While there are about as many justifications for it as there are people– we are, unitedly, missing the boat or arc on this one. ‘You can’t take it with you’ is not simply a quaint little statement, used at dinner party conversations as trite as that aperitif you’re holding, its a game plan from the triple H (Head Honcho Himself). Money isn’t recognized anywhere but on this planet, pfffff! ATM machines don’t hold up very well in non-gravity zones.
Humor aside, however dark, money is the pacifier to the over sized babies that we have systematically become. And banks, banks are the teats– we’re all a bunch of suckers. The more of it we want–the bigger suckers we are. It cannot buy happiness, it buys the false sense of happiness. As for comfort and its stale mate joy– they’re just a couple of hung over freaks if money got them there. One or the other isn’t in bed in the morning upon waking up, here’s to hoping they wore protection.
There’s hope. Ask God not Google or Gates (short for Gates of hell), what a suitable digit for us would be. Suitable means, not a pain in the ass to try and acquire, not a roll over someone’s toes in the process of acquiring it, suitable means not contemplating whether we really need that already existing third child or can we spare him by selling him to the nice, rich, childless neighbors– though he’s six but at least won’t have to change schools.
To God…a suitable amount is how much of it you can stash in your birthday suit. But we’re a stubborn race – us humans – we’d find orifices to hide the loot in.