As a man with a Porsche, I have a duty to those without. I represent for you the possibility of possibilities, and so I must maintain the appearance of happiness and importance, of someone you wish you were. It can be a burden, sure, but I knew what I signed up for. I must keep this shit-eating grin on my face, because if it disappears, so too does your idea of me, and any hope you had for yourself of a better life. You will quickly realize that financial success does not bring with it freedom from responsibility, but only a new set of problems, which incidentally usually involves money. The illusion is beneficial to us all. I am able to bask in self-importance while you set a lofty goal for yourself.

It’s exhausting, being ambitious. I drive and exhibit my vehicle so you can live with hope. You, a Corollaguy, a future lottery winner in your head. This would be setting a dangerous precedent, if it hadn’t already been set years ago. Years, even, before I too fell victim to the allure of a porscheman from the past, seeing my own forged aspirations in him, making me live my life for the goal of a Porsche.
The cycle continues, so it goes, and you too may take my place someday¹.

I wish you well in avoiding the trap I’ve set.

¹ [Editor’s note: For those still not following, think Tim Allen in The Santa Clause.]

October 4 – Liev Schreiber gets cautioned by a porscheman
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