Moneymoneymoney

Taken from the foreword of The Alphabet of Manliness

"I want as much money as possible. I want to go to exclusive Hollywood parties where I'll feel in place using "amazing" as a noun. I want some serious "fuck you" money. I want to be so rich that instead of having my henchmen kill people, I can do it myself in broad daylight in front of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, while I download music illegally from the Internet."

I know the love of money is the root of all evil. I know that I can't take this shit with me when I kick the bucket. I know that riches aren't just for oneself but to bless others with. But I really want to be rich. Fucking filthy rich.

Of course I have to work. But to be realistic, I cannot obtain that amount of money by sitting in a cubicle sucking corporate cock.

Alright...I'll be honest here. I'm a laid-back guy. Sure I do have a side that indeed wants to be rich. But it's not an all-consuming desire. Until my girlfriend showed me some pictures of a guy her cousin knew. They were wedding pics, and she told me the shit they did for the wedding that definitely ate up a hill of cash. The photographers, the cake, the car, etc.

Now, I've seen plenty of pictures of rich people displaying their opulent mansions, exotic supercars and yachts. But I guess to know that someone my age was that rich sort of...tickled something in me. It's a rarity, but tonight I felt jealousy (which is unusual, considering my best friend is loaded, yet I never harbored any envy or ill-will against him). And a quietly simmering desire to see disaster visit them.

There was also an imagined scenario in which we were next door neighbors, and he was visiting us or something. And I could already feel contempt boiling inside. What brings you to my humble abode, milord? As if it's his fault he's rich. But that's how envy works, doesn't it? Schadenfreude. I felt it. It was a guilty pleasure. I would never admit to it outside of this anonymous blog.

I was blindsided here. I've always thought that while possessed with a drive for more, I can be contented with a modest lot in life. Keep earning, but more or less happy with what I had. So this came as quite a shock to me.

I also realize the virtue of concealing one's riches. It steps on toes, whether you like it to or not. I mean, I haven't even had first-hand account, and I'm already steeped in jealousy.

Although, what got me was when I mistakenly thought the guy was self-made. He was my age, and for his fortune to be self-made...that just doused me in gas and lit me on fire with envy. But now that the facts were cleared out (it was his family), it's not so bad...

Still. Damn.

May I be never content. Not completely, no. Once you find total contentment, then you stop striving for more. You stop cultivating yourself. You stop growing. You start stagnating. I'm not talking about mindless hoarding and spending, of course. I just want to keep building myself and my kingdom. I want to keep growing. I'm not discounting enjoying my shit and resting on my laurels every once in a while. But damn.

I want to never have to apologize to my children that we don't have much.

FUCK. THERE'S AN ASSLOAD OF CASH OUT THERE WITH MY NAME ON IT.