Billionaire Blues
Can anyone help me?
Unlike many billionaires I don’t like to self-promote. I’m shy. I never go to the same parties as Elon Musk. Actually, I hardly ever go to parties. I’m just not a party kind of dude.
I’m one of the few billionaires in this country who doesn’t need to put on a disguise in order to go out in public. When I go to the beach and some nobody drowns, the reporters are all flocking towards the drowning victim and no one pays any attention to me.
I like that. It’s one reason I have never developed six-pack abs. It also helps that I am not married to Penelope Cruz — although I wish I was. (Dang you, Javier Bardem!)
I also don’t like politics. Before I became a billionaire not a single person on the planet cared about my politics. Now I am constantly invited to political fundraisers. It’s like billionaires are the only people politicians care about.
But I don’t go. I always manage to come up with some excuse — like I’m attending a party at Jane Fonda’s house.
You might think it’s easy being a billionaire but it’s not. In America it’s like being a Beatle or something. You can’t even pee in private. Those damn kids have learned how to pick a lock.
And then your wife gets called a “Yoko One” just because she believes in astrocartographical vibrational placement. People magazine calls her a voodoo priestess. And the worst thing is that you’re not even married!
And then some high school organization you belonged to briefly a hundred years ago in high school contacts you and asks you to give a speech at some goddamed reunion. All you can do is tell them that you can’t make it because you’ll be in Africa attending some made up world summit then you get accused of being on safari killing endangered animals — even though you don’t even own a gun. Sorry, but I’m no Eric Trump!
It’s really tough being a billionaire even though every American dreams of it. Let me tell you, it’s no piece of cake. Did I tell you about the time the United Bakers’ Union of America invited me to speak at their annual gala in Indianapolis? I refused to go unless every baker in America agreed to bake wedding cakes for gay couples. Needless to say I was un-invited and I became the symbol of hate for thousands of right-wing flour-flingers.
My kids hated me for being unable to buy donuts anymore.
If you went to your local bakery and ordered cake while making an off-hand remark about your love of gay people they would probably still sell you the cake. But if you’re a billionaire? No way!
So do you think it’s easy being a billionaire? Well, you are mistaken. I don’t even tell anyone I’m a billionaire anymore but somehow they can sense it. Somehow, the smell of money is stronger than just about any other odor — skunk included. Apparently, I am doing something wrong. I bathe everyday but the odor lingers. I tell stories about how poor I am and no one believes me. I dress like a slob and everyone sees right through it. I go to the poor people’s food pantry and I am chased out. I sit down on skid row all disheveled with the other bums with my tin cup out collecting alms and, unlike the others, I get beaten up.
It’s really, really hard being a billionaire. What the hell am I doing wrong? Can someone please give me some advice? All I want to do is help people.
Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction.
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