Before the Christmas, Simon’s finances were all over the shop like a grubby toddler’s paw prints, so his folks gave him the gift that would hopefully mean they didn’t have to keep on giving: a copy of The Barefoot Investor.
Like Doctor Fuckenstein, Simon’s parents had created a monster. A walking, talking abomination sewn together from various tidbits of financial advice from a book he had casually thumbed through.
After a week of following the vibe of the book, Simon was dishing out unsolicited financial advice like Kochie after a mouthful of dexies. Yes, the same guy who got a Nimble loan to attend Splendour in the Grass was 8 inches up your arse telling you to “domino your debts”.
Things hit a surreal point a week later when after spending $250 from a ZERO FEES ING bank account on MD and booze, Simon cornered a group of mates in the wee hours of a Sunday morning and started recruiting for his “DATE NIGHT”.
Maybe it was the euphoric effects of the party drugs or maybe it was Simon’s poor regurgitation of the advice, but the dream of financial freedom appealed to one of his mates who agreed to join Simon on his weekly $100 dinner splurge to talk about saving cash. The money team had been formed.
By the third date night, Simon’s mate began to have some concerns about the direction of the money team, as Simon was banging on less about “postcode povos” and “trapezes” and much more about cryptocurrency.
What was the point of having more bank accounts than clean grundies if you couldn’t fill them with Bitcoin dough? Now the Papestar had made it clear to do away with car loans, so Simon suggested the money team sell their cars and pump whatever was left into a Blockchain.
“There is a whole chapter dedicated to doubling your income man, with Bitcoin we could centuple our money, or so the bloke who fixed our aircon reckons”
Simon proceeds to lay down his plan to not just fuck off his car but to take out a personal loan under the guise of consolidating his debts, only to pull a financial switcheroo and become a crytpopreneur overnight.
Yikes, like an M Night Shyamalan movie, he had lost the plot.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
