hello. this is alister catharis, the master of ceremonies for how to achieve supreme money power. some people have asked how i acheived supreme money power. i must admit that i, myself, have not done so yet. see, i do not have a trust fund to live off of like most of the poets you hear on the how to achieve supreme money power podcast. they sure as hell are not living off of their words. if they actually had to work a day in their lives, they would know that their navel gazing does not matter to anyone else. but no, i am still trying to get my own supreme money power for myself. my plan to do so basically involves this podcast failing. how is that supposed to work? well, there is this web 2.0 bubble going on right now. i mean, any idea that is can be put on the internet can net you a lot of venture capital. so, i am taking as much venture capital as i can get, but spending very little of it on the podcast. meanwhile, some douche on sand hill road is expecting that this podcast will become popular. ha. the idea is way too stupid to work. spoken word only brings out the poets who can not write and the actors who can not act. this way, i can be assured that both the podcast and the mister coffee and mister bean coffeeshop go under. i have no fear in admitting this to you dear listener because i know that no one is going to listen to this particular podcast. the poets here only promote their own poems. i am just the owner of their performance rights in case they blow up. if not, i have a 50 percent share in something that is worth nothing. i might not understand their psuedo-intellect to the level that they think they have something to say, but i do know that they are unwilling to read a contract. serves them right. i so hate having to listen to their stupid poems. they all sound the same, like a bunch of fucking robots. of course, they think that their derivative imitation is the expression of their souls. morons. plus, they bring in the most annoying crowds with them. cheap fuckers who can't even buy coffee. i fucking hate half of the people that walk through my own coffeeshop's doors. i so hope the reasonable listener knows not to come to my coffeeshop. i implore you dear listener to not show up for poetry night, or any other night. the less money coming in means the sooner i can stop doing this and dash out with my loot. in fact, if you snitch on me, that would be even better. i already have an escape plan and the capital checks have cleared. as it is right now, i am so sick of dealing with all of these beret wearing asshats who talk about all the paperback fiction they have read but would not know their way through a library trying to tell me that i do not understand coffee the way they do. i know how to run a coffeeshop, and i know the work that it takes, and i know that it is not worth it if i have to pretend to act like i care about these people. if they could just wase their lives away from me, i would be fine, i've got my money, but i just need to squeeze out of this fucking coffeeshop prison. i would like to think the web two point o bubble and the absurdity of the venture capital industry for my opportunity to achieve supreme moeny power. oh and remember, you are not welcome at my coffeeshop if you actually like spoken word. i can not suffer another dummy like you.
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