Why rich people don’t talk trash to me. I hang out with rich people, volume your mom. By Darryl Smurten.
I know what you’re thinking. It goes something like this: “Hey, Darryl. You’re one of the coolest people in the entire world and I’m a fucknut compared to you.”
Anyway, my column today is about how I learned to deal with the ultra-wealthy on their level and talk to them in a way that makes me almost better than them. I thought it was important to let people like you understand this because you're always coming up to me and asking if I ever get intimidated or feel in awe of super rich, elite human beings who basically control the world. Short answer: No. Long answer: Fuck no. Here’s why.
When I was much younger, say three years ago, I was invited, as per usual, to an exclusive event with an amazing ocean view in California. It was one of those things where servants scamper around like little trashcans collecting your shit while other servants scamper around bringing you shit. You know, typical.
As I stood there and waited for one of them to bring me a roll of condoms and a baguette (side note, I like to make servants’ lives better by sending them on scavenger hunt type scavenger hunts where if they fail I disgrace them in front of their bosses) I noticed a conversation happening among the host of the event (let’s just call him Brondon*) and some other rich guys. I walked over and joined in immediately.
I’ll stop here to make a very important point. If you ever see supremely wealthy people talking together, and you don’t want to be a total pussy, then you need to intervene right away and show that you’re the most important thing in their conversation. I’ll give you an example: When I walked into the circle of rich guys I stared each of them down separately. I did this by grabbing their faces and then pushing mine very close to theirs. Then I’d move on to the next one.
After about the third guy, Brondon asked what I was doing. Know what I said?
“Brondo… If you ever interrupt me while I’m face checking your guests I will force you to have oral sex with me through the bars of a cage.”
Know what Brondon did?
He called his “security” people and claimed he didn’t know who I was. Total pussy move and one that proved I was the dominant one at the party. Mission completed, I guess.
When I tell this story to people, they usually say something like, “Wow. You’re such a badass.”
Anyway, I was “removed” from the “premises” and sat in the parking lot for a little while before I wrote stuff on people’s luxury cars with my own feces—another power move and one anyone (even you) could play if you want to get over your anxiety about dealing with rich people.
The moral of the story actually came down to three things:
1. I literally took a shit on Brondon (or his car, I think) because he didn’t offer me respect. This means that I won in the end, because my car has never been shit on.
2. The ultra-wealthy pretend they don’t know you if you challenge them. That’s their big weapon. My big weapon? Taking shits on people’s cars.
3. The servant who was supposed to bring me the condoms and the baguette never returned and thus failed at his task. So I found the worst looking car in the parking lot (a Nissan Sentra) whose window was open and took a shit through it, assuming it was the servant’s vehicle.
There were other morals and lessons for sure and I’ve matured a lot since then. For example, I pee on things more now or just burn shit down. I think those are the biggest changes. Oh, and my penis is bigger. I guess that’s it.
In conclusion, I’m glad I could help you and that you appreciated it so much. Until next time I will be saving my poop (just in case) for the next mega-rich party I go to. Ha ha. Just kidding!**
*Actual name is Brandon.
**No I’m not.
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. Don’t expect him to get back to you right away.
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