A Salute To The $30,000 Millionaire

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An Ode To The $30K Millionaire

This past Sunday, I spent my day poolside at the W Hotel. I didn’t have to pay the $30 entrance fee, nor did I have to pay a dime for drinks, because a friend of mine is a bartender there, and he hooked us up. However, there were plenty of guys sitting on the rooftop pool who paid their way in and willingly paid $10 for each beer, and $12 for each cocktail, to impress the young, well-defined girls donning skimpy bikinis. These guys aren’t just at the Austin W; these guys are everywhere. Today, we salute you, Mr. $30,000 Millionaire.

Eating nothing but ramen and beans during the week, you’re living the real American dream. You purposefully impoverish yourself during the week so you can spend the weekend living like a CEO. Sure, there are bills to pay, IRAs, and 401Ks to invest in, and groceries to buy, but your keen instincts tell you to keep your eyes on the prize: that blonde in the corner wearing a skintight dress that doesn’t fuck with poors.

You live the ultimate fantasy: bragging about your finance gig, when really you are a bank teller. Showing no shame while spewing inaccurate information as you talk about bond yields to an unknowing bimbo at the bar. It is correct to say the only time you’ve ever been in possession of $5,000 is when you were handed a check that you, in turn, were told to hand to someone else, but no one needs to know that.

For years, you drove around in your parents station wagon until one day the greatest idea ever punched you right in the fucking face: lease a Mercedes! 7-speed dual-clutch transmission, leather seats, a media system with hands-free Bluetooth and iPod connection, and all for rent. Mmmm, now that’s luxury. Kind of like the car your boss has, only you don’t own it.

Because you previously worked as a caddy, you’ve taken the time-honored tradition of golf at the local nice course and made it inexpensive. Because of you, you and your friends can boast about playing on the nicest links in town for the low, low price of $20. Sand shot, after sand shot, flubbed chip, after flubbed chip — you’re not embarrassed even though you’re destroying the beauty of a place that usually costs $200 to play.

So grab yourself a nice chilled shot of Patron, oh mack daddy of the weekend. When it comes to impressing fake women with your fake paycheck, you’re the best around.

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