I’m sure you all remember where you were when you heard the news. I do. I was sitting on my couch pretending to work but actually see-sawing between reading Cracked.com and watching Divorce Court. I was pretty content doing it, too, though not proud of it, when the news broke into the regular programming:“Pony in Sheffield, England, produces golden droppings.” The pony had been pooping strange-colored poops for a while and though the farmers and vets couldn’t find anything ailing the pony, his shiny poop continued unabated… until someone decided to test it.

It was pure gold. Like the goose that laid the golden eggs, the pony that pooped the golden poops was now the most valuable and sought-after animal in the world, previously considered fictional notwithstanding.

It didn’t take long to hear the stories of attempted kidnappings of the poor pony. Then the threats, blackmail, offerings, blessings, pilgrimages and pronouncements of the Second Coming surrounding the poor pony with the golden poops. Crowds descended on the quiet farm like SWAT on a meth lab.

Unsurprisingly, the farmer was instantly liquid and given the key to the village with accompanying parade. Until more news came. Soon animals all over the world were depositing wealth and not just gold. Gemstones, silver, platinum, whole Faberge eggs, and in larger animals, full-sized rhodium bricks were left in their wake. Suddenly, every older man drove a Ferrari and young women everywhere took up Four H instead of Four D’s. Pets were given the front seat in the car and children and spouses happily took the rear. The deepest, darkest hovel in the bayou was suddenly sparkling and clean; fifteen rooms for the opossums, the smallest one still for Ma.

As you know, if your high school teachers actually quizzed you on your reading, that the sudden greed and shift in social classes did not work out so well. Riots, massive cult suicides, violent coups and general lawlessness ran rampant. Money began to lose its value as did human decency. It was entirely predictable though no one predicted it.

Once lawfulness and cooler heads prevailed, as I’m sure you know, many of us were sent to the newest wealth-creators, the prison towns. Any less desirable town was just walled in and turned into a massive maximum-security prison. You live next to one if you’re lucky enough to not have to live in one, they’re everywhere. They’re not that bad; still run basically the same way they always had… poorly. I’m just sad I have to live out the rest of my time until my execution in Kansas City. Kansas City, Kansas, not the one with the awesome barbeque. Oh well.

I shouldn’t be here but that’s what happens to us unlucky ones. Many people who committed crimes far more heinous than mine are free running around and running the country. I know for a fact that some of the mansions these free people are living in still have their rightful owners rotting in their basements. At least I didn’t knock off the last remaining Vanderbilt for a ruby-pooping hamster. I was only protecting what was mine.

I’m sure my neighbor was a nice person but it was her fault she was digging through my trash knowing it was mine. But, I guess I got caught up in the whole frenzy, and a little screaming and tearing of limbs later, and suddenly I’m the monster. She was the one with my cat’s litter on her dirty, thieving hands. Whatever. She’s gone now and I won. It’s hardly on par with some of the stories that trickle through here.

Digging through that litter, I didn’t realize yet that Chuck E. Cheese tickets really only held their value at their various restaurants or that they were only redeemable for Chuck products but for a minute there, I was rich. Besides, it was MY cat that pooped them out. Up until the moment I was told that the Chuck E. Cheese corporation wasn’t going to reimburse me their cash value, I had plans and one death was something I could live with….on my yacht, suckers!

In the end, no yacht and Kansas. A weird turn of events for me but it’ll be okay. I still have my cat and the Cheese tickets can be bartered for privileges. I’ll probably pass away quietly at a very old age due to the executional back-up and that’s something I can live with now. I don’t have many regrets. At least I didn’t murder my whole family for homemade Valentine’s coupons like my roommate.