And here it is. Look closely, and for a long time. This, friends, is the face of utter resignation to vast wealth. This is the face of a man whose very existence hinges on an alcohol-infused routine so drab that it’s difficult, nay, impossible to even expel a smile. To do so would not be physically taxing, but emotionally draining, as sifting through the negative feelings inside to find the fleck of golden happiness would be as futile as searching for an errant pebble in the Nile. And sure, it looks as if he can still muster the inclination to scrape an ivory handled razor over his expanding jowls, but such a surface attempt at decency makes his presence seem almost even more grotesque than it actually is. If you ever look in the mirror and see a face such as this staring back, check your pulse, and then immediately reevaluate your entire existence. There may be hope if you act soon enough.
For him, it’s far too late. He will continue to chug, stumble and grope his way through life and into an early grave and, if we’re lucky, along the way he’ll serve as a reminder that when the nest is feathered too much, the bird will never learn to fly.
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