How I Retired At 25 By Being A Burden To My Family
Leech your way to financial freedom.
Old folks tell me I’m too young and capable to retire at 25, which is ageist. I earned my retirement through many excruciating hours of mental gymnastics. Now I’m both a financial genius and the poisonous thorn in the side of people who love me unconditionally.
While most of my peers are lickin’ big wigs’ wingtips, my sugar daddy (also my real daddy) gave me his classy garden unit condo. It’s technically the basement of my childhood home, but it has its own private entrance: a window well with a trapped possum. There’s no bathroom in my condo and I’m fine with that. Retirement is a time to reconnect with nature.
My evenings are also far superior to a typical 20-something’s. Instead of leaving home to blow money at public nightclubs, I walk upstairs for a drink with my personal butler. I say, “Rufus, I’ll have one Manhattan, please. Go heavy on the vermouth like you used to.”
He responds, “Son, get a fucking job.” Old Rufus, always ribbing me! It’s nice to have friends like these in my twilight years.
Apart from shelter, health insurance was my next biggest concern, but the law says I can stay on my parent’s insurance until I’m 26. That’s why it’s so brilliant that I retired at 25. I’m a savant…
