heart machines
There once was a greedy, miserly old man. And this man was very, very rich. So rich, in fact, that he didn't know what to do with all his money. He would buy the most expensive things this money could buy, the nicest clothes, the fastest cars, the largest houses on the most expensive plots of land in the world.
And yet he seemed to be incapable of spending all of his money. In fact, it seemed to him that his fortune was growing larger each day! This man was an investment banker, and it was there that he had amassed such a wealth. However, in spite of all the wonderful, shiny things he could buy, he was not happy. Quite the adverse, to be truthful. It seemed that with each passing day, with the expansion of his coffers, he grew even more miserable! He was angry at the world, the unassuming world, that would let this happen. Angry at all the poor people of this world, who were so helpless as to just sit and watch as one greedy, miserly old man could amass such a wealth while they struggled to feed their very families. And in spite of this, he grew richer and richer with each setting of the sun.
One day, lounging around in his 65-acre summer estate, complete with a marble swimming pool and a fountain that spewed not water, but molten gold, he decided he was bored. And being of such a stature as to be peerless, he had no one to look to to cure this boredom. His race cars bored him, watching his investments grow bored him. He wanted excitement. He wanted wonder. He wanted beauty! Do you know what he did to scratch this itch?
What he did, was climb to the top of the tallest of the diving board. And with all the strength he could muster, he belted out
"CAAAAAAANNOOOOON BAAAAAAAAALL!!!!"
And with that, he pitched himself from the height of the diving board, rolled up into the smallest ball he could form of himself, and plunged into the sparkling water below. The thrill this inspired in his boring bourgeois lifestyle was unlike anything else in recent times. He actually smiled for the first time in a very long time. A true smile, an innocent smile. A smile that wasn't provoked by the miserable state of his adversaries in the boardroom. He let out a laugh so feeble, so weak it would have embarrassed a lesser man. But that didn't affect him. This tiny fold of true happiness, of genuine bliss, was more than enough for this old man to ask for. He was elated.
That is, until he opened his eyes.
And he opened his eyes, and oh what a fright! All around him was not the sparkling water imported from the Swiss Alps, but a sea of soaking, useless $1 million bills. This old man didn't take into consideration that he had all of his money in his pockets when he had jumped from such a great height! He did not store his personal wealth in any bank or vault on Earth, for he did not want any government to tax his fortune, and besides, he was an investment banker. He knew how crooked the system was. Treading water in this pool of his own former wealth, the old man panicked. "What am I to do?" the old man thought. "You can't spend money if it is wet!"
Fervishly he swam to the side of the pool and lifted himself to dry land. Behind this veil of horror, he began searching blindly for the pool skimmer. He set out to save as much of his wealth as he could, before the water filters devoured his entire legacy! After what seemed like hours went by, this old man had finally reclaimed the last of his sopping wet fortune. Feverishly he ran into his mansion, arms full of wet bills. He went to the driest place he could think of in the 124 bedroom, 63 bathroom palace. The first-story tanning salon!
He made several trips, dozens of trips, but eventually he wrangled all of his wet money into the increasingly-cramped tanning salon. He laid out, end to end, each of his million-dollar bills on each of the dozen or so tanning beds, with the heat setting on "Jessica Alba."
He was beginning to worry himself. All this trauma, almost losing everything he has, caused him to think. "How unbecoming!" he thought. It was not right for a man of his stature to have to think. He had hired a team of Jewish lawyers to think for him. He began thinking of the family he did not have, the mother and father he sold out to make his first million. The younger sister he once had, those many years ago, who passed quietly in the night of their youth, whose death had never been adequately explained to her older brother, our protagonist. It worried him to have to experience concern for more than the preservation of his trillions of dollars in assets and that single, lump sum of money whose value could only be represented in scientific notation. It was not natural. This old, miserly man spent many days inside this cramped tanning salon on the first floor of his mansion, a glittering gem on a plot of rolling, virginal land untainted by poor people and their lives. He had servants feed him, bathe him, change his clothes for him, while his unerring attention slaved at the salvation of these innumerable moist bills. When one bed of notes was dry, he would swap them out for another, and proceed to count them, making sure he was not missing a single million-dollar bill.
