My name is Rick. My friends call me Slick Rick. I am one of America's great success stories of all time. This is my story...
I am a self-made millionaire. I saved and made Good Investment Decisions.
I am so damn good at investing that I turned one nickel...
...into a thousand nickels.
In the mid-90's I started a dot-com investment firm so that people like you could invest money "on line". Bet you wish you thought of that!
This is my staff. You can tell from this photo they are in the middle of making some Real Hard Business Decisions.
This is my personal secretary. She can type Real Fast.
This is James, my personal bodyguard. He is one "bad mofo".
James is also our corporate lawyer. Don't mess with James. He will whip your ass on the street and in the courtroom.
We hired Dwayne to handle Small Jobs and other menial tasks. So far he hasn't totally fucked up everything.
I'm pretty sure Dwayne lied on his resume and "faked" some things on the job app. I'm having James look into it.
We had a totally killer Company Party. We played a Gambling and Handcuff game.
Barb from Accounting swallowed a whole bunch of Mike-n-Ikes.
These are some interns that got a Little Bit Crazy with some cake at the company party. Pretty sure some crackhead put XTC in the frosting.
The following Monday James made us all sign some non-disclosure documents about the company party. "This is to protect our privacy, okay?" he said. You better believe we listened carefully to what James Had To Say.
I'll bet you can imagine what Barb is talking about here.
Everbody was Breathing A Whole Lot Better after we signed those documents. whew! "Where do you want My John Hancock?"
James is trying to look Really Smart and Thoughtful in this picture. Don't tell him I said that.
"I heard that, Rick. You're dead meat you skinny punk."
"Just kidding, motherfucker. I'm your bodyguard, man! Chill."
James doesn't smile a whole lot except when he's on the phone. And he's the only dude I Know, that can wear running shoes with a suit. Motherfucker!
I have to admit, James is One Thoughtful Motherfucker.
James is probably just admiring the view from my office.
This is Dan, our Chief Technical Guy. He's really fucking smart about computers and whatnot.
I put Dan in charge of all technical decisions. He just calls shots and tells people what to do.
Dan has ONe Problem. He gets a little freaked out when he sees his reflection in the Big Conference Table. He calls it his "visiting enchantment." This is what too much Dungeons-n-Dragons does to a person.
This is Steven. We had to let him go last week.
Steven could not even follow one simple Stinking chart on the Whiteboard. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! "Yes, Sales are supposed to go up," Barb patiently explained over and over with her fake smile of pure ice. The whole thing was unbelievable.
I had Dan do the Dirty Work and deliver the Bad News to Steven.
"Easy come easy go, huh, motherfucker?"
Let go of my hand before my ghetto side breaks free on you, MF.
Meanwhile, I had Dwayne keeping busy tallying up my lunch receipts. Stonehead.
I'm pretty sure Dwayne smokes a lot of weed or something. I might tell James, as he says, to "whup that Boyz ass!"
And you better believe it when you see James twirl these Bad Boys around! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
This is my car. I could only get a shot of the back because I drive it So Goddamm Fast.
This is my rock star parking spot. You better believe that this is Off Limits to everybody but me or you will be receiving a courtesy call from James the Attorney.
You guessed it: My Yacht. It's called "The Vessel". We're going to do some BBQ-ing on it today.
James has positioned his bodyguard crew Forward, Amidships, and Aft. These guys are so covert, you won't even realize you're chatting with one of these dudes 'til It's All Over and you're face-down in the punchbowl.
The Captain of the Vessel is a Real Knockout and can steer the boat with one foot. Hot Damn!
Mmmm. Brats on da grill. Booyah!!!!
Because I'm a rich mofo that means I like to Race Cars just for fun. That's me #50 doing about 280 MPH. And each gallon of racing gas is pure Rocket Fuel at about $20 bucks per liter. Eat my Exhaust, fools.
Here you can see I'm totally smoking Yellow Car #7.
"FF" is my racetrack nickname. You guessed it: It stands for Fuckin First!!! Bitches!!!
Because I like speed that means I like to get around Fast. My private corporate jet goes faster than hell. Faster than the Speed of Thought. Can't touch that, bgates.
Your cities and towns look pretty small from my big corporate jet.
Sometimes I take the controls of my jet myself. I usually take her up pretty high because it's the only way I can make James lose his cool.
One day we had some "engine trouble" and had to bail the flight and splash down into the Pacific using our Escape Pod. I made sure that our parachutes had cool racing stripes.
It was pretty exciting. As you can see the escape pod floats All By Itself. The Navy Special Forces had to fly all the fuck out and pick us up. Who paid for that? You guessed it! You and your Uncle Sam.
Because I make million$, that means I Know How To Party and have thousands of friends to prove it.
I have enough friends and acquantances to fill at least a whole stadium. Maybe more.
And so that's exactly what I did. I filled a stadium and invited U2 and the Rolling Stones to play my birthday this year. Bono yelled out, "Rick is the greatest Mofo of all Time!!!" and everybody started cheering Real Loud. "More! More! More!"
At the end of the concert, each person in the stadium let loose a balloon. I think someone said there were about 2-million balloons released that day. The whole entire sky was filled and The Sun Was Blocked Out.
Day turned to Night and all the tribes in Africa were freaking out Bad because the Sun was blocked out.
People were driving around in the daytime with their Lights Turned On!
The next day the Sun was back in the sky, but bird migration got totally fucked up. They thought it was time to fly south. Dumb birds!!! When will they learn?
At some point soon I'm going to have to deal with Dwayne. James is already calling it "D-Day" because he's going to totally kick Dwayne's skinny white ass all the way to the moon.
"What the fuck are all you people doing in my office??! Get the fuck outta here."
Poor James is not meant for desk work.
This was the last straw. You can bet I was pinging James with instructions at that very moment.
"Get off the phone and bring up Outlook calendar. Which conference room is Dickweed in?"
After a day like today my crew is getting pretty dang hungry. "What the hell," I say, "I'll tell Chili's to deliver EVERYTHING on their menu up here to the 90th floor."
You're not telling me that this isn't looking totally excellent.
My names Rick. I'm a rich bastard.
I have a house on the coast. This is the stinking view from my stinking bathroom.
