Oh, That’s Rich

I Sleep Well at Night,
Thank You Very Much

So you’ve been listed on Fortune 500 for the past few years. Your private jet has an anti-missile defense system. You’d only allow Architectural Digest to feature your mansion in the Bahamas if they’d use your 19-year old girlfriend on its cover.
Nice, but no cigar.
The only way your friends will have you over for the annual invitation-only golf tournament in Dubai is if you show them you have one of these faucets. Carved in platinum. With encrusted diamonds lining the bottom of the sink. And mineral water and warm milk on tap.
Otherwise, buddy, you’re not going. And even if you’re having them installed in your castle in Scotland as we speak, you’re already trailing any Saudi prince worth his pure silk turban. Come on, the Donald has one of these in every room of his penthouse in New York City.
And don’t tell us they’re tacky. It’s been very long since wealth and good taste split up, just about the time when the Ottoman Empire ran into the ground. Which means, another Maserati simply won’t do it.
We want towels being made with the hair of virgin slaves. We want rugs manufactured out of endangered species and, yes, we want our toilet bowls cast in Carrara marble. In other words, don’t even show up without your ticket for a vacation in orbit during the summer of 2015.

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