MOTIVATIONAL SHIT
My Life After Selling the First Book
Aka the only book
How was it, you ask?
I got rich as f***uck, rich as shhhhh, rich as you*know*what. Kdp sent the royalties for my first book’s sale and I congratulated myself with a firm self handshake. My bank account manager called me straight away to cheer me up, he couldn’t believe I finally managed to deposit 2.73 pounds into my account. He was so jolly he almost promised to delay the meeting with James, the foreclosure agent who’s gonna help me move out of my property. What a couple of gentlemen. Anyway, the money tank is now filled with cash so I can finally dedicate my life to truly important things. Living on the edge.
Despite my long-term friendship with Jim the knife and Scar that’s it, the best, cruellest bailiffs in town, and I mean London town, I felt it was time to cut ties with my previous miserable life of a poor and lonely man and dive into the bright spring-like blooming future. I am going to rent, what?, buy, an apartment, a large one, a what?, I mean, a bleeding attic, okay? 16th floor, like celebrities, like drug lords, ups, I shouldn’t have written that. Anyway, top of the world, here I come.
I went out and strolled about in search of a car shop. I am rich, I need to move, I need a car. I can’t keep mixing into the tube with all sorts of flea-ridden common people, I ain’t dat kind of skunk, I’m da cream, da jewel on the crown. Which crown? Good question, I need to buy one.
So, no tube, no bus (obviously, that’s basically subhuman, in London), and no Uber or black cab either. No no no. I am above all that. People like me, if they ever exit their houses, they avoid getting in touch with the masses, the awww, the rubble. I want a Maserati, like Mista Maserati Baxter Dury, my idol, the slamlord of all slams. I want a neon pink Maserati and I want a chauffeur cuz I don’t have a clue about how to drive, especially not in a wrong-sided driven country.
By the way, if you live in London and you like to drive Maseratis in your spare time, please get in touch with me for this li’l job vacancy.
But let’s not waste time bothering about future things the future will sort out by itself. I want to stay grounded. Think about and plan the basics:
Helicopter. I need a helicopter.
Why? Why you ask?? Please. Apart from the fact that I don’t/can’t stand the sight of poor people like you, how do you think I can reach my 16th-floor apartment, uh? Don’t even think about elevators/lifts/they because, no, I’m sorry but I am a claustrophobic person so I can’t get into one of those metal coffins alright? I prefer going up and down with an extremely handy, Chopper helicopter which I can park downstairs on top of your low-life boooo 8-storey building that makes me laugh.
Okay, I suspect I might have been a bit annoying, arrogant, superior? I get it, that’s what people like you think of people like me but it’s ok. Everybody has to explain their existence to themselves with a fantasy reality that blurs their miserable life and deludes them into believing they’re actually ok, they still have a full mane attached to their skull like a fucking teenager bastard, they are fit and beautiful and successful and, am I crying? No, I definitely ain’t crying cause everybody ain’t me, and I sold my book, and I’m this close to replacing Lupin III, sorry, Charly Charles III on the throne.
Anyway, my point before I lost my point was: I want to give back.
That’s what gods and stardom people do innit? So, since the fuel cost, energy cost, your bills and etceteras are rising, skyrocketing in the void like Elon on a freaking Missile blasted off to Mars, I am going to help you out.
From my 16th-floor luxury mansion, I will spray out gasoline like Coca Cola over your homes, heads, your cars, your kids and lawns. I will chuck thousands of AAA, AA, HEY!!! batteries from the sky while zig-zagging the city airspace with my chopper. In summer, I will pour champagne over every single Royal park with a fire brigade hose attached to my Maserati so you’ll get to enjoy your well-deserved green thanks to me, take this, climate change dryness!
I will give back. Cause I’m an extraordinarily good person. I am what common people call a people person. I’m so good that if you don’t get it, fuck you, you illiterate uneducated unrespectful nitwit!
But let’s not rush into rage. Nobody will really have to fuck off since I trust everyone will get my message, as soon as I have those mega banners with my smiling photoshopped face printed and hung in front of the British Museum, National Gallery, Tate, Bucking Gum Palace and so on.
Wow, being great is tiring. I think I’m gonna have a nap and continue this chapter of the Holy Bible pt.2 tomorrow.
Sayonara Youth. Matt Youth.
If you got this far, you totally deserve a prize: anyway, here are some other Matt Youth stories you might dislike