Meet Rich White
A Star is Born
It all started on July 4th 1954, when I came sauntering out of my mother's well-worn birth canal and into the small rural town of Lebanon, Kansas. I was warmly welcomed by my father and my 27 brothers and sisters, who took me back to the family's quarter-acre potatoe farm and promptly put me to work.
Life was tough in those days, and the White household was bereft of luxuries like Porn and Game Boys. What we lacked in entertainment, though, we made up for in hunger. We fought constantly over the farm's meager yield, and there was never any extra for sale. While my father may have been an incredibly inept farmer, he nonetheless instilled in his children a deep sense of the importance of family. A day never passed that we did not gather together in the tiny family room and share the days tales, a selection of bible passages, and a single potatoe. I have not yet completely forgotten those wonderful times.
Eventually, though, each American man must leave his mother's bosom and venture out into the world to sow the seeds of his future reward. I was no exception, and at the tender age of ten I left the family home forever and boarded a train bound for California. The world I stepped into when I arrived in LA was something for which my rural upbringing had left me wholly unprepared.
It was 1964 and there was something magical in the air. Beatlemania had climaxed, the Kennedy menace had been neutralized, and the immutable threat of thermonuclear annihilation was alive and well in the nightmares of every American. In addition, there was a vibrant youth culture built on 10 minute guitar solos, intravenous drugs, and anonymous sexual encounters. During my six years in San Francisco, I learned the importance of tolerance and open-mindedness, values that inform my beliefs to this day.
My entrepreneurial spirit next led me to New York City, where I planned to take Wall Street by storm. Upon arrival in the Big Apple, however, fate intervened in a big way. I received terrible news via telegram. The family farm had burned, claiming the life of my father and leaving my mother in a coma. Thankfully, my siblings had been spared in the fire; the preceding years of drought and subsequent famine had resulted in their being eaten.
I hurried off to Kansas, where I assessed the situation, unplugged mom, and tied up a few loose ends. At the funeral, I was approached by an old man, who turned out to be Issac White, my estranged grandfather. It seems he had come to mend fences with my father, only to find that tragedy had made that impossible. He was overjoyed to see me, being his only living relative, and was determined to take me under his wing. It seems that Isaac managed a banking empire in New York and decided that providing for me was his way of assuaging his guilt over his treatment of my father. Awesome!
Anyway, when we got back to NYC, Grandfather got me some new clothes and a job. He enrolled me in a prestigious private school, and then in the best private universities in the world. Life was pretty good.
So let's fast forward a bit: Issac dies. I get his fortune. I get used to his fortune. I live the American Dream. It's just like a Horatio Alger novel, except with a different ending. My story ends with me as President, hopefully forever. I know this is a lofty goal, but I also know that I'm rich enough and white enough to achieve it. But no man is an island, and so I have assembled a crack team to assist me. Let me introduce you; Sound Off!
- Ri˘h White: Yours truly. The man with the plan (and the cash). Why am I listing myself as a team member? Because I love myself, that's why.
- Peggy White: My lovely wife. Not much to say about her, really. I guess I love her.
- Anselmo BelGrande: My faithful Campaign Manager. He's been with me since Oxford, and he is perhaps the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. Strategically brilliant and darkly handsome. He is the rock upon which this endeavor is built.
- Wolf: My head bodyguard. His German heritage gives him a capacity for brutality that is awesome to behold as well as super-helpful! He maintains security wherever I go, and also commands a brigade of White Shirts that do my bidding and enforce what needs enforcing. He doesn't speak, although he sometimes mutters. Also, he doesn’t have a first name, which is odd.
- Consuela: My Hispanic maid. She is loyal. That's about all I can say about her, since I pretty much pay her to stay out of my sight. She's good people, though, and having minority employees helps reinforce how I'm all about equal opportunities and stuff. Also, she may not have a last name.
- R.J.: Rich Junior, my boy. He's everything I am, and more.
- Butch: He's my other son. He's good too, but somehow not quite good enough.
- The Girls: My wife's children from her first marriage to an embarassing tool of a man. For some reason I can't remember their names right now, though.
- “The Donald:” Don Siegelmann, my lawyer. He's my Jewish college friend, and he has all of the strange and wonderful traits that are genetically programmed into his people. He's also my doctor, banker, and talent agent. Mazel Tov!
- Pepper Page: My hard-working secretary. She's not much to look at, and that's why Peggy hired her. I tend to take advantage of things when I'm in a position of authority, so she thought it best to get someone a little bagworthy. If reliablitly were looks, though, she'd be Keira Knightley. Of course, reliablity isn't looks, looks are, so she's not Keira Knightley. She is bullemic, though, so there's always a chance I guess.
- Dr. Khan: My extremely talented doctor, who tends to me with unflagging devotion. I might not know the names of all the things he's been pumping in to me, but I know they work and that's all I really care about.
- Ri˘h White: Once more, for good measure. He's really the only one you need to remember.