Monday, April 27, 2009

Coffee With Cream And Money. I Mean, Sugar.

Money is a goofy thing, isn't it? It's only green paper and yet everyone is so concerned with how many sheets of it you own. Why does it matter? Does it make a person better or worse? Are people with more green paper better parents than those with less green paper? Are people less helpful if they own only 10 sheets of it?

In green paper, people try to find love, safety, esteem, confidence and acceptance. In fucking paper!

We stare at it like, "Finally, I'm worthy." And if it could talk back to us, it would say something to the effect of, "You stupid fucker, you were worthy, safe, loved and accepted all along. I'm just a sheet of paper for crissakes. Stop staring at me like a lunatic."

If money could seek therapy, it would. All those greenbacks would lay on the couch, smoking cigarettes, saying, "I can't do this anymore, dude. My parents expect so much of me and I can't deliver. They're such assholes sometimes. She's not getting any younger just because she has more of me. I can't change the fucking clock, dude! And he's crying because there's not enough of me to pay for his stupid Lexus. Why is that my fault? And they're trying to save their marriage by having more of me, they fight over me, and I'm just paper, man. Just paper. I wish I was a dog instead of a greenback, dude. My only expectation would be to lick my crotch and they'd love me. Life is so unfair."

But money doesn't talk. It never has and it never will. Wipe your ass with it if you want, I don't care. After all, it is paper.

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