It’s no secret that the rich despise the poor. This hatred stems from a couple very different, very dark places in the place that at one time may or may not have housed a soul. Either 1) the rich person was once poor, and the very sight of the un-monied sends shivers down their spine, reminding them of the life they fought out of, frightened every day that someone will take it all away from them and send them back to the horrors of non-richness. of B) they have never known a minute of want in their entire privileged life and are so out of touch, with no reference for the plight of the soiled dirty people, they don’t understand how everyone doesn’t own a drawer full of platinum dipped, emerald encrusted cock rings, except that their abject lazy and unwillingness to make something of themselves makes them despise them and their worn more than once clothing.
There’s really no other way to explain the mind rapingly unnecessary extravagances that the rich continue to treat themselves to when surrounded by a world that at best is barely scraping by and is at worst, scraping off a bite of those who failed to scrape by.
The latest luxury item being offered to the bored rich collector of things that they should be ashamed of is this beaut…
Feast your eyes on the majesty of the only razor greater than yourself.
Now, you may be asking, “Why has a razor for the wasteful wealthy pissed you off so very much Mr. Blog? It’s just a razor, what harm could it possibly do to you and your constantly yelly face?” And it’s a fair question. Just looking at this face deforestation utensil, it looks no more special than your average Gillette. Frankly, it actually looks kind of ugly. A razor is generally a fairly harmless bathroom expenditure and this one looks like you could probably buy a bag of three of them for five bucks at CVS. But if that were the case, I wouldn’t have been shouting at the sky for the last three hours, now would I? Well, okay, I probably would have, but at least this gave me a somewhat defensible reason.
You see, if you’d like to scrape the whiskers from your face in the most luxurious, exclusive way known to the abhorrent excess of man, you can get yourself your very own Zafirro Iridium for the bargain basement price of JUST… $100,000.
No, I didn’t just have a stroke and lean on the zero key for a comically long period of time: that’s the real fucking price. For only $100,000 you can stride confidently across the face of your own bought and paid for planet with chops as smooth as a starving child’s malnourished ass cheeks.
And you know what, you get your very last penny’s worth, because the Zafirro Iridium isn’t made with space age technology, that’s for poor assholes. No, the Zafirro Iridium is made from fucking SPACE! See, if Zafirro’s razor sounds sort of familiar in a weird, sci-fi kind of way, that’s because it gets its name from the material it’s made from “Iridium”. What is iridium you may be wondering? Well you see, most of the iridium found on our planet is “the result of crashed meteorites”… That’s right, this razor is made of space rocks. Actually, scratch that. The HANDLE is made of space rocks. The fucking handle is made of iridium, an “extremely scarce and expensive metal that is so dense, it could survive a drop into molten lava”. Not the business end of this $100,000 indestructible face smoother but just the HANDLE, the LEAST IMPORTANT PART of this thing is made of a Superman metal from a doomed planet far, far away that has crash landed on Earth.
So then, if the thing that holds the blade is made of metal that can leap tall buildings in a single bound, what the hell fuck could the actual blade be made of? Sharpened unicorn bones? Laser carved shards of a brown dwarf star? Jesus’ finger nail clippings? No, that’s ridiculous, nothing quite so extravagant and fantastical, the blades of this $100,000 dollar shaver are simply made from artificially grown sapphire… That’s all… I don’t even know what that means or if the reality of what the blades actually are is even less insane than the other options I threw on the table.
Zafirro, which apparently only exists to sell these razors, is only offering 99 of these grotesque impulse buys to the money soaked “public”, adding one more irresistible feature to lure in the bahudratrillionaires: exclusivity. The only thing the super rich love more than buying more comically expensive things that shouldn’t cost nearly so much, is knowing that they will be one of only a handful of people on the planet to own it.
To say this is unnecessary is a gross understatement, but that doesn’t mean that people don’t have the right to spend their money how ever they see fit. What makes me so angry is when I see something like this and then, foolishly, put it in perspective. The poverty line in the contiguous United States for the year of our lord 2000 and 11 for a family of 4 (with all family members 18 years of age or over) is $22,350. So, give those four families a couple extra bucks in walkin’ around money to waste on frivolous nonsense that the poor are known to throw their money away on, such as food and electricity, and 16 people could live the lavish life of the just barely not impoverished for an entire year for the price of a single, solitary, volcano proof grooming tool…
It’s better not to think about these things, I wish I didn’t. But I do, and that’s why I’m angry all the time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get a ten pack of Bics at the dollar store and try to resist the urge to cut my hands off with them… BYE NOW!
