Johnnie Walker White

Two chauffeured limousines

A closet full of grandfather’s tweed

One Bottle of Johnnie Walker White

And a trust fund larger than Somalia’s GDP

A group of six tall, white, athletic, good-looking sons of Dartmouth is sitting in a fraternity living room, in January of 2014. The boys all have laptops on their laps and glasses of scotch at their sides. There is a fire cackling merrily in the hearth, almost as though laughing at every Dartmouth student who is not lucky enough to be included in this exclusive group.

With an explosive sigh, one of the young men stretches. Casually brushing his perfect blonde hair out of his delightful blue eyes, he looks around the room.

“Charles, have you finished that application to my father’s firm yet?”

Charles looks up, his mischievous green eyes reflecting the dancing fire.

“Not yet William. Would you mind passing over that bottle of Johnny Walker White label? I’m having trouble focusing.”

Grinning broadly and heedless of his privileged station in life, William casually tosses the partially empty 900 dollar bottle of liquor across the room to Charles. Charles catches the bottle one handed and pours himself another generous measure.

“Thank you my good sir. Your generosity is yet another example of your excellent breeding. It is just so difficult to find White label away from Mother and Father’s liquor cabinet.”

Clayton, distracted from his own applications to firms his friend’s father’s father’s , father’s father’s founded right after getting off the Mayflower, looks up as well.

“William,” he says as he stretches his perfectly tanned and muscled arms. “Do I actually need to bother submitting a cover letter for this application? I’ve water golfed on your father’s yacht more times than I can count.”

“Of course not Clayton. Just upload a blank document for that part. After you shot that 200 last August, I can’t imagine you’ll have too much trouble.”

With a grimace of exasperation Thurston rings a small bell next to his hand 3 times. William shoots him a surprised look.

“Thurston, what are you calling Jeeves for?”

“Jeeves can write these stupid applications,” Thurston says petulantly. “Let’s be honest, it’s not like any of this matters for us.”

“That’s a good point. I forgot none of the rules apply to us,” says William laughing. “Let’s get drunk before the thoroughbred races begin.”

By Johnnie Walker (and his brothers, Black and Red)