stupid? Do you know what my extravagant spend of the month was? $9 on a haircut I could probably have given myself if I could have been bothered. After three months of looking like an outdoor living enthusiast, I think actually giving a fuck was extremely unlikely. It probably would have been better spent on replacing an item of clothing. Yet, almost nobody sees me if I'm not at my weekend job or buying groceries, so my appearance really doesn't matter (not that it ever did much in the first place, because it has impact on using my pip to earn money).
I'm sure you've all seen this at least once.
Maybe I'm bitter and resentful, because I sure am jealous that you have that much disposable income to burn. I'm prepared to admit as much if you're prepared to compost the rich. I hear that the 1% are absolutely of minerals necessary for growth in poor soils ...
I guess what angers me most about Capitalism isn't the sick, twisted greed and insensitivity of how it dehumanises people trapped in it, or that it to have a a way out when that's really an illusion. That supposed way out is a really blind ally unless you have the golden key.
I fought my way out and tried, at least thrice, to put a stop to the abuse, exploitation and psychological torture I endured, on multiple occasions. But no, knowing me, rhe worthless arsehole that I am, I fucked it all up! How could I not? Now, after making fatal mistakes and possibly figuring out how to do well enough to work the whole sick system long enough to be able to retire before 70, I can't even get back in. I know I'm just supposed to abandon my ethics and principles, bend over, take it and say "thank you" all for the sake of earning a monthly paycheck. I either can't or won't do that (and I can't tell the damn difference any more, not that it matters much). What I have to do is get back in and work hard at a job for which I don't care, all so I can stack 'em high in the hopes of one day having enough to live free for a short while.
Imagine me working again, though. Traumatising myself again (because that's what working for a corporation is to me) for money is a fucking fantastic pie in the sky idea in the circumstances! Some days, I have to give myself pep talks just so I take a shower, get my laundry done or go to bed at the right time and not be haunted by dreams of broken and failed hopes, or write a blog post before I fall out of my chair from exhaustion. I'd be a damn wreck and everybody whom spends more than ten minutes in honest conversation with me likely knows it.
Follow the damn fucking white smoke and the money down the rabbit hole and you go straight to corporate hell. That's what really matters; that everyone is in control of us and using us like we're fucking fuel cells to be discarded when the juice runs out. There's a reason a particular department is called Human Resources, because that's what we are to them: another bloody to be exploited and replaced when depleted, like informal miners in the Congo. Go ahead and add that new mobile cellular phone and diamond necklace to your cart to kill some Africans now ...
For the rest of this week, most likely the rest of my life, I'll be actively searching for yet another company to flay away what's left of my dignity and soul. The broken kid whom can't keep himself together long enough to do anything right has grown into a man whom can't do anything right nor beat the system that keeps us all held down. I'd rather be finding any other way to permanently put myself out of my misery, but there is none and I have no other options. The only thing stopping me from heading down that path is the brief moments of joy and sanity I get from watching pooches (not even my own) happily lark about and shit to their heart's content, free from ever having to put on a suit and go to an interview to be put into bondage for someone else's benefit, some distance from where they live. That's something I understand, that gives my life meaning and purpose. (I ask you this: Who is really crazy here, me or the primates who think what we do to ourselves for money is a good idea?) Whom is going to pay me a living wage to do that or what want to do? Nobody will. My NFTs (art, music and even blog posts) go unsold, possibly for the simple reason that people are far happier to spend other people's crypto than their own, not that I blame them (or at least try not to). Consequently, I've got to find myself a cage with a desk and a computer for work days in order to earn my keep. This is the fucking way! I doubt even the FSM knows why!
Yes, there are more important things in life than money and it can't buy you happiness, but the people whom say this have plenty of it. I used to think I was one of you, but I can't remember ever not being poor (because poor is a mindset, not a bank balance in the red for a few months).
If I ever do get out of Hell, it will be on a day trip or a time into the future. You see, the broken pot has to fix itself, but only if it to. This one doesn't, because it's no measure of health to be well in a profoundly sick society. Besides, if this is insanity, I can't imagine how horribly unbearable it must be to be sane. Does that answer your Fucking Questions, Doctor?
"Get born, get schooled,
Get job, get car,
Pay tax and find a wife
And on that note,
The end can't come too soon.
If you're not living on the edge,
You take up too much room!"
?— Reverend and the Makers; Heavyweight Champion of the WorldThe State of Things (2007)
... And so he gave up on his black belt and first dan. As near as he got to China was a week in Camber Sands.
I first heard that in my twenties and it rang true then. It still does and probably will when I'm retired (if I ever get there). Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got dogs to feed and exercise, laundry to bring in and a much-fragmented and withered soul to offer up for torment and destruction by the highest bidder. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, life goes on and Corporate Capitalism prevails.
Snark fucking out!
Thumbnail image from Pixabay
