Do You Wish You Were Rich?

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There's no one here but us. Tell me. Do you wish you were rich? If you're not already rich, do you wonder why you're not rich? Why "them" and not "you"?

Listed below are SusanJillParker's miscellaneous ramblings of things that are not right and/or not fair with the biggest issue being money. MONEY. M-O-N-E-Y. Money, greed, power, and influence. The sad truth is that things between the haves and the have nots will not get better but will continue to worsen.

Author's warning:

If you're a frustrated person permanently imbedded in the middle class, someone who has a bad heart and/or high blood pressure, do not read this story. If you're an angry person who is imbued in your lowly status, prone to bouts of anger and fits of violent rage, and who has access to a firearm, do not read this story. Instead, read some of my less angry stories, especially the mother and son incest stories, those will excite you sexually instead of upset you angrily. Fan favorites are Bag Lady & the Retired Marine, Mother Sleeps with Son on Nude Day, Young Woman with Older Man, or my latest Valentine's contest story, LOVE, SEX, GUNS, and Ammunition.

Don't forget to vote and, if you haven't already, don't forget to add me to your list of favorite authors. Now for my story.

Do You Wish You Were Rich?

Sometimes, I'm so angry that I want to stick my head out the window and scream, as Peter Finch did as Howard Beale in the movie, Network.

"I'm mad as Hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"

Even though it may make me feel better to blow off some steam and let out my anger and my frustration, what good would it do? Living in a quiet neighborhood of Mennonites, while caring for an elderly Mennonite woman, I'd be deemed a lunatic by her friends and our neighbors. Already an outcast because I'm a tall, busty, blue-eyed blonde of English, Italian, and Czechoslovakian descent and not Mennonite, I'd be shunned and shamed by the other Mennonites, and/or arrested for disturbing the peace.

Calling undue attention to myself, I'd be even more of an outcast in a society where we all conform and go about our business quietly, obediently, and without complaint. I worked hard all my life. I worked full-time while attending night school and earning a college education at Northeastern University in Boston. No longer wanting to work doing accounting, I thought graduating magna cum laude with a BS degree in English with Creative Writing and English Literature minors would insure that I'd have a job in my chosen field.

I thought wrong. Not long after I graduated, the recession hit and I was just another out of work white collar worker. Struggling to get by, and never finding another good paying, full-time job with benefits, I'm angry that I'm poor and not rich. Aren't you angry that you're poor and not rich? Honestly, wouldn't you rather be rich than poor?

"Who wouldn't? Right?"

Surely, in the way that you work so very hard, you deserve to be rich. Think about it. Why "them" and not "you"? What did "they" do to deserve to be rich?

"Have they worked harder then you? No."

What did "you" do wrong not to be blessed with enormous wealth?

"Nothing."

How dare you be treated less than the person that you are because you don't have money? Oxymoronically, with money the root of so much evil when you don't have money, money is the root of so much good when you do have money. Those of us who have barely enough money for ourselves will never know what it's like to help someone in need. Yet, even with our limited resources, we still give to charities, our church, the Salvation Army kettle at Christmas, telethons, and whatever spare change we have in our pockets to help feed the homeless.

Sad to write this but with this my reality too, like most of us, you'd be lucky to earn a million-dollars in your forty-year, working career. A million-dollars. Wow. How a million-dollars that sounds like so much money can be deemed so little money when divided over forty-years? No longer do we think of a millionaire as being rich. Billionaires are the ones who now rule the world.

Jeff Bezos, the CEO and founder of Amazon, now deemed the richest man in the world ahead of Bill Gates of Microsoft fame, earned $6 billion dollars in just twenty-minutes last April when his stock jumped. Bill Gates makes $386 every second, $23,150 every minute, $1.38 million every hour, $33.3 million every day, and $12.154 billion each year that he's alive. Now compare that to what you earn in an hour, a week, and a year.

"Calm down. Relax. Don't get angry. Take a breath. It's just money. Besides, just as there's much more to life than money, there's much more of this story to read."

Bill Gates earning $12 billion dollars a year is money, real money. Yet, why him and not you? Why him and not me? It's not fair. It's not right. What about you? What about me? Hello? We'd all like to have some money too," I said suddenly feeling like Oliver Twist in Charles Dickens' novel Oliver Twist.

