Suggested Audio Piggy Bank♫
 Pink Floyd “Money”
 Wu-Tang Clan “C.R.E.A.M.”
 Dire Straits “Money For Nothing”
It sucks badger bunions being brassic. Indeed, there are few feelings quite as disheartening as reaching into your pocket and groping your upper thigh. Actually scrap that, I believe that is what’s known as a cheeky bonus, but you get the general idea. It’s a grim day when you open your wallet and a witchetty grub comes wriggling out and an even grimmer one when you can’t even afford a wallet and said witchetty grub has nowhere to stay. I know the feeling only too well and, while just about keeping my head above water currently, there have been times when I’ve not had a solitary nickel to my name and they weren’t a whole bundle ‘o’ fun let me tell you. Indeed, in many ways, I’m your classic rags to rags case as I ejected from my mothers uterus poverty-stricken and, unless life throws me a bone with a cheque for $1 million tied around it, I’ll likely be dirt-poor when I croak also. Woe is me you may think and it’s never too late for it to put in a shift but I do possess certain riches and wouldn’t trade them for anything less than six figures and a chalet in Tuscany. I meant the world of course but you have to keep your options open I hear. I’ll get to the riches part in due course but, for now, let’s all watch our credit cards decline in unison shall we? Actually I consider myself blessed for landing my first part-time job on the very day I could work without a grown man whipping me. Moreover, I never struggled finding jobs, and neither did they prove too tricky to hang onto so, lucky stars, this one’s for you.
If I ever happen across that constellation again I will ask them how it feels to be kissed by a vagabond. Anyhoots, money wasn’t ever a great problem, the real tricky part was living within my means when I’m hopeless with currency. If there’s a crisp banknote in my coffer then it has no right to be there when it should be reacquainted with its own kind in the nearest cash register I can palm it off to. Needless to say, I couldn’t save for shit, and there was always a symmetry between the monies coming in and those on an outbound journey. Nevertheless, I seldom struggled, even when my first marriage petered out and I went through the obligatory “$400 for a pair of Italian designer shoes seems pretty reasonable” phase. I was never one of those who lived to work and found myself doing the bare minimum to secure my position and vaguely impress when necessitated in order not to become expendable. Indeed, laziness has long since been my Achilles heel, although I graft like an Oompa Loompa on speed if it entails doing something that I have remote interest in. Ironically I work harder now than I ever have and earn not a dime for any blood, sweat, or tears donated. The difference now is that my craft incorporates bona fide passion.
I often wonder what I would do if my riches were of the stinking strain and this has altered drastically over the past three years as I’ve learned the slow and torturous way how not to want for anything. As long as I am comfortable, that’s me sorted, and if I can afford to assist those dear to me in their hour of need, then I’d flash my plastic faster than Janet Jackson can suffer a wardrobe malfunction while The Trouser Snake tries to cop a quick feel. These people should know who they are and I would help not to make myself feel all important but because I genuinely wish to play a part in changing their lives. Other than that, I’m not sure how I would handle these kinds of finances, although I’ve always wanted a bionic arm – to aid with heavy lifting of course. The secondary function is just a bonus. I know one thing, if money wasn’t an issue, Grueheads Films would be popping them out faster than Chris Brown can run from the feds. The horror industry has been due that shake-up for too long dagnabbit and there are some truly talented independent filmmakers crying out to put this right. Fret not guys as, should my cashflow situation become less dire, then I’ll be flashing the cash like Bill Cosby on the eve of a court case.
Of course, the government always find a way of fisting your treasury, what with the ludicrous taxes they slap on just to balance those books after royally ballsing up the economy. Indeed, they’re all at it, and there’s treachery afoot everywhere we look. Do you ever wonder why that jumbo chocolate bar manages to hold its price through nationwide recession? I would suggest taking a look at the weight as 400g has a tendency of sneaking down to 300g without any sort of prior warning. Any U.K. smokers amongst us will be all too aware of how an average box now contains seventeen as opposed to the twenty we set out to purchase. I still ask for twenty as it just seems preposterous breaking this habit and reminding myself that I’m getting shafted in the process. Funnily enough, new laws have recently been passed whereby they will be required to return to their original quota but you watch those prices soar when they do. Rancid bastards have got us right by the short and curlies and I’m tired of having my pubes tugged without a hand job at the end of it.
Then there’s the whole “rich get richer” deal and, while I agree that industry should be rewarded, some folk have so much moolah that they end up making themselves all unhappy. There’s always doing a good deed you know. Just throwing that one out there. Think of the emotional windfall that would come from redistributing some of that wealth to those who are crying out for it. It’s their money at the close of business but, wouldn’t it be a great team-building exercise for it to be a few other people’s money too? Anyone who makes it to the billion checkpoint beacon had better be looking over those shoulders while purchasing luxury yachts with 0.01 seconds earnings. Nobody wants to die at sea; not when the venom of a blue-ringed octopus is 10,000 times more potent than cyanide. And guess what? They don’t take American Express and reportedly despise tycoons. If only mankind could strike some kind of balance, it would only have religion to squabble over and world peace could become doable. Instead we bicker over finances and, while the rich get richer, the poor get better acquainted with the bottom of the barrel and end up little more than fish heads.
So I guess I should elaborate a dash more on those other riches right? You see, while they have no monetary value to speak of, they’re only too willing to buy the next round of happiness if you’re running low on funds. I count myself positively Kardashian with regards to the people whose light glances mine at the crossroads. Make no mistake, it matters not whether I have met them in person, as the beauty of a soul is that it transmits in many different ways and can bring you in for a kiss even when it can’t physically get its tongue down your throat. I have received many kisses since I began my tenure as a scribe and many of those have arrived via something I like to refer to as Twitter Pecks. 140 characters may not be much in the grand scheme of things, but it is a blank canvas, and sometimes less truly can be more. Should someone display genuine affection then I’ll lap that shit up like Augustus Gloop in Wonka’s estuary and be sure to pay that shit forward as that’s how kindness can flourish. Suddenly I can hear the jangle of loose coinage in my pocket once more, afford that slap-up dinner I’ve been putting off for months, finally order that bionic arm from Amazon, and get mugged in a back alley with my head held high.
Money? Yeah it’s alright I suppose. Has its benefits. Looks rather handsome in a bundle. If you’re offering then I’m not about to decline the gesture. That said, I still consider myself wealthy, albeit in a sense far more figurative than I’m entirely comfortable with. I have my health (or at least I did last time I checked my pulse) I have my happiness (unless that damn inner chimp gets playful and starts smashing my emotional crockery), I have folk I care about who are only too happy to make that transaction two-way, I have a beautiful six-year-old son whose big blue eyes could brighten up a mosh pit, I have a wonderful family whether blood or otherwise, I have basic respiratory function (albeit somewhat tenuous), I have possibly the largest bar of chocolate ever constructed waiting inside for me at this very moment (I kid you not, it’s longer than Bigfoot’s dick), and still have 1001 other reasons to be cheerful aside. Besides, rags ain’t that bad once you get used to them, you just have to know how to rock ’em.