How I fell in love with capitalism.

All right! Let’s post while I’m in a goddamn happy mood.

I am not oblivious to the irony of having to come to South Africa, of all places, to learn to love money and private business.

I am making some NICE money out here. I just held a meeting this morning at the SA offices of one of the world’s largest companies and they really rolled out the red carpet for me, AS ONE WOULD HOPE. 15 people in senior positions hanging on every word that falls from my lips. I don’t even have to present anything. I don’t need a Powerpoint deck. I don’t need to wear a suit. I show up in jeans and tell them a few stories and they look at me like I was personally sent by God to make everyone richer.

THAT’S MORE LIKE IT.

Jesus Christ. I used to have very serious reservations about capitalism and the accumulation of money for its own sake. Then I took that utterly ridiculous day job, partly to soothe my conscience, and I found myself surrounded by people who are totally uncritical of capitalism and are self-styled business experts but are NO GOOD AT IT. FFS, guys. I can make 200% of your annual salary in a matter of days without even changing my clothes or writing anything down, no wonder you hate me. I’m not even taking it that seriously.

The SA office is going to give me so much work and since this particular organisation operates in 50 countries, with a little bit of luck I’m going to be economically secure for quite a long time.

I rule. The minute I get some invoices paid I’m having liposuction, more new teeth and I’m even starting to think that I should have an ethical diamond for my 50th birthday, like I’ve always wanted. I feel like showing up at work in September wearing some bling and looking like the celebrity I am.

Let’s have our theme tune.

DR Period: Money

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