O.K. Let’s be real for a minute. The gap between me and you (unless you are an exclusive, rich, multi-billionaire and happen to be reading this) is wide and gets wider every second. So much so that by the time we’ve finished this paragraph, I may as well fade out of your mind and you can feel like it was déjà vu or something. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it for me to write this column and let you know about how the truly wealthy of the world operate and live. It kind of feels like feeding a rat. You don’t get anything in return and the rat will probably bite you at some point. But here I go again. Try not to bite me. The Intergalactic Business Report asked me to focus on fashion stuff this month, because apparently that’s something people like you care about. I think that’s mainly because a lot of poor people believe that rich people are into clothes and makeup and hair. But in reality, all that stuff is what poor people and actors are into. Not the ultra-rich. Instead of worrying about what to wear or how to look, they just take it. I’ll explain. I was with my friend Monty, whose actual name is Manny, and I think our trip down the Rhine river in Germany is a good example of what super wealthy people do to look their best in public. It’s basically a story about Monty’s hair. Anyway, Monty bought one of those river cruising boats that you see on commercials for river cruises. He was like, “Fuck those stupid people cramming into boats and filming themselves for commercials! I'm going to buy a boat for just me and my friends who are better than other human beings because we're all rich!” Or, really, that’s what he should have said. Instead, he just invited me to join him and some friends as they spent three really slow days on the Rhine. Back to Monty’s hair. It’s perfect. Like the kind of hair you see and say, “I’d like to make that into a wig.” Which got me thinking that it probably was a wig. Which got me thinking that all the rich people on the boat with me were wearing wigs, because all their hair looked so damned good. I should also mention that I was absolutely blasted on drugs and this must have made me really focused on everybody’s hair. Sometimes when I do drugs with rich people, I’m the only one doing them, at least overtly. I assume the others on the Rhine trip had also taken a bunch of pills without understanding what they did or what they were, but I just did it right there at breakfast the first day, because I’m not a pussy and I have nothing to hide. Monty was all like, “Woah, Darryl, what are you doing?” And I just thought, “The same thing everyone else here is doing—taking drugs for no reason.” But I kept that to myself and just washed the pills down with some orange juice or something. Monty backed off and the whole group started talking about how beautiful the river was. I kept thinking how beautiful their hair was. And this is what led me to the secret about rich people’s hair. It’s pretty simple actually. No matter how wealthy you are, the odds of your being born with a perfect head of hair is still not in your favor. So you buy hair, just like you buy everything else. But how do you find the greatest, best hair? I asked them. But when I spoke, it was garbled and as if my mouth muscles no longer worked. I said, “Moosh. Moosha hair? How?” I think that got the point across as well as I could in the moment, but I still received uncomfortable stares and did not receive an honest answer. One of the women said something about her hair. She said, “Are you asking about my hair?” I nodded furiously. This seemed easier than speaking. She blathered on about her stylist or something, which made me know immediately she was lying and that she had stolen that hair from somewhere, from someone, but who? You see, even the greatest wigmaster on the planet can’t get you the best hair because no one who has the best hair would give it to a wigmaster because wigmasters aren’t rich enough to just walk up to someone and say, “Hey, can I have your hair?” They probably try, but they only offer a couple thousand dollars, and then people say, “No. I think I’ll keep my hair.” The ultra-rich keep their eyes open for the very best hair and simply offer like a million dollars to whoever has it to cut it off and give it to them. Then they somehow surgically attach it. With all the drugs flowing through my system it was difficult to solve the whole mystery as quickly as I usually would. I wandered away from the breakfast table and went to the lower decks where I saw the boat captain speaking with some crew members. They looked surprised to see me, but the biggest surprise was mine. The captain had the most amazing hair I’d ever seen. I asked him if I could touch it, and by “ask” I mean, I just touched it. He stepped back as if I’d grabbed his dick and then he said something about how I must be lost and that I should join the other guests. I had been resting my mouth for a little while now and had saved up enough energy to scream, “Give me your hair, motherfucker!” And then I tried to take it. Which leads me to the three new lessons I learned about the ultra-rich: 1. Even on a luxury boat, there’s one crappy room that locks from the outside. They held me in there for two days just because I wanted what they wanted and couldn’t express myself properly. 2. If you try to take their hair, servants like the boat captain will physically assault you like a coward. 