Diary of a Mad (Rich) White Man

(The following story is fictional)

I, William G. Tiras, write this will being of sound mind and horribly old and decrepit body. I have loved many people and will always love a certain few of you the rest you should just know you bug the crap out of me. You'd be surprised how easy it is to write a will knowing you'll be dead by the time someone reads this. That being said, Rose I have always with the utmost passion possible despised every inch of your pathetic hopeless worthless soul. Put that on myspace bitch!!!

Moving on now.

During my lifetime people have asked me two questions. Where did you get all your money? And my least favorite, aren't you that guy from that one movie where the black guy dies?

And then there is that one infamous never spoken thought everyone always thinks when they meet me and become my friend. Or should I say when they become good acquaintances? They think, I hope I get some of this money.

Really want to know what I think about money?

Damn it.

Money is a waste of life. The people I have met on my adventures through out the world, since I am after all a philanthropist, and being as such I must indeed travel the world, the people that have almost nothing, are often the people who are the happiest.

And now I will tell my life's story.

But ah, yes. That would bore you. So let me answer the question of how I came in to possession of this money.

The story all starts when I was 15 years old. I was quiet then, short as well. I kept my dark hair pulled over my faces so no one could see my eyes. I was often grouped in this neo goth, emo social distinction but I was content with my place in society. However without my good friend, Connor, I would not be as such. You see we spent long hours of the summer wasting away in the blistering hot sun of Alabama. Yes, I'm from Alabama. However after my 16th birthday I lived in multitudes of cities my personal favorite is Nashville, Tennessee however.

Well anyways I found myself thinking those summers how I would get by. I never really worried about money. But it became apparent that my family was indeed not a wealthy family. My father worked long shifts as a prison guard and I only saw him at night. My mother was a nurse and she too worked long hours and so that left me and Connor outside from the start of school till dusk. We played football and enjoyed the occasional Sunday matinee but what we found most enjoyable was sitting there, doing nothing, absolutely nothing. You may think that this lethargic attitude showed in my lifestyle and I know you are thinking, idle hands are the hands of the devil but in fact they are not. We became so incredibly idle that we decided doing what made us happy wasn't always the best.

Go figure.

We decided to start working at a local dog shelter and that's where I met two of the most influential people in my life. Rose, you stupid asshole, and Luna, my dog from the age of 15 to the age of 25. I know what you're thinking a dog isn't a person. But she was to me. She was more than a person will ever be to me.

Please keep in mind that these trifling details are in fact ineffably useful in the long run of my life. I wish to tell you how I learned one of many the many lessons I have in fact learned, one of the lessons I learned the hard way.

You may think of responsibility as something you are held accountable for whether it be going out and getting hammered and getting arrested for DUI or something as worthless as homework. But in fact responsibility is so much more. Responsibility is a moral obligation to do the not only right thing but the rational thing. I learned this lesson in a very very hard way.

Each day I would go to school and I would have gym 7th period last period of the day. I would go in throw on my uniform, which I despised with a passion as well. As uniformity is a lesson I have learned and a lesson I chose to ignore. But anyways, there were two 8th grade boys in my gym class. They were small and I felt sorry for them because people always always always picked on them. The other boys my age would knock them around and call them names and all sorts of cruel things.

Sure enough I did as most people do and whenever I saw these atrocities committed I turned the other cheek.

Each time I turned my cheek I felt this burning sensation this ineffably powerful feeling in my chest.

And each time, every time, this feeling grew grew and I could not explain it!

It all built up inside and kept building up inside until I couldn't take it anymore.

I went ape shit on the bullies. I got a black eye and a boxer's fracture on my left hand.

And the strange thing is, after I stood up for the kids they started to stand together as well and in a short period of time the bullying had stopped.

And the feeling died down.

Looking back on my life now…….I'm not ashamed…..I screwed up….But you can make things right. And to me as long as you satisfy your responsibilities nothing ever gets too wrong.