Picket fences are for your grandparents. I want reality tv shows about my cushy desk job.
I’ll order subordinates in stuffy clothes to do things that do absolutely no good for humanity, but all sorts of good for my pocketbook and my ego.
I’ll make sure that no women rise higher than middle management. That way I’ll remain desirable to the opposite sex by way of cool cars and fancy dinners well into old age.
I’ll be like 85, with an Audi that hovers on magnets, as I drive to Vegas to hang out with showgirls. They’ll love me.
I’ll be fake all over, but the overpriced bottles of alcohol will make my life seem like a beer commercial.
That’s my American dream, watching that commercial play after the credits roll on my reality tv show.
— leest1 —