BEAST Page 3
Money, cash, wealth, opulence, decadence, riches, capital,
funds, greenbacks, luxury, simoleans, currency.
Comeuppance, justice, accountability, angry ex-employess,
minimum security prison.
I got to be The BEAST Page 3 Falsified Death: Jesus, what
does it take to rig a jury trial these days? I was the goddamn
president’s single biggest contributor, and I can’t even get
a case dismissed on a technicality? I may have screwed my
employees out of their life savings, but really, have you
seen these people? Total philistines. Those plebes
wouldn’t know what to do with the money anyway—they could
never appreciate my fondness for platinum bathroom fixtures,
nor could they understand why a guy like me just needs to
own at least 15 giant houses at all times. So I get convicted.
What other choice did I have? If I hadn’t “died” before sentencing,
they would have gotten my money. And it’s mine, dammit—if
it was theirs, then how come they don’t already have it, right?
Seriously—fuck poor people; they stink and they have no style.
Plans: I’ll be kicking around this secret island in the
South Pacific for now, which is pretty cool, although I only
have one giant house and Elvis is a lousy neighbor. Oh sure,
it’s cool at first, but once you get past the “wow, that’s
really Elvis” phase, you realize the guy is just an inconsiderate
jerk. Loud music all the time, beer cans all over the lawn—it’s
disgusting! In a little while I’ll send someone to retrieve
the $400 million I tucked away in the Caymans. Till then,
I’ll be looking through this catalog of faces the plastic
surgeon gave me. I’m leaning towards a full Hasselhoff. I’m
also hoping to get in a couple of major orgies before I send
for the wife.
I’d like to be remembered: As a tragic figure whose plight
is often referred to as “Shakespearean” in bootlicking retrospectives.
Also look for me to turn up as “Lay-Boy” on the next Tupac
record. He’s much more civilized than you’d think.