Things that I can afford that the middle class cannot: classic auto racing

While the middle class clings to the manufactured drama of NASCAR and manifests their dreams of glory on the rural dirt tracks that dot the landscapes of this great country I and my well heeled friends participate in a racing series held on private tracks that replicate only the most famous of courses. From the letter below you'll see we have grand times and Grand Prixs.

Mr. Ross

I very much appreciate your participation in my 6th annual Classic Champions Grand Prix. I'm sorry that turn 11 was so detrimental to your 1958 Ferrari Testa Rossa. Should your mechanics require any assistance, my staff would be honored to provide their wisdom. After all, two of my mechanics worked on the team with which your car won the 24 hours of Le Mans in 1958. It is truly a wonderful car with a rich history.

When I was designing my personal Grand Prix race course with Alain Prost and Michael Schumacher, Michael and I decided the first 15 turns on my personal Grand Prix road course should be modeled after the first 15 turns on the Nurburgring. Of course, just like the Nurburgring and turn 11 always catches those that come in like my mistress: a little too hot. Had you been able to hold on until the Circuit de la Sarthe section (obviously influenced by Mr. Prost) everyone would have certainly seen you and your Ferrari perform with the grace and style of Barishnikov.

I'm looking forward to seeing you at the 7th annual Classic Champions Grand Prix! Once again the entry requirements for the marquee event of the weekend will require an automobile of Italian, German, British, or French heritage from between 1950 and 1965 and, as always, the automobile must have been driven to a first place finish in a Grand Prix event during that time span. Now, should you wish to leave the Ferrari at home and try your hand at something different, I am currently designing a Rally Car course with World Rally Car champions Sebastien Loeb and Tommi Maakinen. It should prove to be a great time of dirty fun, just like YOUR mistress!

Your friend,

F. Bertignolli

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: rare books

Among the benefits of being me (and there are many) perhaps one of the nicest is my ability to purchase and enjoy rare books. Not that I expect the middle class to understand the enjoyment of thumbing through a first edition Dickens. And far be it from me to suggest that those simple fools could comprehend the subtleties of Tolstoy or the sardonic wit of Swift. After all, such intelligence and grace are surely lost on those who consider Patterson compelling literature.

Of course being a man of importance, rarely can I secret away the time to get lost in Middle Earth. And while the Walmartians of suburbia plug in their Walkmans to listen to the latest scourge to spill from the pedestrian mind of Grisham, I am able to enjoy my favorite tomes as read by my favorite actors. I wonder, have you ever heard the Iliad as interpreted by James Earl Jones? Or Huckleberry Finn dramatically read by Al Pacino? Of course you have not, because I, and I alone, commissioned them to read those masterpieces for my personal enjoyment. In fact, every book I own is accompanied by a dramatic reading by some of our time's most regarded thespians.

And that my friends - to quote my gardener - don't come cheap.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: wine collections

Many of you reading this will be surprised when I tell you that there are those we firmly believe that good wine comes in a box. Hilarious, I know. I'll give you a moment to wipe up the '74 Charles Krug Vintage Select Cabernet Sauvignon that you just spit all over your ascot. Good thing it only costs $88 a bottle.

For some the very idea of wine as an investment is laughable. Of course, such an opinion is to be expected from those who also find the idea of spending $15 on a bottle of white zinfandel to be an exercise in lavish spending. To them I say stick to your Boone's Farm (little more than flavored vinegar in my opinion).

Though it is no shock that the pallets of the middle class - dulled by years of Big Macs and Diet Cokes - cannot appreciate the subtle delicacies of such fine beverages. Lacking both the hedonic perception and vocabulary to identify and put into words the myriad of tastes trickling down their oversized gullets should come as no great shock. Such people view life in black and white, good and bad. They will never appreciate the spicy blackberry and robust personality of a fine syrah or the warm buttery embrace of a delicately balanced chardonnay.

After all, for these people their opinions are as confused as the wines they drink.