Born to a wealthy family, receiving the best education, the best career and/or employment opportunities, and the best of everything, seemingly "they" got all the lucky breaks and "you" and "I" didn't. Suspiciously obvious that they got so much while you got so little makes one wonder if "they" made a deal with the Devil? If "they" did make a deal with the Devil, can "anyone" make that deal? Can "you" make a deal with the Devil. At the expense of burning in Hell for all of eternity, if you could make a deal with the Devil, would you make a deal with the Devil if it meant that you could live the rest of your life without wanting for anything?

Imagine all that you'd buy. Imagine all that you'd do. Imagine the places you'd travel to and the things you'd see. Imagine wanting for and having to wait nothing. Imagine having everything at your immediate reach. New car? No problem. Which one? What color? New house? What style? How many square feet? How many bedrooms and bathrooms? Is a three-car garage big enough? You pick where you'd like to live. Imagine being able to afford season football tickets and tickets to the Super Bowl.

"More beer and give me the good beer this time, the American beer, and not the imported beer from Germany," said Jack to his man servant, Jeeves.

Jeeves tapped his heels together and bowed his head deeply as if he was serving the Emperor of Japan instead of Jack, a big, jackpot, lottery winner.

"Yes, my Lord. Right away my Lord," said Jeeves who was instructed to call his employer my Lord even though he didn't earn the title, wasn't born into the title, or had inherited that title.

Jeeves, real name, Larry but changed by Jack, disappeared for a moment and returned with a champagne bucket full of ice, cold Samuel Adams Utopias beer. With an alcohol volume of 28%, five times that of most beers, illegal in 12 states, and tasting more like a fine liquor, with the sweetness of a cognac or strong port than beer, Samuel Adams Utopias beer sells for $200 a bottle. Best enjoyed one ounce at a time instead of guzzling the whole bottle, it's served in a gold bottle that more looks like an expensive, handmade, antique flask.

'I wonder what that tastes like,' I thought. 'If that's $200 a bottle, I wonder how for a sip?'

I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse, walked in a high-end bar, and leaned forward over the bar to expose my long line of sexy cleavage before giving the bartender my sexiest smile.

"Bartender. Give me a bottle of Samuel Adams Utopias beer. Don't bother opening the bottle. I can't afford it. I just want to look at it and hold it in my hand while licking the outside of the bottle," I said before the bouncer asked me to leave.

* * * * *

Speaking of the Devil, surely, Tom Brady, quarterback of the New England Patriots, made a deal with the Devil to be born so tall, so handsome, so healthy, and so successful. He must have made a deal with the Devil for him to be the GOAT, the greatest of all time. Arguably better than Joe Montana, every time he steps on the field, he breaks another record, wins another game, and earns another Super Bowl ring.

'Brady...Brady...Brady,' I chanted to myself every time I thought of Tom Terrific.

"What the fuck? Are you kidding me? When does my team get to play in the Super Bowl? Lucky bastard. He's such a lucky bastard," said Bob, a Pittsburgh Steelers' fan at the bar to no one while crying in his beer that his beloved Steelers were beaten by the Jaguars and were one and done in the playoffs.

Steve, from Boston, wearing a Brady shirt, a New England Patriot's jacket and Super Bowl LI hat, gave Bob a pat on the back.

"Better luck next year, Bob," said Steve leaving the bar laughing. "Loser," he said under his breath but loud enough for Bob to hear.

Bob turned to Steve filled with disappointment, anger, and rage.

"Shut the fuck up! Fuck you, Steve! Fuck Boston. Fuck the New England Patriots. Fuck Brady. Fuck Belichick, fuck Kraft, and fuck Gisele," yelled Bob long after Steve left the bar.

Moreover, not just successful in his career but successful in love and in marriage, Brady must have made a deal with the Devil to be married to such a beautiful, sexy, and super-rich, supermodel, Gisele. He dumped Bridget Moynahan, an ex-model, and now actress Erin Reagan on Blue Bloods. They had a son, Benjamin Brady.

Yet, why him and not you? What did "you" do wrong in your life to live in such poverty and despair while "he" lives in such greatness and splendor? Go ahead, I'll give you a minute while you look at your obese wife and before looking at a fashion photo of nearly naked Gisele with her hair blowing back in the wind.

"I rest my case."

Seriously, in the way that Warren Beatty starred in the remake of Heaven Can Wait in 1978, as Joe Pendleton, the star quarterback of the Los Angeles Rams, don't you wish you were Tom Brady. Yeah, sure, you hate the man. So, what? Yet, if you made a deal with the Devil and was reincarnated as Tom Brady in the way that Warren Beatty was reincarnated as Joe Pendleton, you'd jump at the chance to win more Super Bowl rings while having sex with Gisele.

