The answer to why rich people love me. I hang out with rich people, volume 5.

Over the years, I’ve established quite a reputation as a companion for mega rich people. Sometimes I think maybe it’s the other way around. That they’ve developed a reputation as companions for me. Just think about that for a second!
 
Anyway, I said all that because recently someone on the internet suggested that I have “no value” and questioned why all my rich friends would even want me around. Today, I’m going to give you the answer, and it may astound you.
 
Let me begin by bringing you back to a time about ten years ago when my friend Alfonso (not his real name, of course) invited me to party with him while he was on tour with his band called “Buttfinger” (not the real name of his group). 
 
Anyway, Buttfinger was blowing up all over Europe and they were playing major venues, like stadiums and the Palace of Versailles. When I caught up with them, they were somewhere in Germany and headed down to Rome. They had rented out an entire train to take them there.
 
There were girls on board. Oh, so many girls. And lots and lots of drugs. I immediately took my penis out when I got on and screamed something about how it was time to party. Apparently, it wasn’t time and I got a lot of weird looks because the car I walked into was for family members of the band (like little kids and wives and even some old guy I guess was someone’s grandpa). 
 
So I pulled up my jeans and walked to the next car. There were several groupies there –hot women who wanted a piece of Buttfinger. They asked me who I was and I said I was a friend of Alfonso. (You’ve probably heard that groupies will “sleep their way” to the lead singer of a band, meaning that they’ll have sex with roadies, who will then introduce them to someone else, and so on, till they get to the top.) 
 
The girls asked if I was a roadie and I reiterated that I was a friend of Alfonso. They seemed unimpressed and told me that they too, were friends. I said bullshit. They weren’t friends. They were just hookers, really, who wanted to claim the glory of Buttfinger for themselves by fucking band members.
 
So none of them would sleep with me. A roadie appeared and three of them left with him. What a pile of crap, I thought. Slowly, I went car for car till I found Alfonso. He was passed out on a sofa. At this point I was feeling not only bored but also a little pissed off that Alfonso was sleeping when this should have been the greatest party of my life. So I shoved him till he fell off the couch. 
 
As he hit the floor and woke up in disbelief I started yelling at him. “This train sucks!” I said. And then I went on to explain that when a friend of his joins him on tour he expects more. Like hookers who actually want to have sex with him and no little kids around to kill the buzz. Alfonso apologized, sort of… He said he was sorry if this didn’t live up to my expectations and some other stuff, but then he also said that if I didn’t like it I could get off at the next stop. So, I was a little confused. Was he apologizing to me or was he being a dick? 
 
I gave him the benefit of the doubt and accepted the apology. I told him that he’d better step things up though, or I may actually take him up on the offer of leaving. At that moment his “manager” came into the train car and asked Alfonso if I was giving him trouble. I put my shush finger up to Alfonso’s mouth and spoke for him. I told the manager that I’d fucking kill him if he ever asked a question like that again. Then I suggested I was carrying a gun and that I would not only murder him, but everyone else on the entire train, including the hookers but probably sparing the kids and old people. 
 
I think this was just the kind of conversation they needed at that moment, because everybody got really quiet and became reasonable – suddenly. They asked me if I wanted anything, and I said, yes, I already said I wanted hookers and a party. I joked that it had better be a good party or I’d kill everyone, and then I laughed. They laughed too, but in this really fake-ass way. Oh well, I guess that’s rock stars for you. 
 
As the party raged on, I noticed Alfonso looking really weird and nervous. I joked again that he’d better start having fun or I’d murder him. He did another one of his fake laughs. Whatever.
 
At the next stop, it wasn’t me who got off. It was Alfonso, his whole band, his manager, and his family. And guess who got on just as they exited? The fucking Italian police, or Interpol, or some shit like that. They came on, arrested me, took all the drugs and started threatening me with all this European legal bullshit. I laughed in their faces because I don’t “do” legal shit. 
 
Anyway, moral of the story is this: rich people keep me around because I save their asses and teach them how to party. Let’s recap what I did:
 
1. I created a party of nothing, like lighting a fire in a wet jungle. Before I arrived there was just some boring straight sex among groupies and roadies, maybe a little drinking, and a rock star taking a nap. When I was finished, there was a full on orgy happening with drugs and guns and real rock and roll shit. You’re welcome. 

2. I took the hit for all the illegal activity the band was engaged in. I allowed them to get off the train just as the authorities arrived. If I hadn’t been there, they would have all been busted for sure. But I formed a barrier between them and the law, and even got locked up for a while on made-up charges of attempted murder and some other crap I couldn’t and wouldn’t understand.
  
3. I like to party. If you don’t like it, then don’t let me on your fucking train or in your house. Period.
  
In conclusion I think all of this illustrates my immense value to rich people (and any other people, if they could afford me). So suck on it, internet trolls. I have a sick ultra-elite rich party to go to. I’m out.
 
 
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. Also, don't invite him if you don't like to party.