They may be the one percent, but,

in all reality, if they don’t wipe

their bums rigorously, wash their

bottoms thoroughly along with

armpits, and between their toes

daily and floss and brush their teeth,

gargle at least once daily, use

bacteria killing breath strips

regularly and have their clothes

washed when they get soiled or can’t

pass the sniff test, nobody will want to

be around them at their gated social

get-togethers, at least, not their

fellow one percent, the really good

friends who on Saturday evening

yuck it up together and on Monday

morning turn down, without a flinch,

the loan request from the host who

is hung up by his a very clean and well

washed family jewels. See why deodor-

ant, in spite of the dangerously high

aluminum content, is so important to

the upper class? One wants to be sure

to wear clean underwear before

getting in an accident or being screwed

by a yuck-it-up-buddy-one-percenter.

 

Which reminds me of the story of

the three engineers who discussed

the nature of God.  One said God

is a structural engineer because of

the wonderful skeleton and vascular

system.  Another said God is an

electrical engineer because of the

incredible neurological system. The

third said God is a civil engineer.

Why, they asked.  Simple, he replied.

Who else would be clever enough to

think of  putting a toxic waste removal

route through a recreation area?

 

But I digress.

 

On the other hand, the rest of us,

the Great Unwashed (and where

exactly does that start, $249,000

and down, down, down?), at least

in the minds of the one percent,

just love, as they imagine in their

animal brains, to conjure thoughts

of us lazy, government dependents

sniffing our days away, wallowing in

each other’s sweaty loins, swinging

from the chandelier, down and dirty

copulating day and night to the sweet,

salty, fishy taste and skanky smell of

lusty love of, for sure, the forty-seven

percenters and probably all ninety-

nine percenters. “One can only imagine

what they do down there.”

 

So, why kill the fun with the reality that

we live normal lives, get tired and go to

bed hoping to regain a smidgen of energy

for the tasks of the day ahead?  Let their

misplaced, mythic, horny envy of what

they fantasize to be our earthy, extra-

vagant “perpetual motion machine” sex

life be an answer to their out-of-touch

question, “What do the simple folk do?”

And in the meantime, may we, the Great

Unwashed, unbeknownst to the one per-

cent, keep practicing the require-

ments of basic hygiene noted above, eat

healthy and exercise regularly, and get

at least eight hours sleep, but please,

let’s keep it to ourselves. We wouldn’t

want to spoil the fun, the fun of these

dirty, little, envious, and above all, jealous

minds.

 

Such thoughts must keep them from utter

boredom and it might just prove to be the

only edge we have, that is if they are actually

thinking about us at all.