3. If an ancient shaman appears to you when you’re locked in a boat cabin and he tells you just to walk through the wall and you’ll be free, he’s totally lying. You’ll just walk into the wall and fall down in the pool of vomit you created earlier, which the shaman also told you that you could walk through and be free. In conclusion, I don’t think I need to tell you that river cruises suck. I began to question not only Monty’s judgment, but his investment in our friendship. Especially after my captivity and his calling some police servants to remove me from the boat and drop me in some crappy medieval town that had zero drugs, people with good hair, or wi-fi. But at least the trauma of Monty’s rudeness led me to having a breakthrough idea about how to avoid the situation I was in from happening again. It hit me as if I were someone like you being slapped by someone superior. Poor people should have hair that just comes right off if you swipe a credit card near their heads. That way, rich people could just take your hair when they wanted it and this would create a whole new economy. As brilliant as that thought was, and although it probably could have made me billions of dollars, I settled into the realization that my destiny was not to be richer than everyone else (although, as you can see above, I could be at any time I desire), but, rather, to befriend, guide, and sometimes discipline the people who are. Wisdom transferred. Onto whatever I feel like doing next. Darryl Smurten Darryl Smurten reports on the mega- and ultra-rich. His up-close insights about how they live provide even common peasants the ability to glimpse, if for a moment, the light of the good life. If you are ultra-rich and don’t know Darryl yet, and would like to invite him to hang out with you, please contact him at [email protected]. Don’t expect him to get back to you right away. You may think being rich is for other people who have a lot of money and spend their time playing on exclusive beaches and telling their servants to get them things. But did you know the only difference between you and them comes down to three simple things? The Intergalactic Business Report reveals these to you today. Do them now and be rich tomorrow. Don’t and be whatever you are now. 1. Instead of owning a moderately priced house, switch to a super expensive one. For example, let’s say your home is worth $250,000. Go and buy one that’s worth 7 million dollars. Now you’ve increased your net worth by almost seven million. Good job. See how easy that was? 2. Instead of having whatever is in your retirement account, add about eight to ten million dollars to it. “How do I do that?” you might ask. Simple. Go to whoever runs your 401K. Tell him/her that you want to deposit ten million dollars into your account. They may have some tax rules they need to explain, but feel free to kind of tune out as they are talking. Then repeat that you want to deposit ten million dollars. If they give you some bullshit about not being able to contribute over a certain amount per year, just tell them to go fuck themselves and take your ten million and throw a party, preferably on the beach. Now you’re the one playing in the sand. Didn’t think that would be possible, did you? 3. Whatever you buy, you sell at a much larger price. You’ve heard of “buy low, sell high,” and there’s a reason for that. Because it’s the single most effective and easiest way to make a lot of money, fast. Let’s say you buy a bag of potatoes for five dollars at the grocery store. Take that bag out of the store and sell it to someone in the parking lot for five million dollars. And what if the guy says he doesn’t have that kind of money on him? Just take a hundred grand. You’re still up like almost one hundred thousand dollars and you did it by just walking through the parking lot back to your car. Can you imagine if you did this once a day? What if you just went from store to store and parking lot to parking lot? Conclusion: Getting rich and being rich are simple, as you can see above. What’s not simple is getting the motivation to do the small things that can make you rich in a relatively short time. But for the people willing to sell bags of potatoes in grocery store parking lots, buy expensive houses, and take the time to deposit huge checks, the world is yours. If you’re a business person, you know that one of the main challenges you face is not sounding stupid when you speak. Through extensive interviews, the Intergalactic Business Report has found that most white-collar workers, from executives to assistant associate directors, struggle with saying anything they didn’t steal from an equally stupid-talking person. After coming up with stuff like, “mission critical, bleeding edge,” and, “talking offline,” the business world is in a desperate search for something (anything) else. So today, we unveil new terms that have a decidedly educated and smartish flair because they sound like something people would have said five hundred years ago. Start using them today and be the next office Shakespeare. (Please note that everything MUST end in an exclamation mark, or they don't count.) OLD OFFICE PHRASE: “Why don’t you go do some benchmarking?” NEW, SHAKESPEARIANISH OFFICE PHRASE: “Thou dost mark the benchbottom hither with thy mark, knave!” OLD OFFICE PHRASE: “Let’s try to streamline this process.” NEW, SHAKESPEARIANISH OFFICE PHRASE: “Make haste to line thy stream for this cess of pro!” OLD OFFICE PHRASE: “That’s a no-brainer.” NEW, SHAKESPEARIANISH OFFICE PHRASE: “Thy brain is no more! Cast it aside!” OLD OFFICE PHRASE: “That could be a missed opportunity.” NEW, SHAKESPEARIANISH OFFICE PHRASE: “Thine oppor of tunity hath miss’t. A scandal upon thee!” OLD OFFICE PHRASE: “We need to do this ASAP.” NEW, SHAKESPEARIANISH OFFICE PHRASE: “Ahhsaaap! Ahhsaaap! The wheels of the clock escape us, my liege!” OLD OFFICE PHRASE: “I think you’re moving the goalposts.” NEW, SHAKESPEARIANISH