I was watching Mtv "cribs" last weekend, and noticed a few things. If you go into a rapper's house, (yes I call them rappers. "hip hop" sounds too much like something you'd order from a Chinese restaurant. "Yes, I'd like the hip hop beef and an order of Chingy...") he or she will tell you how much everything cost, including the clothes in their closet. I'm not sure who this impresses, but all I kept thinking was, "holy shit. You paid $40,000 for a lamp and your financial advisor hasn't bitchslapped you?" If I have anything in my house that I know I overpaid for, I lie about it if anyone asks because deep down I know it was a stupid purchase.
After Cribs, they started showing rap videos in which there were just a bunch of dudes bragging about how much money they had. Throwing fistfuls of cash at the camera, close ups of the ridiculous diamond encrusted watches they wore, pouring $700 bottles of champagne on the five Bentleys in their garage, and all the booty babes they could shake a $2000 pimp cup at.
So I started thinking about what people like myself might brag about if we were given to bragging, and wrote the following awesome rap song:
(Fade into Cube farm, zoom to office with a window, where I am kicked back with my feet on my desk. I jump up and take off my sensible sweater, throw it on the coat rack, and start strutting up and down the hallways, my keycard is around my neck where a normal rap guy would have a seven million dollar item of bling. Cue funky ass bassline)
Keepin' it real, represent, just made middle management.
Try to step to my 401(k), no way, performin' at 22% as of today.
Mad rate, contributions, and employer match, I doubled my money by Q4, beeyatch.
(Waving printed statement from Hartford Life in camera, Little John Screaming in background- "Yayaahh! T. Rowe Price Mid Cap Growth index funds!! Wwwhhhhuuut?!")
New fiscal year, no fear, tax return coming near. 35% by Uncle Sam's instructions, (Little John- Whhhhhutt?!)
Saved receipts, charitable donations, got deductions...ductions...ductions...(Little John- Oookayyy!)
(Musical interlude, montage of me driving home, waving to kids at bus stops and stuff. Cut to me sitting on my stoop with my Honda parked in front of my house, freestyling like I always do when I get home from work)
Interest on the mortgage comin' back quid pro quo. House worth ten percent more than I paid eight months ago, appreciating like a Van Gogh. Paying off my last loan with the money I get back, throw the extra jack back in high interest stacks earnin' the max. No fancy rims, ice dripping from my limbs, no borrowing flow to buy shit on a whim. No need to desecrate with gold plate like dead weight. Not putting a buck into a damn thing that won't appreciate. It's about the ROI, That's my battle cry, no need to scrape by, watching the balance come up like Jewish rye. Whip's paid off, insurance is down, it ain't pretty but it gets me across town, same reason I keep bitches around- park it like it's paid for, treat it like a whore, won't run anymore, then give it away- that's what write-offs are for.
(Music slows to a sweet, sweet R&B groove, cut to a local bar, where I am drinking beer out of a frosted pimp mug with hot, conservatively dressed women on either side. I start the low pitched sexy talking part, the women start swaying and singing backup, as one would expect)
Baby...I've never been married. I got no baggage to speak of. I'm stable and responsible, and I have no arrest record or tattoos. Now, I know that's not the kind of guy that you want to date, but probably the kind you want to marry. So here is my promise...(tear off my shirt and fling it onto the ground, start crying, and then it mysteriously starts raining in the bar, making my body glisten) I'll still be around when you tire of dating all of those interesting, exciting, good looking men. Those men who will treat you wrong and still be in the same tax bracket at age 50. That's right baby, I'll be over here, silently investing in our future, the future you don't even know you want yet...whenever you give up hope and your good looks fade, I'll be here...your silver medal...and my 401(k)...
(I fall to my knees and start screaming "BAYYYBEEEEEEE" and "Whoaaoooohhooohhoooaahhhoooaahhooo" as the backup singers add harmony. Fade out)
See you at the VMA's.
 Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
23 Comments:
I would pay money to see that video. If I was rich, I'd pay to produce it. That's exactly the message we need to hear.
Peace out Salami T Porkdog Scoopsnoop,
KenVille
"Yup, that's a keeper."
I never said I was good at math, Word & Fo Shizzle.
ROFLMAO, indeed..
It's so hot, I cry.
Boss:"Mr. John?"
Lil John:"WHAAAT?"
Boss:"I need that TPS report on my desk by noon!"
Lil John: "Okaaaayyy!"
Boss:"I like your enthusiasm. Here is a raise."
LJ: "Yeeeaaaahhhhhh"
As for my misspelling of Restaurant, that one slipped past both myself and spellchecker. Although I do like the word "restautrant", I don't think it's a real word. Thanks for the catch, Warcry.
*thwap*
Thea
Baba Booey.
Tell me you have a soft gut, not yet round, but not a six pack, and I'd be all over you like a cheap suit.
--April Ann
+Post a Comment
<< MOST RECENT BLOG