Destruction of Wealth

Once every hundred years there was a festival called Destruction of Wealth where all the rich would have to come and stand outside their caves and all the surrounding peasants and pissants would get to walk right past their stuck-up cousins, loot their houses, and spit at them on their way out.

The spitting became more and more polite over the centuries as the rich cousins devised more and better ways to reap vengeance on the poor cousins during all the other 99 years if they looted too much or spat too bitterly.

Eventually, Destruction of Wealth became a national Centennial of Charity. The rich cousins would lock up their garages and daughters and best animals and put out big bowls of punch and large plates of graham crackers for the poor cousins, who wore their very best clothes to the event, clothes they had to borrow money from the rich cousins in one town to purchase at the stores of other rich cousins in another town.

The poor cousins entered the homes of the rich cousins, most of whom had made a point to be abroad, leaving mildly attentive servants and security personnel in their places. The poor cousins ate as much as they could and went home quietly, wondering how their families would survive, void of all charity, across decade after promiseless decade ahead.

Then it was suggested that reparations be paid. There would be a fund set up to honor the sacrifices of the rich cousins during all previous Destructions of Wealth. Prayer and self-floggings were to be general across the land. Some poor cousins went hungry for generations as a result of the compulsory tithing.

Finally, the poor cousins snapped. They rushed the guards at all the grand caverns of their wealthy but distant relatives. They looted their cement and pharmaceuticals, forcefully kissed their daughters. When they had eaten all the delicacies and drunk all the finest beverages their stomachs could hold and filled their arms and their pockets and their asses with all the valuables they could carry, they left, spitting upon the rich cousins, who could only stoop cowering at their own doorsteps.

As the poor cousins made their way back home to their blighted villages, laden no longer with care but rather with new found wealth and happiness, they felt forgiving, a little contrite, and could only imagine a brighter tomorrow for all the family.