OFFICE PHRASE: “Thine posts of goal hast tricked me in their motion. Ooh, foolish trickster! Me thinks me not be kicking me ball yonder through ‘em.” You may not remember it, but there was a time when no one talked about anything being “platinum.” Then, suddenly, the word was everywhere. Your gold card wasn’t good enough because there was a new platinum card. Gold records sucked. Platinum records were cool. If King Midas touched your dick, you’d just look down and say, “Oh. Hey. Thanks, I guess.” While magazines, television networks, and newspapers ignored this development and started giving themselves “platinum” awards for journalism, the Intergalactic Business Report has decided to finally do their job for them and tell you the truth behind the platinum craze, which is that it’s made up. Before you start pulling out your platinum teeth and going back to being a dirty blonde, read the top five findings from our extensive investigation. After you’re done, go ahead and destroy all your stuff. 1. If you ask anyone where platinum comes from, they will likely look confused, pretend to think for a second, and then answer with a dumb sounding, “No.” By contrast, ask someone where milk comes from, and they’ll probably say, “A cow?” They’d be right. 2. In a secret meeting we’ve pinpointed as taking place between 1675 and 1985, a business guy/merchant/blacksmith said, “I wish there was something that was considered better than gold. I’m so bored of gold.” Then another guy said, “Yeah. I know.” 3. These same businessmen then hired scientists to come up with something better than gold. Rather than do the work, they just made up the word “platinum.” The businessmen were like, “Great. Good job. Now go get it added to the periodic table of elements.” 4. Most likely, platinum was added to the periodic table after these scientists engaged in oral sex in exchange for its placement there. Platinum is number 78 on the periodic table of elements. Section 78 in Australian law is prostitution. Gemologists and alchemists we spoke to assured us the number was no coincidence because very often elements are given numbers that carry hidden meanings. For example, Thulium (pronounced TOOL-ium) is number 69 on the chart. 5. If you break up the word “platinum,” it forms three distinct words: Play, tin, and um. This is again no coincidence. “Play tin” was a metal given to children to play with. It was like Playdough only it was really hard metal that wasn’t easily bent and you couldn’t shape it into stuff. The word “um,” is what people mutter when they’re asked to explain what platinum is. As obvious as this is, most people have been fooled for centuries or even decades and hours by this fake, fake trick. Even you have probably been stupid enough to fall for it. CONCLUSION: Platinum is obviously a made-up metal that was devised to make fun of you for being dumb. And this isn’t just our opinion. It’s the consensus opinion of people who both understand and agree with our point of view. If you’re wealthy, and own a lot of platinum stuff, you’re especially dumb, according to science. January sucks, and not for the reasons you think. It’s not because the holidays are over and a sense of depression is setting in on you and everyone you know. For me, January sucks because I have to plan an entirely new year of partying with the best people in the world at the most exclusive places while you (I’m guessing) are disconnecting Christmas tree wires and trying to lick your own balls. As my party plans come together and I decide which ultra-wealthy people to turn down and which to say yes to, I’ve been asked to look back at the last year and report to all of you about what I did. I guess that will give you a thrill or a huge erection. You’re welcome. I divide the year into three major seasons: suckfest, boats, and I’m sick of you. Suckfest is from January to April and it’s basically when I’m most into orgies and I can actually talk to people (when I’m not having sex with them, because during that I grunt or look at shit on my phone). Boat season is when I only attend shit on boats. That season can last between one day and several months and is followed by “I’m sick of you,” which is basically when I show up for every exclusive party I want to but I’m in a really shitty mood. This past year had a very long “I’m sick of you" season. Let me explain. Suckfest was kind of a disaster. I always explain to my mega-rich friends that if they want to do something with me during the first part of the year they better either have hookers on site or be willing to bone me themselves. Otherwise, I may burn their fucking houses down. So, a friend of mine, Aurelio, whose real name is Aaron, invited me to kick off the season at his hotel in Florida. I know what you’re thinking. Florida. Yuck. But Aurelio promised me it would be cool and that he’d just built this whole place and it was really amazing. He also said we’d have it all to ourselves because we’d be there before it opened officially. I hesitatingly agreed and allowed him to fly me there on his jet. From the beginning of the trip, I started having second thoughts. First, the jet was old. Like maybe five or ten years old. And I had to fly down there with some guy who I think was Aurelio’s lawyer. You know from previous columns that I fucking hate (hate!) flying with other people, but this was suckfest and I was in a decent mood. Once we were in the air I had the same thought most exclusive people would have but that you wouldn’t. I had been so pissed off about having to fly with someone else that I forgot there were no hookers on board. I asked the stupid lawyer about it. He said Aurelio knew I didn’t like