It all started back when I lost at a game of Monopoly while playing against my brothers.
If only I hadn’t bought those bogus properties. But how was I suppose to know you couldn’t collect money from hotels on Boardwalk or Park Place? Particularly when your brothers land on those properties.
And then there was that other stupid little known Monopoly rule. You know the one. It’s the one that allows siblings (WHO ARE YOUR BROTHERS) to erect hotels on trains whenever they buy railroad property.
I mean who knew?
So right then and there I decided to adopt a whole new philosophy about LIFE—I wasn’t ever going to play that game with them either. Not having enough money for railroad hotels scarred me for LIFE… let me tell ya.
From now on I was going to have new words to live by; “Never do anything… unless it’s for money.”
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a new philosophy, seeing as the mob, corporations, and politicians had been doing it for years. But I figured, if it worked for them, then why not me, right?
At first, I even made a number of attempts at being an entrepreneur, beginning with a financial effort that backfired on my backside—literally.
One day as my mom leaned in for a kiss, I launched into my first sales pitch ever. I said, “Mom, from now on that’s gonna cost you.”
My quest to become a rich American continued anyway—albeit a bit more gingerly after that.
The next attempt at going into business for myself was not exactly my own idea. Almost an afterthought really. I started collecting empty cans and bottles. Oh… and piggy banks.
Piggy banks, you ask?
Well they didn’t really belong to me, they belonged to my brothers. I would happen upon them after my brothers emptied them to buy sodas for themselves. Naturally, this left me with empty piggy banks, but I did manage to get their empty cans and bottles, too.
Becoming a recycling king left me thirsting for some other financial enterprise to invest in. That’s when I hit on the idea of charging to use the bathroom?
For a small fee, of course.
My family paid me handsomely, too. Why cash flowed in right under the door—as opposed to under the table. This was namely because, I had removed all the toilet paper in advance of them using the bathroom.
But, this lead to me having a falling out with my brothers. In the end (in a manner of speaking) they didn’t sit for it, and ultimately… beat the crap outta me. Another business venture down the toilet.
So I decided I needed to start charging for everything.
Want me to eat all my vegetables? Better pay up! Finish my homework? I don’t work cheap. Doing chores around the house? Well I’m not just working for my health here you know! Want the pleasure of my company on a family vacation?
You see, celebrities aren’t the only one’s who charge for pictures and autographs!
Suddenly I was rolling in cheddar, cabbage, dough, and clams—but nothing in the way of cash. I mean, you can only eat so much cheddar, cabbage, dough and clams before something has gotta give, and so I decided to take a job. Hardly words to live by—but at least it paid.
That’s when I was hit with an epiphany. Better than a barcalounger—which really hurts!
Instead of “Words to live by” why not find A WORD to live by. And that’s when I decided on the word… WRITER. I figure, if it worked for John Steinbeck, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Truman Capote then why not me, right?
Now, back to another game of Monopoly with my brothers.
CHANCE? Go to jail, go directly to jail, don’t pass Go, don’t collect $200!
“Hey guys, do the Monopoly rules allow me to collect money while in jail?”