My primary wine collection (I have one at each residence) consists of over 20,000 bottles and is valued at over four million dollars. My cellar is 10,000 square feet and is done in the style of a subterranean Italian grotto - complete with a gourmet kitchen for the occasions when I decided to entertain in the tasting room. I have in my employ a personal sommelier by the name of Reg. The only Frenchman I have ever tolerated or respected, he works in concert with my chef to ensure that every meal is accompanied by the perfect wine. Not once has he erred in his job. As well he shouldn't at a salary of $150,000 per year - but a small price to pay for the joy his knowledge brings me.

The middle class you can keep their baseball cards and comic books; their Precious Moments dolls and Thomas Kincaid posters. For those objects worthy of collection are reserved for us, the men of privilege and power.

The Week in Review and Things I can afford that the middle class cannot.

Too often we who live above the masses tend to discount the responsibilities we have in keeping them informed and enlightened. My fellow readers, for the last few months I have forsaken this responsibility and for that I am apologetic. A reader recently commented that he found my recent posts to be uninspired and inconsistent. He is right.

So what do you say we get back on track with a double dose of that which you love so much?


The Week in Review

Sarah Who?

Last week my favorite maverick rocked the political world by nominating the little known Governor of Alaska , Sarah Palin as his running mate. Decried by many as proof that he is out of touch, she proved to be the spark that this campaign desperately needed. Turns you can be a cutthroat pit bull and well-liked. But only if you are attractive. Sorry Hillary.

Dow Takes a Constitutional


Why sugar coat what happened to the market this week? I literally lost a boat load of money - a beautiful 1940 Cris Craft Custom Runabout wad of cash.


Putin Blames the U.S for Georgian Conflict

To paraphrase the former Russian president and former head of the KGB or FSB or whatever gestapo secret police they've got over there, the US deliberately provoked Georgia into attacking South Ossetia to create a competitive advantage for one of the candidates running for president of that country.

If you don't understand that argument either I don't blame you. Clearly blending fantasy and reality is a feat hard to achieve.


Things I can afford that the middle class cannot.

They say one cannot collect an original Rembrandt painting these days. In fact, they say one cannot even collect a Rembrandt drawing unless they are a multi-millionaire. Obviously they don't know G. Glen Ross.

I do own a Rembrandt painting - a nude. Mrs. Ross wanted one so I bought it for her. It was the eighth most expensive financial transaction I've ever partaken in. She hung it in her dressing room and then she rewarded me by raising my McCane. It was all quite nice.

See, the thing is we wealthy appreciate great art for what it gives back to the world. Some may say it is obscene to spend so much on little dabs of paint. They might suggest picking up a reproduction or a poster. But what they don't know, what few outside of the art world know is that the true meaning of the artist's intentions can only be found in the original piece of work.

I know, I know, to the middle class to speak of art in such a way sounds so unexpectedly womanly, but should we really expect open minded, cultured thinking from a group of people who's favorite piece of literature is the weekly Auto Trader? I mean, the only beauty these people are capable of seeing is a framed Walmart reproduction of Unicorns prancing through La-La Land with naked little nymphs frolicking in pixie powder. And even that they can barely afford.

Reader Questions

What are your feelings on corporate gifts, what sort of gifts does your company deem appropriate for celebration of corporate longevity?

Ah yes, the ever wonderful corporate gift. What are my feelings on them?

First, by now you should know that I don't have feelings. I have opinions, thoughts, insights, instincts and beliefs, but certainly don't suffer from feelings. So, my friend, the question should be: what do I think of them?

In brief, they're wastes of money. To reward people for longevity makes it appear that we should be grateful for that which we should not be. The fact is these people should be buying us gifts for employing them that long. Do they not realize that their leaving allows me to bring in some entry-level cog at a quarter of the cost? Do they not realize that their bloated salaries are a drain on the company's bottom line? To reward such people with gold watches and monogrammed ball point pens is nonsense.

That being said, I find stock options to be the only suitable gift. Of course, when you reach my level of executive management other perks are justified, if not expected. Lifetime health insurance, significant cash bonuses, use of corporate transportation to name a few.

G. Glen Ross

Reader Observations: I'm not real

Recently, some drunken idiot posted a comment proclaiming that I am not real. To that individual I say, rubbish. I am in fact very real, very rich, very handsome, very powerful and very intelligent.

And though I feel no obligation to prove to you my existence, I will do so. Why? Because shedding some light on my life will hopefully make that individual feel that much worse about their own.