Hi, I’m the Internet’s Jesse Jones. You may know me from such things as the what you’re reading now and that time I punched science. Earlier this week, my Van companion, or “Vanpanion” Jason expressed his violent, some would say, misguided hatred for the two dollar bill. Normally when Jason says something wildly hysterical and irresponsible, I just let it go, and chalk it up to his madness born from having fathered much of the third grade classes in the greater Sacramento area. But with this latest attack on the wisdom and patriotism of this fine, misunderstood currency, well, I simply could not just stand idly by. And it is with great pleasure that I present to you my rebuttal: The Two Dollar Bill: The Awesomest Piece of Paper That Ever Kicked An Ass.
The two dollar bill. That rare, elusive, all but forgotten member of the American billscape. And it is its scarcity that makes it so awesome. It’s not a single, or a twenty, or even a ten, waving its peach ass about like some laughable Monopoly whore passed around a stuffed animal tea party. The two doesn’t need to be in your face and make a big show of it. It’s just exists, quietly, unassumingly, occasionally caught just out of the corner of your eye like a little bit of what might have been skirt surprise, but now you can’t just stare hoping to see it again because you’ll end up getting thrown out of the club again since the owner said next time you got caught staring up ladies skirts he would take a tire iron to your cheek bones, which is really I think a bit of an over reaction and I’m not entirely sure what my cheek bones have to do with my stari- WHOA! There it was again!
It is because of its Unicorn like scarcity that my first contention comes up in my partner’s gripe with my favorite government backed paper good. I’m not certain what sort of rare money wonderland my esteemed colleague lives in where the two dollar bills run like wine. But I for one haven’t seen a $2 bill in decades, making my life much the lesser for it. In fact, as I think about it, I’m not even sure I’ve seen two $2 bills in one place. Which now throws my entire understanding of reality into a quandary; is it possible that there may only be a single, solitary two dollar bill in existence? It makes me wish that I had more appropriately cherished my visitation of this traveler, this nomadic rectangle who stopped, so humbly, into my life for a brief time, never letting on the torment of its existence while brightening mine and quietly moving on to it’s next charge. Oh sweet two, why didn’t you tell me?
But that can’t be so. Clearly this bastard of a writing associate of mine has seen the rest of the tribe and openly bemoans his freakish, otherworldly luck. Like being surrounded by wish granting pixie fairies and bitching that their magic pixie dust gives his nose a tickle. So there must be more, and as such I often I’ve fantasized about having my entire pay check cashed exclusively in fantastical deuces. But I pause, knowing that to be in the presence of so much rare beauty would no doubt cause an erection which would certainly test the teller’s safety glass with force no bullet could hope to replicate. So I resist, for the safety of mankind.
But I am a dreamer. An imaginer of new things. And I see beyond the greatness of the two dollar bill on to what could be. What should be. Many times the US government has tried to move us from the waste that is the George Washington one dollar bill. Over the years many variations of the dollar coin have been introduced only to be repeatedly ignored by the money using public. So what then is the answer? Well I’ll tell ya friend, I’ve got the answer and it’s so simple your mother and I are ashamed you hadn’t already thought of it. The answer my friends… a two dollar coin! That’s right! I said it! Ya see, that’s the kind of outside the box kind of shit that my mind keeps me up late at night screaming into the back of my face! Twice as good as a dollar coin, eight times better than the quarter equivalent. And I would make it 2.6 inches wide and 6.1 inches long… Basically a two dollar bill, but made of metal!
I understand the world may not be ready for such genius, so I will pursue it no further and simply leave you with this. I love the two dollar bill, and I hate those who do not. You are not just my enemy, but an enemy of mankind itself. You are just so very lucky that murder for insulting a piece of rare, exotic American currency is not an acceptable plea in a court of law as of the publishing of this article. Because so help me, if I hear anyone besmirch the fine name of the TJ Double Buck in my presence, I will stab them in the throat with a sharpened metal deuce.
I am that serious about this…