The Gabbler: Man Made of Money, this is so exciting! You must have the best life ever. I mean, I get that life isn’t all about money or whatever, but a new BMW definitely doesn’t hurt, know what I mean? And God, to never have to work and worry about money?! It’s pretty much smooth sailing, right man?

Man Made of Money: Listen, can you not call me that so loudly? And actually, I drive a ’96 Buick.

G: Ha!

MMOM: No, I’m serious. By the way, do you have any more of those little creamers?

G: Sure. How many do you take in your coffee?

MMOM: I’ll take all of them.

G: Wow, that’s a lot of cream, dude.

MMOM: Oh, I save them. Milk products are so expensive these days!

G: Okay, I get it.  You’re lying low. Keeping a low profile. I get that! Cruising around in the Buick, saving creamers. I bet your mansion is way out in the middle of some gorgeous deserted island, right?

MMOM: No, it’s not like that. I just can’t spend a lot.

G: But you’re made of money!

MMOM: Exactly. If you had to sell your hand for a car, would you do it?

 G: Of course not.

MMOM: Well, that’s why I bought a Buick. I wasn’t about to rip off my own hand for that. It’s just a car.

G: Wait – so you are literally composed of money? I thought that you’d just tattooed yourself green or something. Maybe you were going for an Avatar look? I hear that super rich people don’t know what to do with their money and end up doing crazy stuff like that!

MMOM: Yes, I am physically made out of money. As a result, I spend as little as possible – unsurprisingly. Plus, those Avatars were blue.

G: So, if you pull at your skin….

MMOM: I could rip off a few dollar bills, yeah.

G: Wow! May I?

MMOM: No! Asshole. Does peeling off a layer of skin to give a perfect stranger a measly dollar bill sound like something I’d volunteer to do?

G: Sorry, didn’t think about that. Gosh, that really makes you think twice before buying that designer handbag, huh?

MMOM: It does indeed. By the way, do you have any more of those bagels?

G: Uh, yeah. I’ll have them bring some more out. Question: how do you afford things if you can’t actually spend the money that you’re made of?

MMOM: Well, I get by on very little. When my hair falls out, I can get a few bucks here and there. Also – and this is going to sound a little gross – but my excrement is also, uh, composed of money.

G: DUDE! You literally shit gold?

MMOM: Well, I feel a little uncomfortable discussing the composition of my fecal matter with you, but since you ask, no, actually, mostly pennies. Which is why I really scrimp and save.  I waste nothing.

G: Not even your own waste! (Drum roll, please!)

MMOM: Very funny.

G: Why don’t you just get a job?

MMOM: I tried, and for a while, everyone hired me because they assumed that I was so successful that I’d make their company a ton of money. But they all refused to actually pay me because they seemed to believe that being made of money meant that I was already very rich. Plus, everywhere I went, my coworkers either harassed me, or just attacked me. I couldn’t take it. I was either fired or chased out of every job I’ve ever had.

G: So then what did you do?

MMOM: I was desperate. I signed up for welfare. Of course, I was rejected six times because of my condition, so I had to meet with them in person for several interviews before they believed that I was actually destitute. I get it, though. Man Made of Money on welfare is more than a little absurd.

G: How do people interact when they first meet you?

MMOM: It takes them a few minutes to realize what I am, but when they do, it’s pretty horrific. I nearly got my leg taken off recently – by a woman. I get that being a single mother is rough, but still!

G: How’s dating for you?

MMOM: Well, I have no trouble getting dates, because again, women assume I’m incredibly wealthy. And even when I take them out for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, they still seem to think I’m playing coy and testing them. But when I finally make them understand that I can’t spend my money, they usually just call me a “cheap green weirdo” or say, “This is worse than inflation!” and storm out. But I’m trying to stay positive.  I signed up for a free trial of Match.com recently and I’ve been talking with a nice woman who seems to be okay with my situation. We meet in person this Friday. Wish me luck!

G: That’s great news! Good luck! So, how do you protect yourself?

MMOM: It takes me a long time to trust anyone, honestly. I have very few friends, no close family. My own father took four of my toes when I was a kid to buy a fucking motorcycle. My mom was at her book club that night.

G: Well, you don’t really need your toes, do you?

MMOM: My balance is shit and I can’t wear sandals, but otherwise, I’m okay now.

G: Okay, I just thought of something! What about your tailbone? And appendix?! Vestigial structures? You don’t even NEED them!

MMOM: Oh, my parents removed those, first thing. I was about three at the time. But then the doctor tried to pilfer my left butt cheek, so my mom decided that we couldn’t trust doctors with a kid made of money passed out cold on the operating table anymore.

G: But how can people just take parts of your body like that?

MMOM: I mean, they get desperate. Think about it: mortgage payments, high college loans with spiked interest rates, credit card bills, the cost of food rising. Simply having more money seems to be the easiest solution. And then I walk by, literally dripping bills from my fingertips. It’s certainly tempting.

G: Wow. This really gives new meaning to costing an arm and a leg, huh?

MMOM: Ha! I’m pretty sure that phrase was coined by me back when I debated over whether to actually go to college in the US. Also, are you gonna eat that?