The natural enemy of the broke-ass is the rich person. Not just any millionaire, the super-rich. The kind of rich that automatically turns you into a super villain. And this time of year is a rich person’s favorite. They leave their tropically heated condos, and as their doormen unleash them onto the streets that they’ve wearied with their greed in their heavy coats made of endangered animals so they can have someone chauffer them around in their climate-controlled carbon footprint, they cackle. Oh, how they cackle at the cold broke masses. Every time we lose a button on our coat, they get a six-figure Christmas bonus. Every time a fiercely cold gust tests our resolve en route to the subway, their fireplaces crackle and glow with a little bit more edifying warmth. Do we really want to let these soulless Ebenezers win? How can we survive despite their smug mockery? Where am I going with this pointless drivel?
Well, perhaps our only defense is helping each other. Maybe every time we volunteer at a soup kitchen, their personal chef will break the hollandaise. Perhaps when we donate to the NY Cares Coat Drive, they’ll break a heel in their Manolo Blahnik’s. (Check out more volunteering opportunities here.)
Help do your part in the class war. Help out other broke-asses. There are many asses broker than yours. Or save a puppy from the clutches of Cruella DeVille. See. All that sentimentality and I didn’t even mention Christmas.
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