Tag Archives: money

Poem 41: I wish I were a clown

(The poetic form selected for this month is the English or Shakespearean Sonnet).

I wish I were a clown and worked with youngsters.
I’d wear a funny hat and great big shoes.
I’d wield a water-pistol like those gangsters
In the movies, and play at peek-a-boo.

Instead, I am a joke, they laugh at me
And shout offensive names that get me down.
Hey Scrooge McDuck! Hey Greedy-Guts! You see
They think I am the fool who’s not a clown.

It’s true I’ve lots of money that I’ve saved.
I live alone. My wife died years ago.
The kids around here aren’t that well behaved,
But then again, there’s no space here to grow.

I guess I’ll bite the dust one day, but hey!
This clown shall leave a park where kids can play.

1117. Flat Earth Society

Douglas Biddle was the president of the local Flat Earth Society. The Society had three members, counting Douglas himself. The purpose of the Society’s existence had nothing to do with believing the earth was flat. It was part of a plan to make money.

Every week the three would write an article supporting the tenet that the earth was flat. They would place it in people’s letter boxes. People laughed at them. Then there appeared a public ridiculing of Douglas Biddle in the local paper. Douglas Biddle sued the paper for every cent they had.

“I believe,” said Douglas Biddle to the two other members attending the final meeting of the Flat Earth Society, “I believe the Flat Earth Society has enough money to go ROUND.”

1110. Money for the Missions

Once a month, Sister Mary Hedwig organised her Year 4 class to do something to raise money for the Missions. It would be only a little thing. Each theme would last a week. For example there was Bring a Stuffed Toy Week and there was Wear Something with Spots On Week. If you took part you would pay as little as one cent although you were always welcome to give more. Sister had a little nest egg hidden away for those who couldn’t or didn’t pay. The money would go into the piggy bank sitting on Sister’s desk. One year the class made almost fifty dollars which they sent to Brigitte’s uncle who taught poor children in Rwanda.

For the Bring a Stuffed Toy Week Nigel brought along bits of a teddy bear torn to pieces by his dog. It’s really stuffed, said Nigel. Language Nigel, language, said Sister and charged him two cents instead of one. My father put me up to it, said Nigel.

One day Esme turned up to school wearing the most elaborate necklace. It must have been worth a pretty penny. It had real pearls (at least they looked like real pearls) with silver interconnecting bits. It’s my grandmother’s, said Esme. She said I could borrow it for the week provided I was careful.

But why are you wearing it to school? asked Sister Hedwig.

You said not to forget our theme for the missions: Necks Week.

I said next week, said Sister Mary Hedwig.

Esme went a delicate pink. Nigel thought it was hilarious.

1101. Money talks

Rhoda had this funny feeling; more of a conviction; not merely a funny internal feeling, but a simmering certitude. She thought she knew the winning numbers to that evening’s lottery draw.

Her numbers were 3, 7, 8, 21, 31, and 39. At work that day, Rhoda was telling everyone at the office water cooler that she thought the numbers were 3, 7, 8, 21, 31, and 39. She was going to take a ticket. The prize was 13 million.

She got a few groceries on the way home from work, and was so busy trying to decide which brand of cranberry juice was the healthiest, that she quite forgot to buy a ticket.

The next morning at the office, Rodger of Accounts was over the moon. Did she take a ticket using her numbers? No, she forgot.

Well I did, and I’ve won 13 million, said Rodger.

This set Rhoda on fire:

They’re my numbers and the prize money is really mine. At least half of it. I don’t know what you’re going to do with all that money, you’re just a money-grabbing accountant and you get paid so much that you have money falling out your bum. You don’t need it. As far as I’m concerned it’s my money MY MONEY BECAUSE THEY WERE MY NUMBERS. I’ll take you to court, that’s what I’ll do, unless you give me at least half. I don’t care what it costs me but I’m going to get my hands on it. You’d have nothing if you hadn’t stolen my numbers. THIEF! That’s what you are. A THIEF! I WANT THE MONEY, YOU MONEY-GRABBING WINDBAG OF SOGGY GREED. IT’S LUST, THAT’S ALL IT IS. LUST FOR MONEY. UTTER GREED.

I was just having you on, said Rodger.

1036. The late Aunt Hilda

I really am terribly excited! My husband’s old aunt has just died. Aunt Hilda. She was such a grouchy old bag. I couldn’t stand her. Every Sunday we would have to visit. We didn’t want to get left out of the will, and she was so rich. Unbelievably rich! But goodness! How to ruin a Sunday! In fact, how to ruin an entire week.

I didn’t bother going to the funeral. Why should I? Goodness knows I had visited her often enough. Missing out on her pre-cremation celebration was a pleasure. And then, later that same day, the will was read. Forty three million! Can you imagine? Forty three million! The things I’ll be able to do! In retrospect, it was worth putting up with her blue rinse every Sunday. You’ve no idea the relief now she’s kicked the bucket.

I’m going to start with a new car. And a new house. Not just a house, as you can imagine. More of a manor.

The only thing I have to do, and rather quickly, is to stop my husband from opening his email. He doesn’t open his email that often. I don’t want him to see the message I asked my divorce lawyer to send last week.

988. Kelp Help

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Merton had this brilliant idea to make lots of money; and it worked. He would go to the beach and collect a pile of seaweed, throw it in a tub of water for ten minutes, bottle the water, and sell it as expensive garden fertilizer.

Every second gardening enthusiast wanted to buy his fertilizer. Kelp Help was the brand name. The stuff didn’t make an ounce of difference of course, but Merton made heaps of money. He was able to buy a luxury house; and a car; and a racehorse.

Next he was thinking of making a booklet to sell on the internet telling people how to make easy money with snails. You can breed and market snails for eating no trouble. Just buy the booklet and find out how.

A poor person knocked on Merton’s door and asked for some food.

“Clear off,” said Merton. “I worked for my money. If you want to eat you’ve got to use your brains.”


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882. I’m so tired of being rich

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I’m so tired of being rich. People don’t realise how tedious money can become. I’ll give an example to illustrate what I mean.

Every day the cook would ask if there was anything special I would like for the evening meal. After a while – rather quickly actually – I ran out of ideas. I suggested to the cook that he make up his own mind, as long as he maintained his usual quality. That’s what he’s paid for. Well! You’ve no idea what happened! He served up a wild venison dish. I don’t like wild game particularly, and this meat was far too strong. It might’ve looked fancy, but … yuk! After that, I had to replace the cook with one who toned down the flavours a bit, thank heavens.

Then when my birthday came I said I was tired of all this fancy food and wanted something plain. Perhaps a rissole in a bun – something simple like that. What sort of salad would I like in the bun? A bit of red onion? No, no, no! Cheese? No, no, no! Just a rissole in a bun. Like poor people have every day.

So that’s what I got. It was disgusting. Never again. And it was a top-of-the-range bun. I now understand what poor people have to put up with all the time. I have instructed the cook: once a month, when he’s foraging for groceries, he’s to buy a spare tin of cat food and leave it in the Salvation Army bin at the supermarket. If the poor people don’t have a cat, I’m sure it would be a treat for them to eat it themselves.

Life is certainly more satisfying now that I’m doing my bit.