A classy, understated letter to the 400 billionaires on Forbes magazine’s latest list of the richest Americans

Dear Handsomes:

Dear Handsomes:

Have you lost weight? No? Well, you could have fooled me because you are looking fine. Powerful. Strong. Virile enough to tear in half a phone book! (Mr. Gates, please substitute “phone book” with “cocktail napkin.”)

Just FYI, you’ve probably heard that money is the root of all evil – but did you know it is also the root of most cancer and some leprosy? Seriously, the stuff is toxic. Here, let me hold it for you.

No? Fine. But that doesn’t change the fact that society expects you in these trying times to donate a substantial percentage of your wealth to the less fortunate. Everyone’s doing it. But here’s the crucial information you need to know: curing fatal diseases is difficult, whereas it is relatively easy to cure my lack of a summer home.

Come on. As the 400 richest Americans, you have a responsibility to give back to your community. And technically I’m part of your community now that I’m hiding in the back seat of your car. (If the people from the collection agency call, tell them I’m in a meeting in your seatback pocket.)

What’s that you say? You don’t need me on the payroll because you already have Yes men who agree with everything you say? Wow, is that really all they do? Just agree? Because that’s an insult to sycophancy. I will agree with you and then punch in the larynx anyone who doesn’t. I will agree with you with an enthusiasm and terrifying berserker rage that will remind you of a lion on an arthritic wildebeest or Kirstie Alley on a cheesecake.

A special note to Mark Zuckerberg, the 24-year-old founder of social networking site Facebook. Congratulations on making your debut on the Forbes 400! Say, Mark: has anyone told you about the “hazing” ritual for rookies? It’s quite simple. First, under cover of darkness, you must sneak up and pelt Ted Turner’s house with Fabrege eggs. Second, you must hand over to me, Scott Feschuk, exactly $10-million in small, unmarked hookers. I don’t make the rules.

On to the big fish: Warren Buffet, you have $50-billion. That means you could, quite literally, buy me a number of times over. How many times? Let me get the calculator out here…  50 billion times. So why don’t you? Take me over. Upgrade me with a new suit, a fast car and a private Caribbean island. Then sell me for four times the price to Donald Trump. That dude will buy anything.

Mr. Buffet… can I call you Warren? Can I call you Daddy? I want you to think about this, Daddy: if you gave away $1-million a day, it would take almost 150 years to give away your fortune. Whereas if you gave away $1-million a day to me – your own son! – it would still take almost 150 years but I’d be able to buy a Hummer forged from solid gold and accessorized with the skulls of my enemies. Which would be awesome.

No? Then to Bill Gates, my last hope, I say: You have $57-billion. How much money is that? Well, if you took your fortune in hundred dollar bills and laid those bills end to end, you would give me a really great opportunity to grab a whole bunch of hundred dollar bills and make a run for it.

Do not try to chase me, Mr. Gates. You’re wearing orthopedic shoes and I’ve got a dune buggy waiting on the other side of that knoll. Checkmate.