It's been 27 days since protesters
began to valiantly occupy Wall Street, angered by the unbridled greed of
bankers and CEOs. They have rallied day and night for change, and as those rallies
spread throughout the United States, it seems that the establishment is just
now beginning to listen. What the winds of change will bring as a result of
these protests remains unclear. What is clear is this: another heinous evil has
gone virtually unnoticed.
Mere blocks from Wall Street, Park Place goes unoccupied. 357 Park Place is marked by a simple, ranch-style plastic house. There's a chimney. There are doors and windows (never open). At first it may seem docile or even friendly. But it is from the bowls of this tiny hell that real estate magnate Walter "Rich Uncle" Pennybags commands his empire.
Pennybags has long gone ignored by the establishment media, probably due to his generous contributions to them (coupled with illuminati hush money). But the atrocities that have been carried out in the name of Pennybag Inc. know no bounds. This is a man marked by not even a thimble full of decency.
Pennybags began his climb to fortune in the 70's, fresh out of college with $1500 in brightly colored bills at his disposal. He made his first purchase, Baltic Avenue, for $60. Not long after he financed a hotel on Vermont Avenue for a reported $100. The income generated through his commercial and residential property eventually lead him to buy the Pennsylvania Railroad for an undisclosed sum (speculated to be $200). Since then, his empire has grown to phenomenal proportions, reaching into all areas of commerce.
Over the years there have been several brushes with the law in regards to questionable business practices. In 1982, Pennybags was convicted of fraud under New York’s consumer fraud statutes after it was revealed that the condition of many of his apartment complexes was subpar. Tenants complained of non-functioning plumbing fixtures, holes in walls, and a significant rodent infestation. Bob Banks, an ironically named then-renter, remembers: “We were living in squalor. And he’s sitting in that comfy plastic house. It’s a fucking travesty, man. The little guy isn’t even given a chance card, anymore.”
Unfortunately, the conviction
didn’t do much good. Pennybags was in custody for a total of 10 minutes. This
consisted of a ride to the state prison, where jailers seized his possessions
and were searching his wallet when they came upon a card that dictated his
immediate release (for free). With their hands tied by the card, the state had
no choice but to let him go. Pennybags was released that day, with an apology.
“I have maintained, and always will maintain, that I run a business as clean as
my mustache”, he said at the time.
Today, Pennybags’ monopoly stretches far and wide. He currently owns a bulk of the real estate in Manhattan, pulling down thousands in rent. It’s been reported that he makes 500 times more than he pays a single one of his empire of employees. This is aside from his dealings in the railroad, which has also been heavily criticized for its lack of promptness and a policy that makes patrons pay to use the toilets. His colleagues, the Parker brothers, make a similar income.
Still, the Pennybags mansion goes
unoccupied. There is no one there with signs as he leaves in his top hat and
monocle or returns home at night, pulling up the drive in his completely
inconspicuous 1932 Ford roadster. There is no one singing on his lawn. There
are no peaceful warriors crying out for economic justice at Park Place. There
are no boots on the ground (aside from the silver boot statue he commissioned
Let this serve as a wake up call. The heinous misdeeds of Rich Uncle Pennybags have gone on long enough. Spread the word! From Saint James Place to Illinois Avenue, let it be shouted from the rooftops (even the ones he owns), so that all may hear. This is not a game. A monopoly of this sort, built on plastic and pink bills and the backs of the laborers, must end.
The choice is yours: either you continue to let evil run rampant, or you occupy Park Place.