4 Ways To Manifest a Better Life Until Your Trust fund Kicks In

Three months is a long time to wait until you never have to worry about money again. Don’t worry! Follow these tips to live your best life until you turn 21 and join the 1%.

1. Practice Gratitude By Being Thankful For Your Shabby Tribeca Loft

The key to having a super amazing life is to be thankful for the life you have now. Sure, your apartment only has three skylights and your doorman isn’t cute but it won’t be like this in three more months. So look around at the Tribeca loft your parents bought you and say thank you, universe.

2. Visualize Your Future Outfit For Your Forbes Magazine Cover

Be specific if you’ll have bangs or not. Front bangs or side bangs? Tiffany earrings or David Yurman? Louboutins or a sensible Chanel flats ? This is your chance to show America what a young CEO who started with only a few millions looks like.

3. Meditate On Your Desires When Your Masseuse Asks For Time Off

While she’s talking about spending time with her family that she hasn’t seen three years, it’s your chance to really focus on what you want in life. Is it love? Diamond encrusted pizza? Harry Styles releasing doves whenever you enter a room? Do a little soul searching while you have the chance to think about yourself.

3. Practice Self Care By Fucking On Your Parent’s Yacht

Being anxious and not getting laid won’t get you your trust fund faster. In between worrying about if your future infinity pool will give you vertigo and what color should your jet’s carpet be, you’re going to be super stressed out. Get rid of that extra stress and bang your ex from prep school.

4. Be Generous & Share Financial Advice With Your Public School Friend

Reach out to that girl (Hannah or Anna?) who let you sit with her at lunch that day you visited public school. Share your knowledge of tax loopholes and the best beaches for your offshore accounts. When you share, you always get more back (except money).

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I Am The Christmas Roast Holding This Family Together

If you thought tradition and seasonal joy could keep your family together; you are utterly incorrect.It is I, Christmas Roast, that causes this home to fill with step cousins and your grandma’s new boyfriend. From every corner of the tri-state area, your family flocks together for me.

Imagine how amazing I will taste in just thirty minutes.

Is it thirty minutes because your mother said I was almost done forty-five minutes ago and your stomach is howling. She never seems to get the times right. Does she? Remember that time she missed your jiu jitsu belt ceremony? Don’t think of that. Think of me.

Aunt Helen’s mouth is full of my delectable meat that her annual racist tirade might be pushed back to New Year’s Eve. She takes a sip of Merlot and mentions immigration before biting into me and forgetting her inane point. Congratulations, your new boyfriend isn’t afraid of your family. May you savor this harmonious moment, no matter how brief.

Ah, cousin Peter, devours two servings of me before passing out in the garage. Full of my succulent meat he can’t continue eating anymore and he inches towards fatal heart disease. How lucky you are because he would have asked you for four hundred dollars for his “incredible business opportunity” for the fifth year in the row. You’re quite welcome.

Your father inhales three servings of me and starts to choke just as he inquires why you haven’t received an undergraduate degree in six years. You almost mumbled “dropping out” before your mother had to give him the heimlich maneuver. Your father has forgotten what he was talking about and your charade as a promising student and dutiful daughter continues. For now.

Remember, it was I who brought you together and it is I who will tear you all apart. We grow closer to the end of dinner and you eye your Aunt Rita. Will she take the last cut of roast? She always looks out for herself and never sent you a birthday card. Or perhaps, your brother Cody will take me? As a growing boy and the only child your parents planned to have; he always feels entitled to the last cut of meat doesn’t he?

Enjoy the rest of your Christmas motherfuckers.