Oh, hello. It’s your rich alter ego checking in. I must confess that despite my extreme optimism about the economy, I’ve had something on my mind.

See, I’ve discovered, in the advanced timeline of my wealth, that , and more —while good for cruising across the glassy surfaces of life and watching time effortlessly erode while my portfolio grows—aren’t particularly good for soul searching.

Hello, poors. It’s me again, the wealthier and more successful version of you.

Do you know what I mean? Where you feel a hole in your heart and you don’t know how to quite fill it, even though you’ve feasted on enough foie gras and Dom Pérignon to last a lifetime?

No, I mean this literally—I bought so much foie gras and Dom that I have no means of moving it to the château. The McLaren can only hold so much.

Why don’t I just have the butler bring it in via the chopper you ask? I don’t have an answer.

Because I saw this.

My gorgeous, sapphire-blue crown jewel.

My blue jay in a field of snow.

My Hope Diamond of dreams fulfilled and Mediterranean villas.

I am coming, my rare unicorn. I am coming for you. And I will bring the kr 174,900 (about $20,000) I need to set you free.

And, in turn, you will do the same for me.

Via