So there was this chap in the 1800s, trying to make a dishonest living (Like the degenerate poorfag that he was) by stealing from the righteous and effluent, I mean affluent, merchants (The 1%) He worked day and night to make enough money for his family, but that just simply wasn't enough. He lacked the key factor for success. The thing that allows all great and rich folk to succeed above the unwashed masses.

He lacked Bootstraps.

So Mister William Turner Sr. decided that one day he would try to save up enough money to buy a pair of bootstraps, with which to haul himself up the ladder of success.

After many years of sailing across the seas at the behest of a rum-addled lunatic, they stumbled across the sought after goal of all working class scum. Money. With this stash of gold, Mister Turner purchased himself a fine pair of bootstraps with which to raise himself up from working class to at least middle class. But then, the villainous lower class scum saw someone trying to make a success of himself. They tied his boots to a cannon and kicked him overboard whilst the 1%er in charge of the ship laughed heartily.



But the bootstraps saved his life, he was able to pull himself out of the bottom of the ocean with 2 tonnes of cast iron indebted to his ankles by the sheer drive to use his bootstraps. He then made a fine success of himself with a small business and lived happily ever after.



Oh wait... no he didn't. He died at the bottom of the fucking ocean because it's not a fairy tale and magical fucking bootstraps don't exist.

The end.

Soo uhh, are you still rustled about that conversation that took place earlier?

Not rustled >.>

This was a joke from RC's thread about the poor lol.