Sympathy for the devils

“‘There should have been more grouse on my grouse moor,’ says businessman” – headline in The Independent  online

Sympathy is running high for Alistair Erskine, rich purveyor of frozen seafood and smoked salmon, who’s found insufficient birds to kill on the moor he’s leased above the river Spey in Scotland. “Five years of hard shooting yielded just 180 brace,” reports The Independent, “a far cry from the 2,000 birds he had anticipated taking each year.”

“The day we lost Uncle Charlie.”
The birds themselves are unrepentant. “Aye,” they told this reporter (these are Scottish grouse). “We’ve built a network of underground burrows where we retreat at the first sight of men with guns. It’s not as if the laddie hasnae got enough to eat. Let him eat his own smoked salmon.”

Not enough perks in the park

Mr. Erskine isn’t the only 1%-er who’s disappointed in his perks. Word has reached this blog of a property mogul who’s demanding a refund after a recent visit to Yosemite National Park.

File:Thomas Hill - Yosemite Valley.jpg
O Capitan, my Capitan!
“You call those cliffs?” he snapped. “I’m building a tower block in Dubai that’s twice as high as Hell Captain!

“And the Mersey river was almost dry. When I complained to a ranger, he told me, ‘It’s the wrong season.’ What do seasons have to do with water flow? And how the fuck can you ferry across that thing? It’s barely wide enough for a canoe!”

[Editor’s note: Yosemite is home to El Capitan and the Merced river. The Mersey river has plenty of water.]

Pissed-off in Paris

No consideration for the VIPs.

A 25-year old social-media guru expressed her displeasure with the amenities in Paris. “The Eiffel Tower, like, just sits there? There’s no revolving restaurant at the top, and you have to, like, walk up a bunch of stairs and stuff? I mean, where’s the helicopter for VIPs?

“And don’t get me started on the food. Snails and goose liver and truffles made out of mushrooms instead of chocolate? And when I ordered French toast, which, hello, this is Paris, which is in France, the waiter just stood there going, ‘Ko-mah?’

“And the buildings are all, like, super old. You don’t see crusty old shit like that in Palo Alto.”

[Editor’s note: the waiter was saying “Comment,” which is actually a rather polite way of asking, “What the hell are you talking about?”]

When I come home to you, San Francisco, I want to be alone

And then there’s the investment banker who wants to buy San Francisco. “I have a big family, what with all the divorces and my mistresses and all. SF is perfect for us. It comes pre-gated; I just need to put armed guards on the bridges. And hell, who doesn’t want his own private cable cars?

“I’ll need some of these driver guys too.”
“I’ve offered California ten billion dollars for the place – almost a third of my fortune – and all I hear is, ‘The city belongs to everyone.’ Hey, my family needs to eat and shop and get our houses cleaned. You’re welcome to come in and work, just get the fuck out at the end of your shift. What’s not fair about that?”

An offer you can’t refuse

There are lots more stories like these in The Elitist’s Weekly, a magazine I just made up, along with everything in this post except for Alistair “Gimme more birds to kill” Erskine. But don’t let that stop you from subscribing! For a mere $5000 I’ll send you a year’s worth of issues. Throw in an extra $1000 and I’ll include your own personal story about what you feel entitled to, complete with illustrations from Wikimedia Commons. Including ones that aren’t in the public domain, which I feel I have every right to use.

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