Joe’s Story

Money? It’s nothing really, is it? What does it really mean? And you can talk about breeding and all that bollocks – the royal family and blue bloods; it’s crap really, you know? They’re just families and people who’ve managed to get their hands on some gelt at some point and so don’t have to fuck about in the dirt like the rest of us, that’s all. Well, I thought: why not me? It’s good enough for them, am I any different? Am I fuck! So I started dabbling in futures. I’d seen these Yuppy types on the telly and that, getting filthy rich while the rest of us were fretting about the price of milk and a litre of petrol (nearly one pound fucking fifty, can you believe it?!). Bombing about in Porsches and always noshing at these top restaurants while I’m shitting about my credit card repayments and the Council bloody tax. Wearing thousand quid suits and trainers that were more than a week’s wage to some poor sod that towed about with pallets and shit like that. So I thought, I mean, how hard can it be? I said to myself, ‘don’t risk more than you can afford to lose’. So I chucked in a grand off my credit card. Well, it’s not like real money, is it? And it was so bloody easy. Bish, bash, bosh! Lovely money. To my astonishment within the week I’d lost the lot.

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