I’m 28 years old and I have a specific pattern. I accumulate money, (typically during deployments to Iraq) and then blow through the entire bank account within six months on disposable things, like booze, movies and pizza, with nothing to show for it except a fat belly and a large porno collection. Then, I get sent back to Iraq and start the cycle over again. It’s worked like gangbusters for me ever since I got out of college.
I’m no good at staying on top of bills or monitoring how much money I actually have. I end up owing large amounts of money to companies that I’m too lazy to fight against. My problem is that money is nothing to me. It’s not something to be saved, it’s meant to be spent. That’s what drives this wonderful capitalist economy we’re so proud of. Money is like herpes, no matter how much you try to get rid of it, it’ll always be around.
But, now that I’m older and in the twilight of my years, it’s been deemed that I need to stop my financial mobius strip lifestyle. I need to start acting like the mature, responsible person I vowed to the Gods of Saturday Morning Cartoons I’d never be.
And it sucks.
Instead of being totally scatterbrained about my monies (I love that word!), I have to pay attention to things! Checking my various bank accounts, ING accounts, CDs, stocks, investments, bills, pants pockets and piggy bank is a full time job in itself. I thought my money was supposed to work for me, instead I’m feeling like Kunta Kinte over here.
Scrooge McDuck never had this problem! He just kept his money, (which, interestingly, seemed to be made up mostly of coins) in his big ass money bin, (which is funny because he owned all the banks in Duckberg, but never kept his cash there. Do you think his banks got any of that bailout money?) where he’d go swimming a couple times a day, thereby keeping track of his money and keeping in shape at the same time. Now that’s L-I-V-I-N.
Being rich would be very helpful. I could just hire an attorney (or three, each watching each other to make sure nobody’s ripping me off) to take care of my money for me. I could have a majordomo, like Robert Duvall in The Godfather. The only problem is that to be rich enough to hire somebody to keep track of my money for me, I need to keep track of my money. It’s a devastating Catch-22.
And you wanna know what the most humbling thing is? I’ve had to put myself on a weekly allowance, like some kind of small, irresponsible child, (or like a useless, yet super gorgeous trophy husband, which I wouldn’t mind being one day). Which means I can’t just indiscriminately buy things like I used to. I have to be frugal, which goes against my very nature!
Sometimes I wish I were a Smurf. They never use money, they just barter when they need something. When Baker Smurf needs something built, he gives Handy Smurf some special brownies, and bingo! He gets a brand new harness for his autoerotic asphyxiation experiments. On the other hand, if I were a Smurf I’d be getting sloppy 75ths on Smurfette’s cavernous vagina and that’s no fun for anybody. Not to mention Gargamel would constantly be trying to eat me and I’d be French. But I digress.
Money is on everybody’s mind these days, (well, it’s on everybody’s mind everyday, but even more so recently) and for good cause. Everything’s going to hell and soon we’ll be spending our days standing around in Marxist breadlines, hoping for soggy, mildewed crusts. It’ll be bad*. It’ll be so bad, we’ll be letting our children work for 35 cents a day in Pennsylvania coal mines, coating their little bitty lungs with coal dust in the cutest way. It’ll be so bad that in Ethiopia they’ll watch commercials with Sally Struthers imploring them to spend a few cents a day on little Billy Bob in Possum Cootch, KY. It’ll be so bad that we’ll soon envy the little kids working in those Taiwanese Nike sweat shops. It’s going to be so bad that soon I’m going to start sending unsolicited emails to Nigerian businessmen, telling them I’ve got a few million stashed away somewhere and I’ll need a good faith investment of a hundred thousand to get it out.
What can we do about it? Beats me. I’m not the guy to come to for financial advice. Hell, I’ve been broke and homeless before. I currently have at least three loan shark goons hanging out in the bushes in front of my building waiting for me to walk outside so they can cut off my pinkies.
In the end, I guess all we can do is keep our mind on our money and our money on our mind. Don’t go out and buy useless or impulsive shit like Uggs, or toilet paper. Save your money for important things, like sweet, big ass HD televisions, Faberge Eggs and diamond-studded, gold-plated grand pianos. Then, if everything goes right, one day some lucky hacker will strike it rich stealing your identity. It’s the American dream.
*How bad will it be?