I won’t be home when it happens.

Young Paul English stepped out of the house every chance he got.

His little brother Robert English seemed to delight in nothing other than rousing their mother into a rage.

Today he had turned the boiler off right before his mother was to bathe.

So young Paul English slipped on his expensive shoes and drove the family car to Panera.

Young Paul English went to college on the coast and skipped class every chance he got.

His philosophy professor seemed obsessed with teaching him right from wrong as if that wasn’t something people inherently knew.

Today, there was class discussion on organ donation.

So young Paul English slept in and went to the liquor store to make sure nobody ever wanted his liver.

Young Paul English stayed at work late every chance he got.

His boss seemed to give him more money every time he found a house to buy for the company.

Today, his girlfriend wanted to watch some stupid show about romance and sex.

So young Paul English sat in his office browsing Zillow in the suburbs of Austin.

Young Paul English scheduled his networking dinners as late as possible.

His politician friends seemed to be much more persuadable when they drank expensive wine.

Today, a young woman from Louisiana needed to be persuaded that her constituents hated the gay people who worked on coastal restoration projects more than they cared about the coasts.

So young Paul English ordered the caviar and texted his wife to find them a summer house in Canada.

Young Paul English invited the young interns to the networking dinners as much as possible.

His clients seemed to find that the interns add an attractive authenticity.

Today, his wife decided not to get botox—apparently she’s too young for it.

So young Paul English ordered tequila shots and fucked an intern named Oliver in the Motel 6.

Young Paul English flew as little as possible.

His friends at Boeing seemed to give the government better discounts on AH-64 Apache Attack Helicopters when they kept the FAA small.

Today, his wife finally got that face lift.

So young Paul English spent the summer in the tri-state area.

Young Paul English read the news as little as possible.

His friends on Instagram seemed to find it alarming. 

Today, a hundred Americans died in flooding. This week a thousand foreigners died in drone strikes.

So young Paul English remembered that everyone dies eventually, took notes on the new Bryan Johnson documentary, and read Walt Disney’s wikipedia page.

Young Paul English kept himself off social media.

His critics have found his name, and it seemed that they didn’t like what he’s been doing.

Today, they posted an AI video of him sucking the Prime Minister of the Apartheid State’s cock.

So young Paul English jerks off to an AI video of the Prime Minister of the Apartheid State sucking his cock. 

Young Paul English stayed inside as much as possible.

His fellow Americans seemed to have barricaded the streets of the city he loves so much.

Today, they set a Tesla on fire.

So young Paul English went to sleep knowing that these idiots need someone bright and intelligent, like him, to keep capital flowing. 

Young Paul English looked into his wife’s eyes as little as possible.

His wife seemed to think that they should sell their luxury apartment and move to New Jersey.

Today, their kids got stuck on the subway for an hour due to a flood.

So, young Paul English sent his kids to a boarding school in Pennsylvania and called his wife’s mom a bitch.

You see, Paul English knows that he won’t be home when it happens.

Hurricanes can’t catch him by surprise.

The mob won’t riot without giving him notice first.

And, he knows, for sure, that the bombs won’t drop before his boss gives the okay.

Paul English has had a few close calls, yes, he’ll admit.

His heart failed once, but he got a new one. 

He was held up once in Central Park, but he doesn't carry cash.

He thought about taking the Subway the same day as the blackout, but he got an uber instead.

He had to end his Californian vacation early because of the fires, but he’d already seen the redwoods.

He couldn’t visit Dubai because of sanctions on ‘arms dealers,’ but he dodged a warrant from the ICC.

His wife left him, but now he’s married to a model.

He only had to disown one of his children, but he’s still got another.

So:

Old Paul English will leave his house as little as possible.

His fortune will seem less infinite after they shoot up the New York Stock Exchange

That day an orange will cost a hundred dollars.

So old Paul English will keep his money in gold and a Remington shotgun pointed at the door.

But, I won’t be home when it happens.

I’ll be at Paul English’s door with a Zippo lighter and my life’s savings in gasoline.