Now if you'll excuse me...

I have more homes in my real estate portfolio than the number of double wides in the shoddy little trailer park in which you surely reside.

Not only do I own a fleet of vintage sail boats, I also posses a large collection of Mont Blanc pens. Do they use pens down at the auto parts store where you work? Or do they make you use pencils so you can erase all your mistakes?

My wife loves me because I am rich and powerful. Yours probably loves you because you make her feel good about herself. Though that doesn't change the fact that my wife is the definition of beauty and yours is fat.

Like you, I enjoy red meat. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're a vegetarian. After all, how else can one explain the pissy attitude and transparent envy? Now I know Walmart doesn't stock Kobe Beef, but the next time your scratch lotto tickets pay out I recommend you visit your local fine dining establishment (Outback doesn't count) and order yourself a nice steak.

If I'm not real, who is? I apologize for spewing such heady existential thought. I should have made sure you were wearing a helmet first. I'll simplify, I'm real because I say I am.

Enjoy your day, from what I hear Busch Light is always on sale.

Ross' Rules: you can't take it with you

We Rosses have been known to spend a few dollars here and there. Summer villas on Lake Como, silk toilet paper, Tiffany cuff links...is it our fault for liking the finer things in life? Should we be consumed by overwhelming guilt by such freewheeling spending habits? Seeing as we are neither catholic or poor, guilt is a concept as foreign as the population of a 7-11 parking lot. For you see, what is the point of having more money than you can spend if you can't spend it?

Being a Yale man I hardly put much stock in anything that comes from the bloated egos over at Harvard. However, they have hit upon an interesting idea: that virtue is a vice. According to their research, consumers who base their purchase decisions on short-term regret tend to make more practical purchases whereas consumers who focus on long-term regret make more extravagant purchases.

From the Harvard Business Review:

People who unduly resist self-indulgence suffer from an excessive farsightedness, or hyperopia—the reverse of typical self-control problems. Rather than yielding to temptation, they focus on acquiring necessities and acting responsibly and they see indulgence as wasteful, irresponsible, and even immoral. As a result, these consumers avoid precisely the products and experiences that they most enjoy.

Now I know that many out there have no choice in the matter, but to willingly deprive one's self of that which brings them joy borders on masochistic and unreasonable. Especially so when one has the means to spend at will.

So the next time you are trying to justify your next extravagance remember that short-term regret is temporary and that guilt and luxury sleep in separate bedrooms.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: absolution

Newton proved that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In human interaction one can take this to mean that for every negative action there is an equally negative reaction. He was wrong. For my actions are impervious to negative reactions. Whether they be from jealous subordinates, ex-wives, spiteful step-children or flea infested beggars, the bitter epithets spit from the mouths of the weak mean nothing to me.

I've been called many things in my life. Most of the time they're complimentary - great, intelligent, hard-working, savvy, handsome, humble, asshole- but on rare occasions they're not. I've been called a jerk, an arrogant buffoon, a pompous blowhard, an insufferable git, and a dad. However, such insults don't bother me.

Why not?

Because when you are as rich and powerful as I, you don't need anyone. And if you don't need people it doesn't really matter what the hell they think. Therefore, G. Glen Ross does whatever the hell he pleases.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: vacations

Ahh yes, summertime. The most wonderful time of year wouldn't you agree? I for one love it, for it is summer that offers the respite from the concrete and skyscrapers that dominate my milieu. Three months of long weekends in the Hampton's. Weeks sailing the Greek Isles. There are no budgets, no time constraints, no interruptions. Just relaxation, family time and pampering.

If you are envious I understand. Believe me, if I were middle class I would hate me. Not because I am wealthy and can satisfy my whims, however outrageous or expensive they may be. No, I would hate me because I would be forced to confront my own pathetic existence- a life spent wanting, not having.

Wealth and power affords one the ability to vacation when and where they want. While the middle class loads up the minivan and embarks on their great American road trips, Mrs. Ross, myself, the nanny and sometimes the baby will jet off to Barbados. Just because. While the middle class waits in line at Disney World, the Ross family is enjoying a special VIP tour of the Magic Kingdom - no standing in lines with sweaty English tourists.

