I don’t know about you, but I think this is the year to get rich. In the spirit of joining, after failing to beat, I have decided the road to riches for me lies in preaching the gospel of prosperity.
For years I have been labouring under the impression that getting rich, or as the politically correct prosperity preachers prefer us to say, getting blessed, was the product of a combination of a lot of hard work, lashings of good luck and the occasional dash of unscrupulousness. However, after decades of trial and error, I have decided that while the ingredients were correct, the formula was wrong.
What you need most to become filthy stinking rich — sorry, enormously blessed — is about 95 per cent of absolutely no scruples, a soupçon of good fortune and a pinch of hard work in the initial stages of planning your meteoric rise from accursedness to blessedness.
Some of us might also need to have a personality transplant, but that’s really a minor con in a future full of pros. I’m sure once the oodles of cash start rolling in, we can even buy a new personality.
In recent years, many of my fellow wannabe blessed Kenyans have given the pursuit of great wealth their best shot. They have tried all sorts of schemes, from quail farming to adding the magic four letter word, “matt”, to the name of every little shop they hope will grow into a massively successful chain of supermarkets. (Although, seeing how that played out for the original matt, maybe that’s no longer such a great idea).
The unscrupulousness needed to attain blessings that boost your bank account to multibillionaire status rules out the conventional Kenyan get-rich-quick methods, such as quail farming or adding the magic four letter word, “matt”, to the name of every little shop they hope will grow into a massively successful chain of supermarkets. (Although seeing how that played out for the original matt, maybe that’s no longer such a great idea).
Such methods only worked for the first few innovators, while the next few thousand copycats never really got off the ground.
So I think if I can combine politics and religion, I would be well on the road, as most Kenyans can resist neither a politician nor a preacher.
Based on an idea some friends and I discussed in a bar nearly 30 years ago, first I will lead a popular campaign against all brewers and distillers of alcohol and all manufacturers of tobacco products. My followers and I will hold pickets outside these businesses, but as they have pots of money, I will convince them that the pickets can disappear if they pay me off — a sort of protection racket.
With the money, I will start a new church called the Church of the Holy Environmentalist. I will convince the UN Environmental Programme to back me and help spread the gospel in the way the World Heath Organisation has spread the word against tobacco. I will work to convince green parties across the globe to promote the church in their manifestos, and then all I have to do is watch the cash come rolling in.