Grease my palm

John had a self labeled 'poor pore'. 
He assumed that the pore had named itself that because it had no money. 
Probably because John was a poor pore owner and he'd never given it any. 
And the pore was very poor in math knowledge, and even poorer in multilingual language skills, so I couldn't get a job anywhere. 
So the pore retaliated by erupting in acne fueled acne explosions. 
And in revenge John, head of worldwide Social Security, decided that being poor meant you were an asshole, and that assholes deserved to be poor. 
So he invented the poverty spiral and sold it to the King of Denmark for a hundred and eighty bucks. 
Who then rented sections of it out to leaders around the world.
In exchange for no one really realizing that Denmark had a king.
Or that they didn't actually invent many of the pastries attributed to them.
Although when the paperwork came through John discovered the Danes secret shame. 
So he spent his one hundred and eighty dollars on an information gathering worldwide trip to find out the TRUE source of the world's finest 'Danishes'.
(Turned out very few of them originally came from Sasquanchan in far north-east Mongolia, who'd have ever guessed?)
Eating, often poorly made, pastries for three meals a day for the next seven years really messed with Johns skin.
Now he has hundreds of poor pores.
And as he looked in the mirror, and squeezed on one of his many zits, he couldn't help but think... 'Six bucks for a tube of acne cream, what a fucking rip off'. 
 

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