I hang out with rich people volume it doesn’t matter. Looking back on my last year of partying and being around people better than you.

Could someone please pass the hookers?

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. 
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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. 
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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.