A Pauper’s Guide to Gold Digging

A Pauper’s Guide to Gold Digging
I’m broke. I was born broke, I’ve been broke, and since I majored in what is effectively a hobby, I’m most likely always going to be broke. I’m also incredibly, incredibly single. And look, I understand the old phrase that “money can’t buy you love” but I figured I might as well try to kill two birds with one stone, right? Look, the fact of the matter is, money can’t buy you love, but it can by you a lot of lovely things. Clothes. Real estate. The funds to commission artists to create Soviet-era portraits of your likeness. You know, things that make you happy. And isn’t that what America’s about The pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness? No one ever specified that happiness can’t include getting Botox injections with your elderly boyfriend’s 401K and then blowing the rest on a spree at Saks. I don’t need your judgment. My generation is screwed. By the time we’re ready to retire, all of our Social Security money will be dried up and sent away to China. We’re going to have to work until we’re dead. All of our money has been given to old, rich, white guys anyway, so why shouldn’t they have to pay us back? That being said, I’ve compiled a guide to getting yourself a sugar daddy or mommy; a step-by-step list to propel yourself to Anna Nicole greatness. Here goes nothing. Step 1) Go to gay millionaire speed dating events. Step 2) Start a new career as an end of life caretaker. Do it in the nude. And so on and so on and so on…