The last economic boom, people paid guys to score them coke and hookers. I was in high school at the time, but that's what I gathered from Bret Easton Ellis novels. These days, when name dropping has been replaced by gym dropping ("I was wondering, while I was on the Stair Master..."), rich people are spending their money to keep pleasure away from them. I know a guy who belongs to a gym that charges him extra for not going. And I've got a guy who keeps me from getting the phone numbers of hot, dangerous women. He's called my hairdresser.
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