Take any one of my vacations, even the most rote, and they would be the dream vacation of any suburban family languishing through a time share tour just to get a few free tickets to Universal Studios. Take any one of my vacations and you will see just how powerful wealth can be.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: Innocence

Perhaps one of the unsung benefits of being immensely wealthy and powerful beyond all measure is the legal access and resources one is afforded. Lawyers, we all know, are like insurance, you pay out the nose for them in hopes you never need them. But when you do...God bless those greedy cut-throat bastards.

Why am I bringing this up now? To what end does parading my crack legal team in front of my readers serve? Innocence, my friends, innocence.

We all know that despite the phrase, "innocent until proven guilty" in our country the opposite holds true and that once indited for an infraction it is up to the defendant to prove their innocence. It's perverted, I know.

Many of you will be shocked to know that I have been a victim of our perverted justice system. What will shock you even more is that I was not a victim of a white-collar witch hunt, not recently anyway. Rather, I was the victim of a flagrant criminal and civil case involving a bicyclist.

For the record, the idiot swerved in front of me. He hit my car (causing significant damage I might add). Yes, I had a few drinks at dinner. Yes, I was driving. But I was under the legal limit and my actions had nothing to do with the accident. Of course, the hippie bicyclist felt otherwise. So, unfortunately, did the Gestapo who police my borough.

Ridiculous, I know.

Thankfully, I had a team of brilliant legal minds defending me (all Yalies, by the way. Always go with Yalies if you can afford them) and in the end got off scott free. The family and biker were outraged by their perceived injustice. I just smiled and patted the top of the young man's head- easy since he was in a wheelchair- and strode out of the courtroom and innocent man.

What's scary is that had I not the means, I surely would be wasting away in jail, or worse yet, paying restitution. Alas, I am not. Not because I didn't deserve it, but because I could afford it.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot

There is a common misconception that we wealthy are different from everyone else. Better maybe, but not necessarily different. As they say, we put our trousers on one leg at a time, just like average folks. And while we all know I am anything but average, occasionally I like to indulge in the most average of meals.

The hamburger. I like to refer to it as the people's meal. That time tested, most American of recipes. A perfect product composed from the very best our nation's breadbasket has to offer, the hamburger reminds us that the simple things in life can in fact be enjoyable.

Now, despite the fact that yes, I frequently dine on lobster tails and porterhouses there are times when a man needs a burger. And there is no better place to satiate that need than at the Wall Street Burger Shoppe.

From the spelling of the word shoppe, one immediately suspects they are in for a burger experience unlike any other. And the moment the delectable confluence of Kobe beef, black truffles, seared foie gras, aged Gruyere cheese and wild mushrooms, delivered in a warm brioche bun with hints of gold flecks hits your pallet you know that you've just experienced something special. You've experienced that which so few have: Heaven on a bun. Never has $175 tasted so delicious.

Yes, you read that correctly. $175. And it's worth every penny. Obviously, this is a burger designed not for the unrefined pallets of the masses, those Number 2 super-sized combo meal heathens. Such genius, such delicacy is not to be wasted on those who think Outback makes a great steak. No my friends, a $175 hamburger is not for the provincial, rather it is for those who appreciate the finer things in life. It is for we who view the gourmet as everyday and the extravagant as commonplace.

Thankfully it is priced beyond the reach of those who would never appreciate it for what it is: a ground patty for the Gods of the Gods.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot

There are few sounds as seductive as the the deep throated purr of my Aston Martin Vanquish S. This 520 horse, 200 mile an hour piece of engineering perfection set me back over 300 grand. That's more than the this country's median home price. And while she'll punish you when you're bad, when you're good she'll satisfy in ways that would get you beheaded in most Middle Eastern nations.

Oh, did I mention I have two of these? One for each coast.

The Aston is my preferred supercar. Sporty yet refined. Exquisite yet unpretentious. Much like myself, I should say. Many of the nuevo riche insist on parading around in their gaudy Italian monstrosities clamoring for the world's attention. They of course get it, though only from middle class gawkers from Iowa or other sheltered locales. Those who know, like myself, openly scorn such trivial material displays. The Aston, on the other hand, oozes sophistication and class, much like its owner and her sultry curves, much like those of the woman undoubtedly riding in the vehicle's fine calf-skin leather passenger seat, demand your attention.

