The New York Times has a set paradigm where frequently, I am asked – by third parties – questions, questions. And I try to address them. I think I got some of that action with this one. Sometimes there are so many questions, I don’t have time. I wish I did. I enjoy interacting with smart people. Serious people. People with the gravitas of heavy lifting. The guy who stepped into this is from Nevada. Often, there are times when you reevaluate. Frame the failures. You will learn things. I was a fixer. In my thirties, I worked as a personal assistant for a billionaire. I cannot write his name because I do not care to have to deal with an NDA. Big Girl Trouble. One steers one’s way around. Okay. And they will come after you. It was an education.

This Guy made no sense to me. I put all my autistic stuff to work. Heavy masking. There were a lot of things to fix. The autistic focus is a laser beam. I love laser beams.

I can laser beam for months on any one project. Supposedly, it’s about the money. What goes around comes around. I met many billionaires. All of them, dangerous. Capitalism is a fraud. I organized political fundraisers for my own personal billionaire. What came around was a host of secret problems. Venereal disease was a problem. Sex workers coming in one door, and leaving out the back door. Five maids. I hired everyone. To serve one man. My real job was to see to it that my Billionaire was never caught at any number of boxes filled with fun things. I have news for you. It’s not about the money. It’s about the ability to pull the puppet strings. He liked seeing the little people suffer. It’s not about the travel. It was not about the food. It was not about two dozen cars. No one cared about him. He had no friends. No one loved him. Everyone he knew wanted something, and he could get it for you, or not. It’s a cliche to say the rich are lonely. They can be incredibly empty.

We assume they do not care about other homo sapiens. Because they don’t.

@Mike My life is not a plot. It’s not a book. It’s not a film. These are things I do for work. Work and living with a billionaire is another planet. They don’t feel things like normal people. They tend to be pretty good with executive function. They know how to put life itself into various boxes. Piece by piece. But where is the emotional intelligence. Emotional intelligence extends to other people. Empathy. I have never seen one iota of empathy from any of them. All of them are narcissistic. Everything is about them. Often, they are not the “businessman” they pretend to be. These people will forget you (and your name) the minute you leave the room. The super rich are scary. They never have enough. Most of them are quite useless. They have money, but sometimes life is about what skills you have. Life happens to the rich, too. A Rolls Royce can crash like any other car. Planes and gravity.

The rich have accidents as well. Exactly how does one man need a 100,000 square foot house.  A kitchen of gadgets he throws at the wall. The rich are infected with high school ideas. Tariffs would be one truly demented act of war. It’s America that is the laughing stock. I’m not sure all of this would mildly entertain excs from HBO. Mainly billionaires are dull. Ordinary even. Nerdy. HBO would show you and I, the door. I have been through most of them. Nihilistic tech cowboys are just one scene. This kind of book would make alcoholic agents very thirsty. Let’s do it. They are all corrupt.