Look at them. Down there. Look! Haha, see them squirm and struggle. *lights an expensive guitar, rationing my time between my glass of cognac and my cigar* Plebeians and proletariates! Ruffians! They dare intrude on us, the elite, the privileged! Mind you, my wealth is a result of my work and wits along. I've heard rumors you hear. Get closer, come one. Closer. Okay, listen up. *takes a puff of my cigar* I've heard word of a revolution. A revolution! Ha, a glorious revolution, an overturning of the wealth. Our wealth. To them, the dogs. They wouldn't know what to do with it besides getting rid of their fleas. I'll tell you what: Why should we be punished for our success? Is it our fault that they're poor? No! We are living in a capitalistic government, are we not? Damn, I'm rich, but my troubles seem to only be growing. *finishes drink, puts cigar in tray, and leaves* Sorry, I've been reading the Great Gatsby.