Yesterday, I swallowed a nickel. I had my vitamins in my pocket, took them out, swallowed them and felt something metallic going down my throat. From that moment on, I became a nickelodeon.
Aside from increasing my personal net worth and disposable income, I spent an uncomfortable day while my personal deposit worked its way through my stomach and intestines.
The doctors assured me that I’d have a full return on investment at the end of the business cycle and in God’s sweet time. What goes down must come out. (Speak of waiting for the penny to drop!)
At that point I’d have my treasure magically appear at my feet. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no risk to take.
My tail then became the butt of jokes, my neighbor asking me, when the payout arrived, to tell him whether it landed heads or tails.
My wife wants to put on my tombstone: “Was it worth it?”
I’ve become a perpetual battery and wonder if I can now tune into higher-dimensional beings. Maybe I can hear the music of the spheres.
Until then I remain my own piggy bank. Maybe I should leverage my original investment or float a Ponzi scheme if I could figure out how to capitalize on that investment or spread the joy.
Meanwhile, I remain a nickelodeon. Put another nickel in and I’ll sing you a song.