All Things Money

It’s never enough…

Dough, Bread, Cheddar, Bill. All slang for the Big M – and also the order for getting a cheese sandwich. The sorry fact of life is that we need substantial amounts of dosh just to stave off the Big D – death that is, not… never mind. Humans are the only species of animal that adhere to the ridiculous transaction of rectangular paper for chocolate hob-knobs. You’ll never see a platypus dip it’s webbed-feet into the murky water of investment banking. But what a great David Attenborough documentary that would make. Although, meerkats do seem to have insurance down to a tee… simples. Money has become an essential foundation to which modern life revolves, but with it arises many difficulties. Should one limit expenditures to the essentials of life in order to stave of materialism? Is there anything one should not do to earn money? And is it ever right to phone in to Babestation?

Notorious B.I.G once uttered the immortal words: “Mo’ Money’ Mo’ Problems”. However, distinguished scholar and prominent thinker from the region known as Queens, differs from this opinion. 50 Cent, states in his didactic essay entitled: Candy Shop “I’ll take you to the candy shop, Boy one taste of what I got, I’ll have you spending all you got, Keep going ‘til you hit the spot, Whoa…”. In my opinion, the author’s use of confectionery imagery is a metaphor for the heterosocial need for intimacy; whilst foreshadowing the eventual monetary pleasures that will be gained in expenditure.

For myself, money is not the over-riding aspect of life – I would have to award that worthy distinction to the opposite sex. Fortunately, the two concepts of money and sex have never combined thus far. I have very little in the way of expenses. Namely cigarettes, alcohol, and biscuits. However, that is not to say I haven’t had many a night of drink- and cookie-fuelled conversations, where the latest money-making scheme was mulled over. Money-making schemes of the Alan Sugar quality, rather than the Del Boy variety. For example, my latest foray into the entrepreneurial sphere involves… Wait for it. Becoming a rent-boy for lonely academics. Picture the scene: you’re a lonely academic, the novelty of wearing a tweed jacket has worn off, it’s 2am on a Saturday night, and you’re stuck in a dusty office, barely half-way through some moron’s dissertation on the “The Subtlety of Sexual Imagery in 50 Shades of Gray.” That’s where I come in. Academic Rent-boy Extraordinaire inc. Loving lecturers since 1991. Okay, maybe this one won’t pave the way to eternal fortune, but it’s worth a pitch on Dragon’s Den, no?

Money will always be prevalent in the minds of us students. Especially seeing as the tuppence that Student Loan doles out whenever they feel like is barely enough to cover the mandatory 50 litres of Jaegermeister required on a Saturday night – or is that just in Hatfield College? Right now, my purse strings are tighter than Amanda Holden’s forehead. The amount of pasta I’ve eaten during my years of studentship is enough to feed Mussolini’s army 50 times over. The golden ticket for anyone, never mind students, is of course to win the lottery. No matter how small the odds seem, it really isn’t an impossibility that I may one day win it. Statistically this is proven to be the case, and you can’t argue with the math. Now, to go on dreaming about what I’m going to do when that over-sized cheque comes through the letterbox. The first thing I would do with my new-found riches is strap 50 grand to the back of my platinum Lamborghini and watch paupers chase me down the street – and give some to charity of course, depending on how much I get back from a tenner. Though all this will have to wait until the next Euromillions draw. For now, I’m content borrowing the odd fiver off Mum.

People say money is the square root of all evil… if evil happens to be a non-negative real number. To be honest I prefer using a calculator to write ‘Boobs’ upside down. To me, money is only as evil as it’s user. Money can’t buy you happiness, but it’ll pay for a better class of misery.

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