Billionaire Birthday Bash #3: Helpless but Hopeful


This is just one of several posts about my current conflict with vengeful billionaire hypocrite Foster Friess.  For an overview of the situation and chronology of posts go here...


 Man,I'm getting tired of thinking about these people.  So much the better if they just didn't exist.  But they do.  And they're all over the place.

I caught a glimpse of the birthday boy himself this afternoon when he personally dropped off former Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum.  This D-Bag became rather famous a few years back for overt homophobia.  Judging by the clubs, it looked like they'd been playing golf.  Hopefully they had an attentive caddy.

The birthday boy is a "self-made" billionaire, wanna-be cowboy named Foster Friess.  He gives a lot of money to charity but keeps much, much more for himself.  He's one of the greatest donors to the shadier branches of the Rebublican Family Tree.  He thumps the Bible to pieces, but puts a mere fraction of his money where his mouth is.  When you have enough money to fund several thousand lifetimes, donating millions is the equivalent to you or I throwing a dollar into a group of starving bums... and letting them sort it out.

After earning billions in the stock market over the course of decades, this guy sold all his personal shares a mere two weeks before 9/11.  That, my friends, is pretty impressive timing.  Perhaps he was just tired of making money off other people's work, but I suspect he knew something disastrous was coming.

In my opinion, this "Cowboy" fucks sheep in the name of the Good Shepard.  You, dear reader, and I are unfortunately part of the flock.
Fortunately, the Big Buckaroo wasn't around long, and the rest of his posse rolled out shortly thereafter for an evening of fine dining.  While the brunt of us eat ramen and scrambled eggs, these folks suck down truffles, caviar, and other obscenely costly goodies.

In their absence, I had time to devote to more meaningful and worthwhile clients.

I met a writer and photographer for The Surfer's Journal who just wrote a great story on quality - but now polluted - waves in the Gulf.

I drove around a few families who couldn't get enough of my stories and tipped accordingly.  One family, a young Midwestern couple with three boys, was even so kind as to buy me a drink at Dairy Queen.  They invited me over to tell a bedtime story and surprised me with a MooLatte and a crisp 10 dollar bill.

When he handed it to me, one of those good young boys said "Thank you for making our vacation great."

Seeing that family got me reminiscing on my own Midwestern childhood, and I turned into Mr. Misty: all smiley and sweet with the knowledge that life truly is good and way too short to spend making someone else richer. Especially if they don't appreciate it.

Can me, please.  I can't justify quitting cuz, though a few years off, my next boat is in sight.  But every time I hop behind the wheel the hypocrisy tangs through my soul.  Piloting a gas-guzzling Escalade in the service of folks who need a kick in the ass more than anything else. 

At least I'm learning how some of the biggest hypocrites deal with their contradictions.  I'm also meeting good people that remind me what true Americans are really like: generally good with their priorities in FAMILY, FRIENDS, ADVENTURE, and SECURITY. Really, the only fault many of us suffer is naivety.

And regardless of our collective clusterfucking, I found myself smiling to one of the sweetest songs I know.  Which brings us to today's lyric:

So all those old friends, God be with them
I wish, I wish I could see you again
In the same corner bar where it all started from
dig your plow so deep, now the stars have all gone
So wherever they shine may it be warm and bright
Out to ease my mind on this worried night
It all seems so simple, the good tidings I send
I'll never forget that one year that we spent...

-G Love, When We Meet Again

You may be wondering why there is a picture of a guy skimboarding throughout this song.  I don't know why either: it's not my video.  I'm just borrowing it from YouTube.  It's probably because the video's creator has positive memories associated with both skimboarding and this excellent old song by G Love.   Logically, it works for him.

Skimboarding: a much more positive activity than, say, WATERBOARDING.  Fuckers.