Tingle - Living Inside My Own Butt For Eight Years Starting A Business And Turning A Profit Through Common Sense Reinvestment And Strategic Targeted Marketing

LIVING INSIDE MY OWN BUTT FOR EIGHT YEARS, STARTING A BUSINESS AND TURNING A PROFIT THROUGH COMMON SENSE REINVESTMENT AND STRATEGIC TARGETED MARKETING

By Chuck Tingle

It all started with a single moment, a tiny choice that would change my life forever.

Its funny how that happens, though, one minute youre walking down the street with a hot coffee in your hand, then next youre tumbling end over end through the air, the earth suddenly flipping through your field of vision once, twice, three times.

The next thing I knew, there was nothing but darkness.

People ask me if I saw anything strange during those moments I was hovering between life and death, and Id like to respond that I saw visions of my family, or even angels. Unfortunately, thats not quite the way things happened. Instead, I felt a profound sense of disconnection; no body to exist in, but a frightened mind simply floating for what seemed like forever in the eternal blackness.

They say that the man who hit me with his truck was going forty over the speed limit. With that much force, its even more of a miracle that I survived, landing on the other side of the street and breaking almost every bone in my body. I had a punctured lung, and severe damage to my liver, lungs and spleen.

But modern medicine is a force to be reckoned with, even more so than the force of a speeding truck, apparently.

Eventually, I found my way through the empty darkness and was reunited with my body in a hospital bed.

This is where the nightmare really began.

The driver who hit me was uninsured, and Im not wealthy enough to afford health insurance for myself. I suddenly discovered that I was a struggling student with five million dollars in hospital bills to my name.

I finish explaining this all to the barista before me, and he nods.

Did you hear that last part? I question.

Uh, yeah, the man says, dividing his attention between me and the next drink that hes struggling to prepare.

So what should I do? I ask him. Im drowning in debt.

The barista hesitates for a moment. Im sorry, I wasnt really listening, he finally admits.

I let out a long sigh and throw my hands up, taking my coffee and walking back over to the table that Im posted up at today. Im not trying to be an asshole, but these days Ive found my fuse to be unreasonably short. Life can only stab you in the back so many times before you just give up completely. I feel like the shell of my former self, the aches and pains of that horrific car wreck still flowing through my bones with every tiny movement.

I sit down and sip my coffee, staring at the laptop screen before me. Rows and rows of job listings are displayed across my computer, but all of the links have been visited already. While there are a few jobs here that Im more than qualified for, none of them will provide me with what I actually need; a lot of money, very quickly.

I let out a long sigh, knowing that the coffee shop is about to close but not wanting to head home. I just cant take another walk past my apartment mailbox. I can already sense the guilt that it will crush down onto me as I try my best to ignore the bills that are literally overflowing from within.

Theres a sudden jingle as the coffee shop door opens up and someone steps inside.

Im sorry, were closed, explains the barista.

Before he can say another word, however, the man who entered steps up to the counter and throws a fistful of money into the baristas face. It flutters around the shop in a flurry of green, drifting this way and that, until settling all around them. One of the bills lands at my feet and I look down, immediately noticing that its a crisp hundred.

I reach down and snatch the cash up as quickly as I can.

How about now? the mysterious man asks the trembling barista.

The barista sweeps the money across the counter towards him and nods. I think we can fix up one more drink, he stammers.

The mysterious, wealthy man is dressed to the nines, looking sharp in a green velvet suit and matching top hat that are both covered in dollar signs. He is wealth personified, a perfectly groomed gentleman holding a golden cane that is topped with a dollar sign.

Id like four of your most expensive drinks, the man in the top hat commands.

The barista nods. That would be the our imported eight percent chocolate milk, sir.

Very well, confirms the rich man.

I watch as the barista quickly prepares the beverages and then hands them over. The rich man takes his drinks and pours three of them out into the garbage, asserting his wealth and dominance, and then sips carefully from the last.

This is very good, the rich man remarks with a smile, your tip is parked out back, the keys are in the ignition.

Whoa, says the barista, struggling to find his words, I dont know what to say.

Say nothing, suggests the rich man. Suddenly, he swivels on his heel and heads for the door, a long green cape flowing behind him.

Immediately, Im hit with the realization that this is a once in a lifetime moment, my path crossing with financial greatness at a time when I need it the most.

Wait! I shout out, leaping from my seat.

The man is already gone, but I chase after him, running out in the parking lot and frantically searching for a glimpse of his luxurious green suit. Its hard to miss, as a helicopter lowers down from the night sky above and extends a staircase to the cement.

Hold on! I cry, running after him and screaming as my voice is drowned out by the whirling helicopter blades.

The rich man takes his first step up the staircase and then halts, hearing my voice and turning around to face me.

Please, I pant, finally reaching the man, I need to know your secrets, how did you make all of this money?

In this moment, something confusing happens. The mans gaze is furious at first, but as his eyes move down my toned body they begin to change, flooding with a deep emotion and reverence. He stops completely when he reaches my ass.

Youre sitting on a gold mine, you know that? he informs me. Literally.

I am? I question.

Come on, the rich man throws his head back.

I follow him up into the helicopter as the stairs retract behind us, folding up into the vehicle and then disappearing completely into its undercarriage. When we reach the top, I fully expect the find myself in a bare bones cockpit, my ears assaulted with the powerful hum of spinning chopper blades. This couldnt be farther from the truth, however.

When the helicopter door closes behind us, all of the sound disappears completely. We are in a small but opulent living quarters, with a fireplace, some couches, and even a large, flat-screen TV. The only way that I can tell Im still in a helicopter is by looking out through the large windows on either side of the aircraft, which now display the dark landscape below as it gets smaller and smaller, drifting away from us while we rise.

Come, sit! offers the man as he flops down onto the couch in front of his roaring fireplace.

This is amazing, I gush.

Right, right, the man says, clearly understanding how wealthy he is and not needing a reminder.

I walk over and sit down next to him.

I am Sir Barkono Shibbery, but you can call me Barko, the rich man explains.

Travis, I tell him.

Well, Travis, I know a good investment when I see it, Barko continues. Its how Ive gotten to where I am today; solid, common-sense butthole investment.

Butthole investment? I counter, not quite sure what he means by this strange, new term.

Did you know that the most profitable place to run a business is inside the body of a handsome man? Barko questions. Specifically, inside of his butthole.

I shake my head. I didnt know that, and I dont know if I believe it.

Barko throws his arms out. Then please, explain all of this!