"Gisele get on your knees and kiss my Super Bowl rings while sucking my prick," said Tom Brady to his supermodel wife. "I'm thinking about wearing my sixth Super Bowl ring on my cock. What do you think?"

Gisele looked up at her handsome husband and made a face.

"I think the diamonds would chip my teeth, Tommy," she said.

Gisele kissed her husband's Super Bowl rings before taking his erect cock in hand and before taking his stiff prick in her mouth.

"Let's play that ex-boyfriend game again. While blowing me, pretend that I'm one of your exes, Kelly Slater, Josh Hartnett, Chris Evans, Leonardo DiCaprio (boy, he gets around), Ricardo Mansur, Rodrigo Santoro, Scott Barnhill, or Paulo Roberto Diniz, Jr," said Tom. "Let's go with Leonardo this time."

Her favorite game to play, Gisele stared up at her husband and smiled while sucking his prick.

"Yes, Tommy. Anything for you," said Gisele playing the role of the submissive wife while pretending that she was blowing Leonardo DiCaprio again. "As long as you pretend that I'm one of your exes too," she said removing his dick tattooed with a Patriots logo and his jersey number 12 to speak. "Which ex-lover would you want me to be, Bridget Moynahan, Tara Reid, Layla Roberts, or Meghan Vasconcellos."

Tom Brady smiled at his wife as if smiling at his receiver catching a 50-yard pass for a touchdown. Something he always does in the locker room that has transcended in his love life with Gisele, he slapped her ass before giving her a high five.

"The only lover that I want to imagine blowing me is you, Gisele," said Tom always saying the right thing to his woman.

Whether you like Tom Brady and Gisele or not, just as you secretly wish you were Tom Brady, I secretly wish I was Gisele Bundchen. The last of the supermodels, I can't imagine being as rich and as successful.

"It's not fair. It's not right. Why does Brady have everything and you have nothing? Why does Gisele have everything and I have nothing?"

* * * * *

At one time or another, except for those who are already rich, we all wish we were rich. Am I right? Don't we? Don't you? I wish that I was rich all the time, at least once a week. Especially every time I go to Wal-Mart and must mingle with the masses, I wish I was rich enough to hire someone to do my food shopping. Yet, if I was rich, I wouldn't be buying food at Wal-Mart, that's for sure.

"Hey! Fuck off, pervert," said Susan to a man who grabbed her big breast in a Wal-Mart aisle as he passed by her.

She eyed the man running away before heading to checkout to wait in line. As if trying to move the line faster, the woman behind her bumped Susan's ass with her cart, not once, not twice, but three times.

"Hey! You bump my ass with that carriage one more time and I'm gonna deck you lady," said Susan to the impatient, obese, and ugly woman in line behind her.

Now that the world is so complex and so crazy with everyone running around in circles just trying to keep up, don't you wish you were rich, rich enough to disappear from all of the lunacy and hide somewhere safe, exclusive, and luxurious? Think about it, if you had the money to relocate anywhere in the country, where would you go? Which state would you live? Do you have a particular state in mind or would you travel the country in one of those million-dollar, recreational vehicles? Maybe you'd leave the country. Think about it, if you had the money to live in any country in the world, which country would you live?

C'mon, be honest. There's no one here, just me and you and I won't tell anyone which state or which country you picked to live if you were rich. Based on the ignorance of the poverty in your choice of countries, I won't embarrass you by telling anyone that your dream countries are South Africa, Jamaica, Brazil, or Venezuela. Taking my life in my hands, I'd never live in any of those countries. They're not only poor countries but also crime infested countries. You'd be safer living on the south side of Chicago.

"Get down! It's a drive by shooting! He has a gun!"

Seriously though, you can't tell me that you never wished you were rich. Imagine doing anything you wanted to do whenever you wanted to do it. Imagine traveling anywhere on a private jet or on a huge, luxury yacht any time without having to wait in line to go through security to board. Imagine going anywhere in the world you wanted to go whenever you wanted to go.

"Wow. Now, that's being rich."

Imagine buying anything you wanted. Imagine living life large. I imagine living life like a king. Imagine being chauffeured in a thirteen-million-dollar, Rolls-Royce Sweptail. Imagine owning a Hatteras 100 RP, $4.2 million dollar, one-hundred-two-foot yacht or something bigger, more luxurious, and more expensive. Imagine being surrounded by beautiful, young, naked women ready to cater to your every perverse sexual whim and erotic desire.