I understand how envy can posses those who do not. I see the looks on their defeated faces as I rush by, a sophisticated glorious comet of carbon and polished chrome. I imagine their self-loathing growing with each strained RPM of their Honda's meager engine. They get good gas mileage. They pollute far less. They are safe and practical. But you know what? Those things mean nothing if you have enough money.

Every so often, when I feel the need to connect with my employees, I take a drive down to the Saturn dealership and test drive a car. As I economically plod along I pretend I am like them. I tune into the local radio station and roll down my window and imagine myself commuting to work or home to greet my loving family. I think this is a nice daydream, until I realize that there is nothing nice about being poor.

Ross' Rules: Let money be your scorekeeper

Question: Why do you do what you do?

a) Because your job makes you feel good about yourself.

b) You enjoy the responsibility your career affords.

c) You make an obscene amount of money.

If you answered "a" or "b" you're wrong. Warm fuzzies are for 10 year-old girls and guidance counselors. You want responsibility? Join the military.

If you answered "c," congratulations, you're a big boy who doesn't have his head up his ass.

Sure, there are those who argue that one's career should be guided by principle and passion, but we know such comments are nothing more than pathetic justifications spewed from the mouths of those desperately trying to validate their five-figure incomes. We know that wealth is the magic elixir that makes life bearable. We know that nothing tempers a sixteen hour workday like a fine steak from Morton's or sinking into the supple leather of a hand-stitched calfskin loafer. We know that failing relationships can be dealt with at Christmas and Birthday's and that stress and anger can be squashed between the floorboards and accelerators of our supercars and cigarette boats.

The middle class can have their idealism and balance and nine-to-five cross-stitch circle, save the pandas careers. They can have their familial relationships and their father-son ballgames and healthy lifestyles. But you know what? They'll still lose. Because wealth, my friends, is how winners are measured.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: A long and luxurious life

As you may recall from last week’s Week in Review, the wealthy live, on average, approximately five years longer than everyone else. So, in honor of this fact, allow me to espouse yet another benefit of being fabulously wealthy.

Now, the study may be rooted in medical fact, but I believe we live much longer because we have much more to live for. Yes, being able to afford the best doctors and medical treatment is nice. As is not having to drive to Canada to get my cholesterol medication. I love the fact that Medicare is something I partake in only because I’ve paid so much into the system. Of course I don’t need it, but that won’t stop me from using it.

I love the security of knowing that if I should be stricken with cancer, I’ll actually have treatment options and won’t be relegated to receiving treatment at some sub-par HMO cancer center. How one deals with such a prospect is beyond me. In fact, I don’t see much difference between receiving “normal” treatment and simply letting the disease spread.

Being wealthy means I can receive the most advanced preventative care available. Yearly, I undergo a barrage of tests designed to identify any and all afflictions that may be present in my perfectly maintained body. I have at my disposal a dedicated team of physicians whose only purpose in life is to keep me operating at peak capacity and I have chef, personal trainer, massage therapist and relaxation expert at my beckon call. If my eyesight goes, laser surgery will fix it. If my skin begins to sag, plastic surgery will tighten it up. If my heart fails, I’ll buy a new one.

Of course, my dedication to living is predicated on the fact that, unlike much of the poor and middle-class, I have something to live for. Actually, I have an abundance of things to live for. I know that as I age, my body will not break down and I will be able to sail my boats, drive my cars and love my wife with equal vigor. I know that unlike the poor and middle class, my golden years will not be spent in casinos and bingo halls. I know that the stress of living on a fixed income won’t slowly erode my will to live and that my grandchildren will still love me because I’ll be able to give them more than five dollars for Christmas.

Unlike the poor and middle class, I know that my wealth allows me to endlessly sip at the fountain of youth and I know that when death comes, I won’t welcome it with arms wide open, grateful that it has rescued me from a life of premature decay. Instead, I’ll make it sit in the fine Italian leather seat of my Aston Martin as I slam into a concrete retaining wall.

