today i got inspired and it left me hollow, like some kind of coconut with its insides carved out for the pina coladas of the bourgeoisie. i’m delicious. you know my hair’s in your cup so that’ll be an extra ten dollars you don’t mind do you

tell me the secret to happiness, rich people. i bet you’ll say “it’s VINEYARD VINES and BIG FAT SWAROVSKI NECKLACES and TAKING MONEY FROM THE LESSER” drink me and enlighten me

is serotonin production spurred by spending? is Steve Jobs your god? is xanax as heavenly as soundcloud rappers say it is? you’re all soundcloud rappers and i hate your music. your mantras of superiority your mercedes benz’s your drug addictions and spoiled children in your fridge instead of food. you have all the money. you have all the answers. so tell me if it’s all worth it. what’s it like to be rolling in the bacterium of dollar bills that someone’s probably blown their nose in?

“when i grow up i wanna be rich” i used to say. i was bony and brace-faced and drooling like a baby. crying for college and jobs and money money money but i don’t want it anymore i don’t want to be insatiable and hiding from my children crying on the toilet seat sticking goo into my arm because that’s what it means to make it.

you’re all starving yourselves. you’ve got a cash buffet and you go back for seconds thirds fourths bawling out of frustration because you can’t get full. you never will. and i almost feel bad for you.