"Now we're talking."

Imagine being surrounded by women ready to give you your sexual fantasy. Imagine being able to have sex with a different woman every day. Imagine these women wanting to have sex with you as much as you want to have sex with them.

"May I suck your dick, again, Master," asked Connie, a 24-year-old, dark hair, sexy and shapely, Italian beauty?

Staring sexily in his eyes, Connie slid a slow tongue across her red, full lips while moving to her knees beside Jack. Sexually teasing him, he stared at her as he watched her remove her top and her low-cut brassiere to expose her naked and perfectly shaped, C cup breasts with big, erect nipples. Then, while staring up at him with her big, brown, beautiful eyes, she unzipped him and pulled out his prick in preparation to suck him, her multi-millionaire master.

"Not right now, Connie. Sorry but it's Jessica's turn to blow me," said Jack, a multi-million-dollar, lottery, jackpot winner. "Then after Jessica blow's me, it's Diane's turn to blow me, and then Mary. Sorry," said Jack again while flipping through the full pages of his little, black book, "You're not scheduled to blow me until next Tuesday. I have a couple of Russian whores arriving this weekend and they have dibs on sucking and fucking my cock before you."

Seriously, with grandma Rose or Uncle Harold not dying anytime soon to bequeath you your inheritance, at the very least, don't you wish you could win the lottery? Imagine what you'd do with the multi-million-dollar, jackpot prize. Oh, my God. If only it was your turn to win the big one, just imagine how your life would change when winning all of that money.

Think about it. Don't limit yourself to only buying a big house and a new car, allow your imagination to go wild. What would you do if you won the lottery? Would you leave your wife, disown your children, leave all your pain-in-the-ass relatives and needy friends behind, and live the good life, la Vida Loca, while surrounding yourself with whores like Jack? Or would you do the decent, moral, and right thing, albeit the stupid thing, and share your wealth with your family, relatives, and friends?

'I never should have told them that I won the lottery. I should have disappeared in the night,' thought Jack. 'I should have left my wife and kids behind and moved to Vegas, Aspen, or Monaco,' thought Jack while watching his wife redecorating their new, big, house with draperies, expensive furniture, and overpriced artwork.

Jack made an angry face behind his wife's back while she was busy talking with her interior decorator, Todd, a gay man wearing a pale, blue suit and a multi-colored bowtie.

"I love the color of the new drapes, Honey, and that couch looks very comfortable," said Jack. "That original painting of a Campbell's tomato soup can by Andy Warhol is very intriguing."

He gave his wife, Audrey, a smile and the thumbs up sign to the interior decorator while wishing he was dead or that she suddenly died.

'I could have had a penthouse bachelor's pad and a new, red Ferrari,' thought Jack while smiling again at his wife. 'I could have had sex with a different a woman every night. I could have been a player and a multi-million-dollar playboy. I could have kept all of my lottery winnings to myself instead of watching my fat, ugly wife spending all my money. I could have been happy instead of being so tense, miserable, sexually frustrated, and sad.'

* * * * *

Now that I'm writing about the lottery, why do "they" make it so impossibly difficult for anyone to win ten-thousand-dollars, five-thousand-dollars, one-thousand-dollars, one-hundred-dollars, or even five-dollars? Is it that "they" don't want anyone to win small amounts that will take away from the big jackpots? Perhaps, the lottery commission and the people who work there make more money when dragging out the jackpot week after week? If any other company, but the lottery commission advertised a million-dollar jackpot and gave the winner four-hundred-thousand-dollars after taking the one-time payout and after taxes, they'd go to jail for false advertising and fraud.

What would I do if I won the lottery? I'd take the one-time payment, then I sue their asses for false advertising and fraud. As far as I'm concerned it should be illegal to say that you'll win one amount and then receive a much smaller amount. How is that even legal? Am I right? Yet, most lottery winners are happy with what they've won, even if they were cheated out of winning more by the lottery making false promises and misleading claims.

Who can legally advertise without being sued that you'll win one amount and then give you a different amount when you win? No one else can do that without going to jail for false advertising and fraud? Yeah, sure there are disclaimers in fine print somewhere. Yet, what the lottery hypes is not the amount you'll will receive as a one-time payout after taxes but the amount of the fictitious jackpot. Has nothing changed since flimflam men sold snake oil from the back of their wagons claiming that their magic potions cured everything but drunkenness after you drank the thing?