“I’m Swipin’ Sexy Back”

22 Sep

Despite previous Socialist musings, I would like to take a moment to lust over the Amex “Black-Card,” officially marketed as the Centurian Card.  Does anyone else suffer from a class hard-on, every time you swipe that sleek,  Titanium? I do. 

With “no personal spending limit,” the Black-Card is something fantastical, the consumer equivalent of  Willy Wonka’s “Golden Ticket.” You could probably kill someone with its Titanium edge to the jugular, and still get a Personal Concierge to clean up the blood (full benefits listed here, *notice Carnage Privileges).

For those of you who do not handle thirty credit cards a day, the first thing you’ll notice about the credit card is its weight, a heft worthy of the $250,000 requisite.   One of my co-workers Anika, who is from New Zealand, encountered her first  Black Card, tonight.  Her response, was much like mine: sensual.

“Oh my god, feeeeeel this,” she said.  

Anika then began to smell the card, as if inhaling its metallic scent, might transfer the cardholder’s funds into her personal checking account. And she didn’t stop there. Anika kinda started to kiss it, like a young bride-to-be might kiss an engagement ring (or other things).

It’s no surprise that men flash them about like an expendable penis –a black one, nonetheless–.  If the nebbish cardholder at table 32 had seen Anika’s response, he just might have been able to swipe his way into some Elite Status Kiwi.

Later in the evening I opened a check presenter to find my own Golden Ticket.  I wondered what would happen if I swiped my ass with it? What would happen… Might I turn to gold? And so I tried –just between the pants, not the flesh mind you–. No luck. I guess not even Midas could afford the $5,000 joiner fee.

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