I Am a Job Creator

Do not resent me, for I am a job creator. I generate economic growth using the mountains of wealth, which I worked tirelessly to inherit with my own two hands. Actually, I only had to use one hand, my dominant one, which I used to sign my name on some legal documents granting me ownership of the family estate.

Here are some examples of jobs I have created. Do you see that man over there using sewing scissors to trim those hedges into a 30-foot likeness of me? I created his job, and with the salary I am paying him, he will be able to afford his arthritis medicine and have enough left over to put food on his family’s tree stump. The same goes for the artist who I commissioned to paint a portrait of me, shirtless astride a white stallion, and for the two blond boys I pay to kneel before the portrait wearing white robes and strumming medieval harps when I have female guests.

The maids carefully sweeping up broken glass in the ballroom would not have a job to do if I hadn’t used the chandelier for target practice with my new compound crossbow. The emergency medics would not have a job to do if I hadn’t mistaken my butler for an intruder while shooting at the chandelier. And my butler would not have a job at all if he hadn’t done the funny little dance I asked of him while firing arrows at the ground in front of him during his interview. There are so many people who would not have jobs if it weren’t for me. Sometimes I am so humbled by this that I just have to hug them and whisper, “You’re welcome.”

I create blue-collar jobs, white-collar jobs, all kinds of collar jobs. Dirty jobs, green jobs, hand jobs—you name it, I create it! I even created Steve Jobs. All of this job creation is exhausting, so I employ two Vietnamese virgins to fan me with $100 bills and a midget to fan them with smaller, fake $100 bills. Sometimes I create jobs indirectly by donating to charities like the Republican Party. Come to think of it, I create so many jobs that I should create another one for someone just to count the number of jobs I have created.

I created the job of Personal Food Taster and hired a nice man I think named Norm who tasted my food to check for poison or peanuts, to which I am deathly allergic. I also created a second job for Norm, EpiPen Administrator. One time Norm baked a special chocolate cake for me. When he tasted it, there were no peanuts, but oddly, as soon as I took my first bite, my esophagus swelled shut and I broke out in full-body hives the size of frisbees. Even stranger, when Norm tried to inject the EpiPen into my thigh, it wouldn’t work, so instead he just kept jabbing the needle into my chest over and over while screaming, “Why won’t you die, you devil bastard?” Of course, after this incident I had to fire Norm, but I did hire a new Personal Food Taster & EpiPen Administrator, so really I created four jobs in total.

Some of my critics may say, “Wealth doesn’t trickle down,” but obviously they are stupid and have never seen me in the shower washing myself with tiny, smooth diamonds cut in the shape of water droplets. Although I am wealthy, I like to spread my wealth around by smearing my bagels with gold-dust-infused cream cheese. Sometimes my wealth keeps me warm, like when I wear my Snuggie sewn from loose cash and unicorn hair. Other times, my wealth keeps other people warm, like when I use small bills to light the fireplace for guests.

Creating jobs and helping people make me happy, especially if I get a tax break from it. I know I will not convince everyone to like me, but no matter what, one thing is certain: I have a lot of money.