His health began to deteriorate, if not for the countless days he spent, end on end, sleeping little, while slaving on these hot beds, with their ultraviolet radiation permeating the many leathery layers of his rich, exfoliated skin. A cancer was growing. And then one day, he keeled over and died.
And yet he seemed to be incapable of spending all of his money. In fact, it seemed to him that his fortune was growing larger each day! This man was an investment banker, and it was there that he had amassed such a wealth. However, in spite of all the wonderful, shiny things he could buy, he was not happy. Quite the adverse, to be truthful. It seemed that with each passing day, with the expansion of his coffers, he grew even more miserable! He was angry at the world, the unassuming world, that would let this happen. Angry at all the poor people of this world, who were so helpless as to just sit and watch as one greedy, miserly old man could amass such a wealth while they struggled to feed their very families. And in spite of this, he grew richer and richer with each setting of the sun.
One day, lounging around in his 65-acre summer estate, complete with a marble swimming pool and a fountain that spewed not water, but molten gold, he decided he was bored. And being of such a stature as to be peerless, he had no one to look to to cure this boredom. His race cars bored him, watching his investments grow bored him. He wanted excitement. He wanted wonder. He wanted beauty! Do you know what he did to scratch this itch?
What he did, was climb to the top of the tallest of the diving board. And with all the strength he could muster, he belted out
"CAAAAAAANNOOOOON BAAAAAAAAALL!!!!"
And with that, he pitched himself from the height of the diving board, rolled up into the smallest ball he could form of himself, and plunged into the sparkling water below. The thrill this inspired in his boring bourgeois lifestyle was unlike anything else in recent times. He actually smiled for the first time in a very long time. A true smile, an innocent smile. A smile that wasn't provoked by the miserable state of his adversaries in the boardroom. He let out a laugh so feeble, so weak it would have embarrassed a lesser man. But that didn't affect him. This tiny fold of true happiness, of genuine bliss, was more than enough for this old man to ask for. He was elated.
That is, until he opened his eyes.
And he opened his eyes, and oh what a fright! All around him was not the sparkling water imported from the Swiss Alps, but a sea of soaking, useless $1 million bills. This old man didn't take into consideration that he had all of his money in his pockets when he had jumped from such a great height! He did not store his personal wealth in any bank or vault on Earth, for he did not want any government to tax his fortune, and besides, he was an investment banker. He knew how crooked the system was. Treading water in this pool of his own former wealth, the old man panicked. "What am I to do?" the old man thought. "You can't spend money if it is wet!"
Fervishly he swam to the side of the pool and lifted himself to dry land. Behind this veil of horror, he began searching blindly for the pool skimmer. He set out to save as much of his wealth as he could, before the water filters devoured his entire legacy! After what seemed like hours went by, this old man had finally reclaimed the last of his sopping wet fortune. Feverishly he ran into his mansion, arms full of wet bills. He went to the driest place he could think of in the 124 bedroom, 63 bathroom palace. The first-story tanning salon!
He made several trips, dozens of trips, but eventually he wrangled all of his wet money into the increasingly-cramped tanning salon. He laid out, end to end, each of his million-dollar bills on each of the dozen or so tanning beds, with the heat setting on "Jessica Alba."
He was beginning to worry himself. All this trauma, almost losing everything he has, caused him to think. "How unbecoming!" he thought. It was not right for a man of his stature to have to think. He had hired a team of Jewish lawyers to think for him. He began thinking of the family he did not have, the mother and father he sold out to make his first million. The younger sister he once had, those many years ago, who passed quietly in the night of their youth, whose death had never been adequately explained to her older brother, our protagonist. It worried him to have to experience concern for more than the preservation of his trillions of dollars in assets and that single, lump sum of money whose value could only be represented in scientific notation. It was not natural. This old, miserly man spent many days inside this cramped tanning salon on the first floor of his mansion, a glittering gem on a plot of rolling, virginal land untainted by poor people and their lives. He had servants feed him, bathe him, change his clothes for him, while his unerring attention slaved at the salvation of these innumerable moist bills. When one bed of notes was dry, he would swap them out for another, and proceed to count them, making sure he was not missing a single million-dollar bill.
His health began to deteriorate, if not for the countless days he spent, end on end, sleeping little, while slaving on these hot beds, with their ultraviolet radiation permeating the many leathery layers of his rich, exfoliated skin. A cancer was growing. And then one day, he keeled over and died.