11/12/11

Oh my god, I have SO much money!


Here's a look into the glamorous life of a freelance writer
For me, money is an obsession. I must have it. And when I want something, I get something. Money is no exception. It is one of those somethings I need to have and get. You just have to look at my LUXURY watch. I am the owner of a LUXURY watch. And it's not some Cassio either, it's a Cartiere, or a Rollex, or a Tag Hauer, or a Patek Fillipe, or a Guchi. Whatever. The point is that it costs a FUCK BUCKET OF MONEY. Watches do also tell the time, that's true, I'm not denying that, they do. But they also tell you SHIT TONS OF MONEY. So much so that they cease to be called watches and instead become "Time Pieces". Look, here's my "Time Piece", tell me this doesn't say FUCK OFF:



Another money thing I have bought is a CAR. Cars are expensive in general because they're big and complicated and they need to be made in factories with an assortment of capital and skilled, semi-skilled and no-skilled (managerial) labor. You don't just pluck a car out of a tree. You BUY a car, fucknuts. And guess who bought one? Me. It is a LUXURY car. As if you didn't already figure that out after having seen my watch, right? The point is that my car is EFFING FUCKING EXPENSIVE, just like my watch, but in a different kind of way. It costs WAY more. Cars can be used for transport, that's true, I'm not denying that, I agree, they can. But they also say SHITWHACK OF MONEY BELONGING TO ME. It's like my money is a transformer robot that assumes the shape of watches and cars. And airplanes... But before I move on to my LUXURY AIR PLANE, here's a photo of my car:



It's a diamond rolls roice or a mercedes or a audy or a bmx, whatever. All you need to know is that it's the fucking MONEY. THE money, to be exact. And what about my airplane? Yeah, you guessed it. LUXURY airplane, or "jet" as I like to call it. I'm the VIP in first class aboard Air Me, ok dickface? Pilot? I have. Air stewardess? Yes, have. Ground crew? Have. It's a LearJet Airbus DC ten 67687ehxt, whatever. Oh my god, if I was any richer I would vomit on your face right now, because my body would reject such a rich host, i.e. ME. I'm too rich for me is what I'm saying. Here's my airplane, WHOOOSH:



When you're as rich as I am, you can start spending money on luxuries beyond things that tell time and fancy ass transporters. You can also make and raise CHILDREN, which are living repositories of your DNA and which will hopefully eventually also have their own children to keep your DNA alive, unless they turn out to be an utter disappointment, in which case you just flushed twenty years of moneys down the toilet for nothing. But that's just it. I am so rich, I can make one even if it isn't guaranteed to make one of its own and keep this RICH genetic heritage alive. I can clothe, educate and "love" it too! That's how rich I am. I can BUY it love, and that is something money can definitely buy. Here's my children:



Some more things my money buys: dehumanized women who will take their clothes off for me because I pay them to; dehumanized chauffeurs who I pay to sit in cars all day to wait for me; exclusive things I pay for to belong to something that excludes and dehumanizes others; paid health insurance that is expensive enough that it doesn't try and come up with tons of subtle ways to deny coverage whenever I actually need it; a kingdom of mown and watered grassland for me and a handful of others like me to club tiny white balls into holes with little flags fluttering over them; a Christian LeBlah wallet made from only the most endangered animal skin; politicians me and my other rich friends pay for so they can cut taxes on us and reward our campaign contributions with lucrative publicly funded contracts; and of course the best thing money can buy: MORE MONEY! I can invest in a FUCK fund or a FUCK stock or a FUCK bond that goes out and FUCKS more money out of other FUCKERS and gives it to me so I can be an even richer FUCK. That's the non plus ultra of rich. I am so rich I can afford an education that enables me to use fancy latin and french words to say things for me, like "je suis the sine qua non of my raison d'etre vis-a-vis cirque du soleil". That is fancy private schoolish for "I have sooo much fucking money it's almost useless". Look, this is me:



And guess what I wear? Guess. Just guess. Go on, guess it. Just take a wild guess. Ever heard of the color feldgrau? I wear a scarf with a rich gay french guy's name on it that is that color. Feldgrau. You didn't guess that did you? I didn't think so. Fuck you.

I am like the one percent of the one percent. If everything was the human anatomy, I would be like a refined idea at the very tip of the brain compared to butt fat. That's how apart and esteemed and precious my money puts me above all you butt fat. Money is MY idea, and I AM the money. Actually, that's a little confusing. I didn't pay good money to be confused, and I sure as hell didn't pay this asshole HEY WHO ARE YOU CALLING AN ASSHOLE? this asshole to write this fucking piece of shit for me I THOUGHT YOU WANTED ME TO WRITE THIS BECAUSE YOU WERE TIRED no I wanted you... me... to write this because I am rich enough to make you, me, because I don't earn good money so I can just waste my time on finger labor. That's how rich I am, I am a freelance writer who hires other freelance writers to do the finger labor for me. So keep writing, fucko... wait don't write that, just write what I say after this. You wrote that too, didn't you? And that? And that? Here's some more money, stop writing.

11/6/11

The birth of an idea



Ova of procreative philosophic forces comprise thought bubbles from sinister entomologic wombs hovering above unaffiliated premises that are impregnated by the penetrating alien extrusion specific to semenophoric lust expulsions amid tangled forests of phosphorescent knowledge balls lit up through a vast neurotic electrosystemal network of mental agitation while ratiocinated mechanic intruders farm the fertilizing neurogenetic life-force with a caution and calculation guided by courageous oneiropilots who are bound by duty to reap the electrocuted intelligence that is born from these primordial oocytic geneses unmapped now and never observed before

11/5/11