Imagine living a simple life in an adorable, cozy home that you can easily move from place to place. The cost is low, the upkeep is easy, and you can focus on the essentials. You’re empowered to live your minimalist dream and enjoy all the best things in life, all in the 80 square feet offered by a tiny home.

Pretty good, right?

Now imagine that you’re a steel magnate. The year is 1884. Things are going pretty fucking well for you, what with the railroads and the skyscrapers and industry and everything. You live in a big-ass mansion with a hedge maze and servants and, like, fifty bathrooms. It takes four and a half minutes to get from your garage to your bedroom.

Which dining room do I want to eat it in today?

It’s so goddamn big. There are rooms you haven’t been in before. Broads lose their minds when they see this place. There’s a buzzer on the gate and people have to buzz in before they can get to the front door and if you don’t like them you just tell them to piss off.

That kind of kicks the shit out of the tiny house, doesn’t it?

Millennials all across the country are finally coming to their senses and realizing that living in a crate with windows makes you an idiot. Yeah, have fun cooking quinoa and lettuce on your one-burner stove. I’m spit-roasting an entire side of beef that’s been marinating for 3 weeks in a quarter-vineyard of Cab Sav. While I’m turning it, I’m gonna decide which dining room I want to eat it in today. Probably the one that has all the priceless Renaissance paintings of fancy ladies with their titties out.

Or maybe the one that’s just lion heads everywhere.

Oh, and here’s something: have you ever seen a tiny house with a moat? Didn’t think so. It’s no trouble putting a moat around a mansion. People have been doing it since castle times, at least. Mine's filled with crocodiles. Sometimes I want to go swimming in it, so I have to kill all the crocodiles first. I just get new ones when I’m done swimming. It’s kind of a pain in the ass but it’s also a part of the whole experience.

Pipe down, soy boy, I know what you’re thinking: “But how will I ever afford a palatial manor home on my meager Apple Genius wages? I have to live in a tiny house because of my tiny money!”

Listen close, I’m only gonna say this once: being poor is a choice. You are making the choice to not make $30k a month selling powdered gorilla extract. If you’ve kept up on any science in the last decade you know that this shit is legit and it's only getting better. Elon Musk uses it for his mind-training sessions. Seriously.

You can keep living in a box that is just barely good enough for Airbnb if you want. I’m gonna be getting blitzed in my house, the Circus Circus of houses, every night, and it’s all thanks to three little words: Powdered. Gorilla. Extract.

Another crappy thing about tiny homes is you always have to see everyone you live with. All the time. Because it’s pretty much just one room. Not really an issue when you make the switch to the baron lifestyle. I had a kid three years ago—haven’t seen him since. My wife texts me now and then to let me know he’s OK. Cool, whatever. I don’t really have a lot of time for that kind of stuff because ever since all of my free time is eaten up by research and training. The gorilla powder helps but still, it’s kind of a lot to keep up with.

So if you're ready to step up and live your dreams, ditch the cuck-style tiny house and join me in a Gilded Age palace.


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