Things that I can afford that the middle class cannot: a complete and total disregard for the opinions of others

When you finish reading this post, I'd appreciate it if you would take the time to comment on what you thought of it. Oh wait, you can't. Why not, you ask? Answer: because frankly, I have no use for your opinion. And no, I don't care that such disregard on my part might hurt some feelings or wound a few egos.

After publishing last week's post-Easter Rule, I received a few pathetic comments that were so absurd that any and all vitriol was replaced by humor. Now, I’m well aware that the ability to form logical thoughts and coherent arguments are skills not deemed necessary in hippie communes, California and much of the Northeast, but even had these simpletons somehow managed to present a point that flirted with validity I would not have cared. The rich and powerful do not have to care.

I recall the early days of my career when I was only an associate. My co-workers and I would be working on projects and they would always be mindful of other’s input, frequently uttering such things as, “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes” or “What are your thoughts on this?” It was pathetic, but I would play along so others would think of me as “part of the team.” Though, having never known anything but wealth never had the need for anyone’s opinion but my own.

The middle-class might argue that such egocentric narcissism has no place in today’s society. Of course, the proletariat would believe such nonsense. They cling to the hope that consideration will solve the world’s problems, but fail to comprehend that consideration clogs the wheels of progress and impedes the decision making process.

Sometimes, to humor myself, I solicit members of my staff for their opinions. Their eyes light up and their thoughts spill from their mouths like Mrs. Ross’ cleavage in a Versace cocktail dress. I nod politely and smile, all the while thinking of something more meaningful. When I no longer hear their voices I move on to the next topic, never acknowledging what the person said. From the highest high to the lowest low, their faces drop with the realization that their thoughts have been discounted - a beautiful sight indeed.

Being a man of wealth and power is to be a man without care. Consideration is a debt shouldered exclusively by the middle-class. How they live with such a burden I cannot comprehend. Fortunately, I’m not obligated to care.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: private security services

After yesterday's posting I had to double my security detail. Apparently the Church of Scientology deploys some pretty heavy hitters if you make fun of L. Ron, though I really don't know if my security detail is prepared to deal with Xenu and his alien forces. Idiots.

When you are as powerful and rich as me you can afford to say whatever the Sam Hell you feel like. Not only is it incredibly liberating, it's a wonderful power tool. To live in a world with no repercussions is to live in Utopia. However, despite this fact, I choose to employ the best private security contractors in the world and I frequently attend training courses at Blackwater USA.

Many people are not aware that I am licensed to carry a concealed weapon. I'm wearing it right now. It's only one of the most respected handguns in the world: the Browning M1911. I have one in Gold, Platinum and Black and I carry them in one of my custom designed Italian holsters. Today I've paired the platinum with the West African Black Rhino Skin holster (I posses the only one in existence). Often, to intimidate I let my sport coat or suit jacket fall back so the butt of the pistol is exposed. It is really quite humorous.

Do I know how to use it, you ask. I can put a two round group within an inch at 10 yds. Does that answer your question? I learned how to do that at my Blackwater Advanced Pistol course. I'd recommend you attend, but you probably cannot afford to. When you have the money, you really should go. I also suggest the shotgun and highway driving courses. If nothing more, they're simply a great time.

But I digress. My private security team is what I am most proud of. Composed of former Special Forces Operators, my team is prepared to protect me from any type of attack you can imagine. I even employ a few minority operators that blend in when I travel abroad. That way the bad guys don't know the size of my protective detail. Each Operator costs just over $100,000/year to employ. That's over 600 grand a year on security. Most middle-class homes don't cost that much.

How do I afford it?

I don't. My firm employs them on my behalf. Power means not having to spend your own money. Besides, when you work in an industry that specializes in mortgage backed securities, you find that you have many enemies. Rightly, they feel that it is in every one's best interest to protect the executive management team.

Having your own private security detail is a luxury no person of wealth and power should be without. In fact, I dare call it a luxury. Necessity is probably the right term. The sad fact is that there are many who hate us. I'm sure such feelings are based purely on jealousy. And while I do not appreciate being the target of kidnapping plots and assassination attempts (which I am assured there have been many), I do like the attention such plots draw.

