The Unfortunately Fortunate
One of the most serious dangers in economic downturns such as these is turning a blind-eye to the neediest of cases. As usual, the hardest hit group of all has received the least media attention: the preposterously affluent.
Heart wrenching tales of sacrifice abound, from ordering well drinks at restaurants to sitting rear mezzanine at the theater, to selling off under performing sports franchises and slashing private club memberships.
And things are likely to get worse.
“$50,000,000 compensation per year? How about training wheels for my Ferrari?” Bellowed Dale Denarii, a recently toppled Master of the Universe. He calculates that three kids in private school, plus the phalanx of private tutors each needs cause he and his wife are too busy accumulating to help, can run nearly $500,000, yearly, per punk ass kid. “And that’s before money spent expunging DWI’s and shoplifting misdemeanors.”
His ninth wife, Linda, has been too distracted to focus on her edible candle business. “Two vacations a year will devastate the children. I know friends who will be swimming at public beaches this summer. ”
To protect his identity, their youngest child, Edward Denarii, 16, spoke to us through a large glass bong name Kerthwakita. “The days of buying your kids into school are long feggin’ gone. With my allowance halved, I can’t bribe a proxy to take the SAT’s for me, much less get the test ahead of time.”
Edward Whitescrew was blindsided by a more intangible obstacle. “I’ve been ostracized for not having lost a shit ton of money in the markets,” said Ed, who admits to now playing 9 holes instead of 18. He’s lost millions elsewhere, he explains to close friends in Westport that he adamantly dislikes, but it’s not the same. “I have several pots to piss in– some are family heirlooms– but I don’t go around waving them at parties.”
Shonda Proudfister, a high-end event planner and recreational methamphetamine user, has seen orders in her industry plummet. “No more A-list talent for bar mitzvahs, which is a pity. In this economy, I could book The Jonas Brothers for less than $500k. But all my regular nizzles aren’t pissing green like they once did.”
One Upper West Side couple requesting anonymity for fear of paying any taxes whatsoever is Mr. and Mrs. Ida Philistine, 175 West 85th st, Penthouse 5b. They were forced at year-end to sell a series of Warhol prints. “I thought they were awful they day I bought them,” she ranted nasally. “But they impressed people, so we left them up.” The lithographs, acquired for $170 million in the 80’s, sold for a paltry $350 million. “It feels like we were robbed.”
The boy-toy lover she underwrites, “It’s not so much the demotion in tax brackets. That’s esoteric, ultimately. But my day to day is no longer the same. Since letting a few of the drivers go, I’ve had to take the fucking subway. Those filth holes are filled with…. people. And they are all automated now, and you basically need a computer degree to get a metro card.”
Fontina, Ida’s quarter-sister, encountered another hurdle. As a board member of multiple charities, she’s responsible for presenting fellowships at black-tie events. “A gown from a name designer can run between $100 and $150k before alterations. The thought of wearing the same dress at three Galas in one season drains me of all motivation to help. Why fucking bother?”
In a tragic twist of fate, her former CFO spouse suffered a nervous breakdown only to be admitted to the Intensive Care wing he himself donated at Sloan Kettering. “I mentioned the possibility of moving to Brooklyn or Jersey and he starts twitching and flatulating uncontrollably,” said Fontina. “I felt so bad for him. This was the year he was going to put solar panels on our schooner.”
A survey from the National Center of Urban Bitching & Whining estimates that it takes a Manhattanite roughly $31,147,000 yearly to enjoy the same upper middle-class life as someone earning $50,000 in Midland, Texas.
Real estate mogul, Tina Spinellini-Facaccia, can’t even find solace in her four-year old French Mastiff, Bently. “Between doggie mani/pedi’s, grass-fed beef, and his canine analyst, I’m spending upwards of $175,000 a year. If I cut back at this point, it’s basically cruelty to animals, isn’t it?”
Mats Vyndersburger, Austrian psychotherapist and published dentist, concluded this way. “Everything has been put into perspective. The question now has suddenly become: how do you prove you’re better than someone if you can’t grossly outspend them?”
For many, the answer might be as simple as, having them beaten physically. But how much it will cost, and who is going to pay, remains anyone’s guess.