Thanks for nothing, Mom and Dad. Except, I guess, for “bringing me to this Earth.” Wow, what an achievement. You did me a real solid by having that orgasm, didn’t you? Now I have to sit through at least eighty to ninety full years of this bullshit existence. Because yeah, you had to birth me into privilege, so that I might have access to the best health care to keep me alive, even when all I want is to have never been born. But you went and fucked that up for me real good, didn’t you? Now I have to be subjected not only to the utter insipidity of less rich people who are just jealous that I’m rich, that I won the birth lottery, but also to being born to a time when it’s never been less acceptable to be a white man. Oh sure, we still have power, but no one wants us to have it, and they’re not afraid to make that known. Not like they used to be. 

Why, Mom and Dad, couldn’t you have at least managed to “create” me in a time that might have better suited my color and gender? Even, Mom, if you had birthed me in, say, 1970, I would have been able to enjoy the heights of white male privilege and power in the 80s, 90s and 00s. Now, it’s nothing but sniveling and groveling, begging them not to throw stones at you just for daring to exist at all. They want us all extinct, you know. Nothing but a world of Black and brown men. And, by the way, are you supposed to capitalize “brown” now, too?—I honestly don’t fucking know. But I can guarantee any attempt of mine at “wokeness” is somehow wrong, that I’m better off not trying at all. It’s just more fodder for their mockery. In fact, I know they’d prefer it if I was an outright white supremacist; it better fits in with their us v. them narrative. They don’t want to “integrate” white men into their new dominance. Part of the “payback’s a bitch” philosophy, I guess. 

And from what I can tell, it has been. I can’t even try to flirt with a girl without her claiming some #MeToo bullshit. Give me a goddamn break. Like she didn’t plaster her face with all that makeup and buy those clothes just so a man would pay attention to her. But oh noooo, we can’t say that anymore. Because saying the truth is “offensive” now. A fucking hate crime, basically. So, once again, I must really thank you for nothing, Mom and Dad. Not even your wealth, which affords me the comfort of my latest BMW, my Ivy League education…even the job Dad just hooked me up with at Man Group (that’s right Man Group), one of the top hedge funds in New York. I’m going to be rich, just like you, Dad. And not because of anything I did, but because of everything that you did before me. Thanks for that. Thanks for making it possible for me to never do anything that might be considered valuable or worthwhile on this Earth, because its “validity” will always be questioned. Whatever I do, whatever success I might have, they will always say that it was because of my privilege. So yeah, I just really want to thank you for that.

And while I’m at it, why don’t I thank you for adopting my African brother—great PR move, by the way—who everyone automatically assumes is better than me just because he’s not white. I’m the monster, the white devil. Our yin and yang (that’s what they call me: the yin to his yang), ivory and ebony “shtick” has really done wonders for your reputation, while putting mine increasingly in the shitter. 

That’s why I decided to go viral on TikTok with that video of me shitting in the bathroom of my Waldorf-Astoria hotel room. Thanks for putting me up in that room, by the way. I don’t think I could have afforded a month’s stay there on my own. That I’ll admit. Anyway, it was a statement. Obviously. And it worked, didn’t it? Charmin offered me that endorsement deal, didn’t they? So whether you’re embarrassed or not of being the “Diarrhea Guy’s” parents, I’m making my own way in the world. Starting to get my own money, using my own…talents. You can’t deny that. Even though you made it practically impossible for me to do such a thing. Made it so that I’d be essentially handicapped for the rest of my life. Am I saying there aren’t a million other people—a million other non-white people—who wouldn’t trade their own life for mine, to get all the opportunities that have been “handed” to me? No, I’m not. I know there are. And I’d like to see how they’d deal with all the heat that comes with it. To be made to feel guilty all day, every day because my life “objectively” “rules.”

But still, I’m here to give thanks. So thank you so much, Mom and Dad. Without you, who knows what I might be in this world? Maybe I’d just be another loser peon complaining about how unfair capitalism is and saying humiliating, cliche shit like, “Eat the rich.” Who knows? Who really really fucking knows? I’ll never fucking know. Unless Dad’s company comes up with a way to experience “alternate lives,” or “parallel lives”—whatever the fuck. I’m sure maybe you can. You’ll probably sell it to the poors (that’s the middle class, I know) so they can at least “virtually” know what it’s like to feel rich. I’m sure they’ll think it feels fucking amazing. Maybe I would too, if I had to live how the other half does. Thank fuck I don’t. Thank you for making sure I never will. That I’m spared. 

Brent’s mother and father, along with the thirty or so other guests sitting at the ornately-set table inside the house in Bridgehampton, just stare and blink at Brent in something like horrified disbelief. Until finally, Brent’s father clears his throat and says, “Amen. Now let’s eat. This turkey’s getting cold.”