to fly with other people so he probably cancelled other guests on the flight. “Why didn’t he cancel you?” I asked. No response. Whatever. The one saving grace was that there was a bunch of liquor on the plane. I asked the lawyer to serve it to me, but he was all like, “I have to work on some paperwork and I’m a total dickface.” I managed to get drunk anyway and just thought to myself that Aurelio better have some serious shit lined up for me when I got there. But, to my horror, a rented limousine showed up to take both me and the lawyer to the hotel. I thought about trying to kick him out (literally) as we were driving. I assumed that since he was a lawyer, he couldn’t press charges against me because of attorney client privilege. Lucky for him, I was as forgiving as I was an amateur legal genius. The hotel was big, which was good. And it looked expensive. Aurelio greeted me, and the lawyer went somewhere to whack off into legal dictionaries. I tried to muster a smile for my old friend, but I was understandably upset and felt too noble to demand an apology and as if I needed to be silent until I got one. When Aurelio asked me if something was wrong, I pointed to my mouth and made a motion as if I were locking it up. I then threw away the imaginary key. Aurelio looked concerned. I knew I had conveyed my dismay and anger in classy way. Thank fucking god the prostitutes showed up a few moments later. Aurelio introduced them to me and I was shocked (and turned on?) to find out that one of them was his own daughter and another his wife! They blathered on about some nonsense for a little while and I pretended to be present. Then Aurelio offered me a drink and we all sat down at a very large dinner table. I noticed the prostitute ratio was a little low. It was just me and Aurelio lined up against his wife, daughter, and some other woman who said she was the daughter’s “friend,” meaning they were going to do some lesbian dildo act later, I assumed. Some servants brought us food and more drinks, and I waited for someone to say, “OK, who wants to fuck?” But nobody did. Except me. Finally. Even though I know almost everything about the ultra-, mega-rich, I feel like I learn something new each time I endure another of their “parties.” Here are three takeaways from my dinner with Aurelio: 1. They turn their wives and daughters into prostitutes. Then they change their minds. If you’re going to present your own family members as easy-going hookers, you’ve crossed a line from which you can’t turn back. Aurelio’s hooker family backed down from their suckfest duties as soon as I called them on it. 2. They like to have stupid, worthless lawyers around them at all times. I say “worthless” mostly because their lawyer wouldn’t make himself useful by serving me drinks or at least offering me a blowjob. Maybe another lawyer would have been a better employee. I don’t know. 3. They will invite you down to Florida and then rudely kick you out of their not-open-to-the-public-yet hotels when you ask their daughters and wives if they want to have sex with you. I have to admit, I didn’t see this one coming. Let me just jump forward a little. Clearly, suckfest started poorly, and I think this put a sour note on the rest of the year. I think the moral of all this is that my life isn’t easy and I had to rally from a disappointing start to salvage this past year. But I did, and I think that’s kind of like what someone would call a success story. At the very least (and I mean least) Aurelio flew me home alone after dinner and I was kind of glad to be gone. As I gazed out the window and saw the city lights below me, I realized for the first time ever maybe, that I was above everyone else. Literally. Above them. I knew this was a message from the universe and all the great religious figures like Buddha, Jesus, and Aristotle. I looked up at them and assured them that someday I would be with them, meting out cruel but bizarre justice and punishment on mortals. Till then, I thought, it’s time to plan the rest of my exclusive party calendar. Darryl Smurten reports on the mega- and ultra-rich. His up-close insights about how they live provide even common peasants the ability to glimpse, if for a moment, the light of the good life. If you are ultra-rich and don’t know Darryl yet, and would like to invite him to hang out with you, please contact him at [email protected]. Don’t expect him to get back to you right away. Bosses. They can be mysterious and inscrutable. We wonder what they’re really thinking whenever they call us into their offices and say they want to “chat.” We want to know their real agendas and whether they have our best interests at heart. The Intergalactic Business Report analyzes some of the verbal and non-verbal cues you might be getting from him/her. If your boss does any of these five things, he probably doesn’t like you. 1. He threatens to murder you in front of other employees. When the other employees aren’t around, he also threatens to murder you. And in case the first sentence was ambiguous, he both threatens to murder you while your co-workers stand there and watch him threaten to murder you and he also threatens to murder you while they all watch you being murdered by him. Kind of the same thing, we guess. 2. He calls you names like, “asshole,” “dipshit,” and “loser.” 3. When you walk by his office door, he sticks out his foot to trip you. 4. At lunch, he often suggests he has peed in your food. 5. He follows you home sometimes and drives very close behind you. When you get near a railroad crossing, he slowly pushes your car onto the tracks while you sit inside, screaming. |
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