Root of All . . .

Money can buy one all sorts of things: it can buy you a supercharged Range Rover Sport, for example. It can buy flashy, oversized chrome rims with low-profile tires for said Range Rover. It can buy spirits by the shot, bottle, gallon, and/or keg of one's choosing, thereby facilitating one's need to purchase the services of a designated driver such as myself.

For all its apparent power and lust-worthy influence, however, money seems to be utterly helpless, incapable, and otherwise stupefyingly-unable to obtain certain important commodities. For evidence, one need look no further than the Range Rover's middle-aged owner; en route to his north Scottsdale home, no fewer than six times this gentleman let loose earth-shattering, underwear-soiling blasts of methane. Then, clearly proud of his achievement, each time he proceeded to snicker and giggle like a 10-year old schoolboy, causing his wife to turn a visible-in-the-dark shade of red.

When it comes to procuring even one iota of restraint, dignity or class, even the collective wealth of all the Earth's billionaires proves staggeringly impotent.