Little Ms. Perfect Breasts floated into the room on diamond heels, looking like a sort of fairy-tale princess with her long violet gown that cost sightly more than the monthly income of a third world country. Artificially enhanced and proud, she was a plastic surgeon’s wet dream. Her cheekbones raised a few millimeters, her nose straightened, her lips fluffed, and her breasts elevated and rounded, pointing right in the direction of whomever had the honor, the utter privilege of speaking to this mystical plastic figure. Everyone enviably congratulated the Old Man for owning this majestic creature. The Old Man, eighty years of age, took these complements with a composed sense of glee for he spent large sums of money on this beauty, but of course, everyone knew that.
Little Ms. Perfect Breasts stood in the middle of the room, her nose in the air, she watched the people around her who whispered, and pointed at her perfect form. The Old Man raised his hand, and everyone was silenced.
“I welcome you all to my humble manor,” The Old Man said knowing very well that there was nothing humble about his home “Tonight, we shall see who will be the lucky man who would get the chance to take home this lovely little trophy right here.”
He pointed at the the violet princess in the center of the room, and the men -who stood in a circle around her clapped cheerily.
“We shall start the bid at five million dollars!” The Old Man boomed.
And on and on and on it went in this materialistic world of ours, in which the worth of a human being is measured by how much money said human could spend, by how much valuable objects said person could collect, and by how many other human beings this person could own. It is a material world, children, it is a world of piggy banks, but the piggies are high security vaults, and little Timmy would drop a ruby inside, not a mere old coin.
And on and on and on it went.