And Mrs. Ross likes having them around as well. Often, she requests one be posted in her room at night. She says it makes her feel safer.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: The ROM

One of the great passions in my life is looking good. For executives, what is on the outside often matters more than what is on the inside. Though my physician tells me I possess some pretty fit innards.

As you may know I am a very busy man. Do you think I have the time to spend an hour at the gym? Of course I don’t. That’s why I purchased the ROM.


At over $14,000 this wonderful machine costs more than most pre-owned Ford Taurus’s. So, while I can get my workout in only four minutes and get on with more important things, the middle class is forced to huff and puff for hours at a time on their Sears’s treadmills and Chuck Norris wonder machines.

Or do they?

Let’s be honest people. Most middle class people possess neither the discipline nor pride to stick to a workout program. They buy their Sally Struthers’ Thigh Masters and Bowflexes and ingest magic fat pills in hopes that the pounds will melt away. But the reality is that after a week they forget their silly resolutions. They realize that looking good for a spouse who doesn’t care is a waste of energy. They wake up to the reality that being able to walk up a flight of stairs without passing out is not an issue when the building they work in has an elevator. No, these undisciplined excuses for people stuff these colossal wastes of money (surely bought on credit) under the bed or in the closet with the rest of their hopes and dreams. Their treadmill becomes a place to hang their short-sleeved work shirts and wrinkle-free khakis.

But what about those who do have the discipline to diligently work out? I’m not impressed. In fact, that they spend so much time working out illustrates their misplaced priorities. No wonder they’re mired in middle management.

To be an executive means sacrificing your health for position. At least it did before the ROM. $14,000 is a small price to pay for health and power. Just look at what it did for me.

Things I can afford that the middle class cannot.

Tonight millions of poor souls will fall asleep to the daydreams of the things they'll buy and the places they'll go if they win the $230 million Powerball jackpot.

New cars, Prevost motor homes, mansions in Maui, yachts.

Student loans, medical bills, credit card debt, upside down mortgages.

Some will even try to bargain with God, promising to give half to charity and friends and family. Of course they'll start high, but that number will dwindle as they realize all of the other things they need.

Like little children waiting for the tooth fairy, they'll fall asleep with silly little grins spread across their worn out faces.

I cannot begin to describe how great it feels to bask in the knowledge that the only thing separating my dreams from reality is nothing. Whatever I want, I get. Whatever I can imagine, I do. That is without a doubt the best thing about not being middle class.

Imagine living a life where all your dreams lay beyond reach. What a nightmare.

On the Importance of Listening to Ross

As you recall, Mrs. Ross and I were in West Palm over the weekend. As always, it was a wonderfully luxurious time. One night as we were dining with friends, one of their grandkids asked me why anyone should listen to me. Had it been anyone else, I would have dismissed this insufferable girl's question with no more than a wave of a hand and guffaw. But, because she was the grandchild of my closest friend I answered her question.

"The masses will listen to me because I will tell them to," I said.

"But what makes you think you're so influential," she asked.

Her grandfather, deeply embarrassed by the intoxicated woman's antics moved to silence her, but I told him I took no offense and would answer her question.

"Young woman, they will listen to me because I am intelligent, successful and wealthy beyond measure." I looked at her grandfather and we both smiled gaily. "They will listen to me because they desire to have what I have."

She rolled her eyes and muttered something about the virus of wealth and the importance of living a life serving the greater good. I told her not to fear, that she would shed the naïveté of youth over time and perhaps make something of herself.

But you're not naive, are you? You'll listen to me and this is why:

1) I am smarter than you. Have you attended Yale, Harvard and Princeton? I think not, otherwise you would not be in your current position.

2) I am wealthier than you. Do you own your own jet? Do you have a fleet of vintage sailboats? Can you afford to send your wife to the best plastic surgeons money can buy? Of course not. But, you want to.

3) I am more successful than you. Obviously.

4) I wrote the book on corporate warfare. I am the living embodiment of the "Art of War" and can show you the way. Pathos is thy enemy, logos our savior.

5) I have the power that you can barely imagine in your wildest daydreams.

In life, we rarely have the opportunity to learn from those so far beyond our stations. This is your opportunity to suck at the teat of 45 years of hard work and experience. Listen up.