ARE you a very rich bastard? Here’s how to not feel guilty about it.
With a crumbling patriarchy, a disgraced Hollywood elite and those pesky Paradise Papers, it’s never been harder to be an excessively wealthy fucker.
You may have burdened the rest of the overworked populace with your imaginative tax practices, but this is no time to get weighed down in self-reflection. There’s more money to be made and no shortage of replacement bastards.
This is how to eliminate any unhelpful feelings of ‘one per cent guilt’ –
Reassure yourself that your butler loves you. He’s been driven to alcoholism from years of serving you partridge and watching you guffaw port onto table linens, but you’re keeping that man in quality Scotch.
Remember when Philip Green’s boat sailed past yours in Monte Carlo? It was boarding school showers all over again. If anything you haven’t got enough money.
Your wives keep getting older and unattractive and you have to marry new ones, but remember the ageing process isn’t your fault. ‘They’ can’t blame time on you.
What would the world be like for normal people without fleeting glances of you – a marvellous creature that creeps around members’ clubs in colourful silk scarves and velvet-heeled slippers? You are as wondrous and rare as the white rhino.
You have these charming wandering hands, like two cheeky sexual nomads. You couldn’t possibly curb their adventures, but these days out of court settlements aren’t cheap. The coffers must be kept full.
Feeling better? If not, get your butler to bring you a bottle of Chateau Lafite-Rothchild then google the price and know that, yes, you are a god.
