You like money.
You hate money.
You never lose at Jenga.
You’ve fucked a calculator.
You’d let Bernie Sanders punch you in the face and consider it an honor.
Your parents and grandparents call you every time they can’t get on the internet. You never answer the phone.
You’re the first one on the dance floor at a wedding, Bar Mitzvah, or funeral. You’re okay at Jenga.
You named your dog Nietzsche and get angry when people ask why. You don’t believe money exists.
You invited Neil deGrasse Tyson to all of your birthday parties and don’t even regret when he shows up, drinks all the booze, and makes out with your mom.
You’re still in college.
You’re writing a 500 page novel about Jenga. You hate money.