Sudden Poverty Syndrome

If you've watched any television lately or listened to the radio talkshows, you may have a heard a little something about a terrible new affliction sweeping the nation that psychologists are calling "Sudden Wealth Syndrome." A condition growing more and more prevalent as the bonanza of the internet and a bullish stock market is turning thousands of ordinary, innocent Americans into Milionaires--practically overnight. Will the suffering never end? Regular Joes like you or I, blindsided by the gravy train--BAM! I know, I know--a little piece of me dies when I think about this kind of human suffering--especially when it strikes the young--it just breaks your heart.

But today we're going to talk about a different kind of syndrome, a syndrome that doesn't make all the talk shows, or the glamorous news programs. No, you won't hear Jay or Dave, making funny little jokes about it--but it's every bit as real as "Epstein Barr," or any of those other fancy syndromes. Good readers, I'm talking about "Sudden Poverty Syndrome." An ailment as common as Britney Spears, that affects us all, young or old, man or woman, black, white, brown, yellow and . . . beige?

"Sudden Poverty Syndrome" is a baffling nightmare of a disease that can strike anywhere at any time. My wife, for example, falls prey to this silent menace, and it's onset is as frightening and sudden as a bolt of lightning. Everything can be going along just fine, "la dee da," then BOOM it strikes. "Hey honey--whaddaya say we call a sitter for the kids and go out for dinner and a movie," I'll suggest. "Oh my God are you some kind of freakin' imbecile? (this is the disease talking). "Have you looked at the checkbook, lately? Can you say fi-nan-cial ruin. I hope you like Top Raman, Mr. Breadwinner, Ôcause that's what we'll be having for dinner for the next three months. And I've got a great movie for you, it's called the Lion King. We'll just watch that again and make believe everything is just ÔMakoona Matadda.' (This is where she goes into her crazy jungle dance.) ÔMakoona Matadda, Hell, our kids are way too hung up on food anyway. And whatever you do, don't feel guilty about that new CD you bought--we'll crank it up and listen to it while we're foraging in the woods for supper. Rock and Roll--wheeooo. Maybe if we turn it up loud enough you won't be able to hear the anguished cries of your starving children?"

Happily, SPS is an affliction that is just as suddenly cured. I've found that salvation can come as easily as three little letters--QVC. SPS is no match for QVC, especially if your spouse has a Q card. A family who is one moment on the brink of extinction, can suddenly be "livin' large." All it takes is a good deal on a quilt. QVC is to SPS, what Krypton is to Superman--it must bow before it's supreme power.

But there was no QVC when I was a kid. There was no stopping the horrific onslought of SPS back in those days. "Excuse me, what did you say--you want a bicycle for your birthday? No problem, I'll just get a night job and your mother can take in laundry. That way you can peddle your happy little ass around the neighborhood without a care in the world, there pal. Happy Birthday dear selfish-little-bastard, Happy Birthday to you. You wanna know what, Evel Kneivel--when I was a boy, nobody had a bicycle. There was only twenty seven dollars in the whole goddamn country. The only kid who had a bike when I was your age, made it himself out of sheep bones and barbed wire, and he got run over by a tractor. Is that what you want, Birthday boy? You want to fertilize the soil--would that make you happy, Easy Rider?"

By this, I certainly don't mean to belittle the hellish plight of those suffering from "Sudden Wealth Syndrome"--everybody sucking-up to you, treating you with respect? I don't know how you cope.

Perhaps the saddest and most common victims of SPS are bosses. Oh it hits them real sudden-like. "A raise?" they'll exclaim like lunatics, " Yea, that'd be great. Why not? --just because I've been operating at a loss for the last five months, shouldn't stop you from driving the stake any deeper into my heart. Speaking of driving--how about a company car while I'm at it, y'like Beamers?" How do you spell Beamer anyway? BMer?

Certainly no one is immune from this strange kind of instant destitution--in fact toward the middle of this month most adult Americans will experience an acute case of SPS. It's no coincidence that SPS rhymes with IRS. ("Instant Ripoff Syndrome," "Insufficient Refund Syndrome," there's got to be a joke in there somewhere.) Ironically, those fortunate few who qualify for a refund check, will only find themselves instantly snared in the agonizing clutches of the dread "Sudden Wealth Syndrome." You've got money to burn, boy--what'll it be? No one makes it through unsyndromed my friend. Forget about it--they all want your money, Including me--you haven't bought my book yet have you? You chintsy bastard. If there's one time you should fight SPS with all your heart, mind and soul, is when you see that Boneman Book on the counter. Stand strong dammit and fight, fight for all your worth and shout out, "Sudden Poverty Syndrome, go screw yourself. I've got some funny shit to read."