Having just retired and with time on my idle hands, I want to give something back to society, to patch this fractious world up a wee bit.

Where to start? Save the whales? Bring back the woolly mammoths? Provide medical care for the working poor—and their children? Good causes all, but I decided to think outside the bleeding-heart liberal box, by starting my own bespoke charitable foundation.

The Society for the Welfare And Manumission of Plutocrats (SWAMP) will provide succor and largess to a hitherto overlooked minority group in our midst: the well to do, the wealthy, and the filthy rich (the three main gradients on the International Richer Scale). At one percent of the American population (give or take, but mostly take), these poor people (figuratively speaking) need our help.

Segregated and largely out of sight—typically they roam gated ghettoes and ultra exclusive private clubs—they are out of mind. But, believe me, they are suffering, bigly. I know; some of my best friends have more money than they know what to do with.

Hear me out: It’s not easy being totally flush. Don’t take my word for it; just ask any of the ultra rich, the One Tenth of One Percenters, assuming you can find one. You’d think they’d be happy as clams on medical marijuana. But, tragically, they are not.

No, my fellow stone-hearted conservatives, they are hopping mad from sunup to sunset, and beyond in some cases. They grind their teeth in their sleep something awful. Case in point, the leader of the free world: does he look happy to you? How many of us are waxing wroth at 3 a.m.?

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