After loosely following the stories about the Wall Street protests this last week, I was surprised to learn, a few days ago, that about a hundred of the protestors actually marched down the residential streets of Manhattan’s Upper East Side, verbally pummeling their frustrations against the front doors of some of our nation’s wealthiest businessmen.  It seems that this particular vein of the protest was well advertised ahead of time, so I have to wonder:  did the protestors think they were going to catch anyone at home?  And if so, what would they have said, specifically, to each of the Filthy Stinking Rich People?

I don’t know.  But I know what I would ask the Filthy Stinking Rich People if  I were marching in righteous anger through their front yard.  I have it all planned out in my head.  I would rub my hands together, twirl my mustache (I’m in desperate need of a wax, my faiths), and pick up my large white megaphone with the Ridgeview Coyotes logo on the side.   (My kids’ elementary school.  Yes.  I would think of everything.)  I’d raise said megaphone to my freshly-glossed lips and demand some answers with my best leftover cheerleading yell:

  • Did your GPA really make a difference?  (Didn’t think so.)
  • Do you really all get together at Bohemian Grove once a year and decide how to rule the world?  (Didn’t think so.)
  • Are your wives’ boobs real?  (Didn’t think so.)
  • Are any of you leaving your wives’ boobs anytime soon?  If so, is there an opening for a new wife?  (Didn’t think so.)
  • Do you know Gwyneth Paltrow?  (Thought so.)
  • Will she be launching a clothing line at Target anytime soon?  (Hope so.)
  • Is there any way I can have your life?  (Didn’t think so.)
  • Will yelling at you about it make me feel better?  (Thought so.)


Upon setting down my megaphone to give my raspy voice a rest, I wonder if an accommodating tycoon would venture to his front porch and respond to my pleas.  Perhaps Rupert Murdoch would appear in a gorgeously overpriced bathrobe to ask me a few questions of his own:

    • You want this life, lady?  (Thought so.)
    • Then why did you major in English?


I believe that last question would end our Q and A session; some past misdeeds cannot be undone.  I would then bend over heavily, pick up my Ridgeview Coyotes mouthpiece, and march away.  Let the Filthy Stinking Rich people have their fun; I was going to use my megaphone to hiss in a Gollum voice and scare people on the bus ride home.  That would show them.

2 thoughts on “I want to be filthy and stinking. period.

  1. is it sad that the Gwyneth line distracted me from the rest of the post? lol If you would like, I can play your background music with a kazoo…while you yell through the megaphone, that is.

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