Your Baby is Adorable, How Much Do You Want For It? I Have Cash.
Ahhhh the free market. Beautiful no?
A few years ago some of my friends were in town receiving an award for being rad rock stars, the award show sent them a limo and they picked me up and we tooled around town getting drunk before the big show. At one point the big limo pulled up to my second favorite taqueria and we all piled out like idiots.
Inside this taqueria hangs the most awesome painting of one of those rotating meat cookers, you know, the kind you see in greek and mexican food joints where they pile five billion pounds of meat onto a vertical skewer and it slowly rotates, cooking the outer most layer which is shaved off and crammed in your stupid face. The painting is glorious for a million reasons.
At the time, one of my rock star friends was decorating his new condo in west hollywood and being the drunkards we were, we hatched a plan to make an offer for the painting and we approached the cashier and began a retarded Mr. Moneybags campaign to get what we wanted --- with cash.
It felt awfully douchebaggy.
Because it was the epitome of douchebaggotry. (I made up that word)
After all, there was no price tag on it and it was doing an awfully fine job hanging on the wall making everyone's burrito consuming experience a little more pleasant.
Anyway, I bring this up because last night a yuppie friend of mine was hatching a plan to buy an awesome piece of art from my favorite monday night drinking spot.
"I WANT THAT PAINTING!" she said, "How much do you think I'd have to offer to get it?"
"What's wrong with leaving it there? I like it there, it's one of the reasons I like coming here, why can't you just stop trying to buy everything in sight and just leave it there where we can all enjoy it?"
"BECAUSE I WANT IT!"
Long story short, she turned into a giant blueberry and the Oompa Loompas had to roll her off to get squeezed.
So what am I trying to say?
What I am trying to say is that yuppies wreck everything.
OK, that's not what I am trying to say. I actually like one or two yuppies -- kinda.
Well, maybe it is, I'm not really sure what I am trying to say.
Ok, what I am trying to say is that your money will never ever ever make you cool, and any attempts to use it to do so will only have the opposite effect.
Cool ain't for sale dude.
I mean,
You can gold plate a turd, but inside it's still poop.
Now a gold plated turd WOULD be COOL.
Fake gold of course.
Fuck I'm smart.
And cool.
Amen.
Now this girl:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught switching the blueberry chick for the goose chick.
Your Lumpy Right Breast,
Mel Gibson
