My name is Money. Dirty Money. Cash Money, if you will. And I'm the baddest demon around! No, not like that. Here, let me explain.

People know me as the root to all evil. At least if they love of me. And who doesn't love Money? I spend easy. Everybody loves to see me. And everybody hates it when I'm not hanging around in their dusty old wallet or bank account. Nah, I'm meant to be spent, man. Hey, that rhymed! Anyway, ...

There was this rapper, I forgot his name, since most of them sing about me nowadays. But that one rapper guy sang, "Mo' money, mo' problems." Yeah fella, sure, you seem to have a helluva lot of problems ever since you fell in love with me.

Now I'm not here to air anybody's dirty laundry. If only because I get laundered enough to never really remember faces or certain situations, if you know what I mean. And if not for blokes always fighting over me, or working for me -- in the right way, that is.... Anyway, you know me, I'm Cash Money! And I can do no wrong. Just ask John W. Campbell. He knew what was good about me, through and through!

But, yeah, man, humanity has never had it so good before me. Then Credit had to come along and butt into my business. He's a tad bit young and arrogant. But he does about as much good (and bad) as I ever did. Then again, Credit is just a figment of people's imagination, like that God character is, unlike me, whose totally tangible. And, man, do I hate being saved underneath a mattress. Of course, some mattress' get more action that others. And those others.... Makes me shutter just thinking about it. Makes me wish I wasn't a hive mind.

What, you didn't know Cash Money is a hive mind? Shm. Why do you think we, I mean "I" commanded that banks be built? Since people just love waking me up; digging me out of my bedrock wherever I happen to be sleeping within the Earth. The Natives knew well enough to leave me alone, or to use me accordingly for decoration. But somebody had the bright idea to dig me up and put me in a man-made prison instead, supposedly to keep me "safe" from those with sticky fingers. You know, so I don't get even more dirty from all the blood shed digging me up. Don't think my cousin, Diamond Mines, hasn't told me stories. Her world weary stories. Poor old carbon. She has it rougher than I do, or ever had. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Even so, we both get laundered enough to--- Oh, hey, speaking of which, a good chunk of me is being moved into one of those third world countries that need clean water and proper housing against bugs and weather and such. So I'll see you on the other side of the coin. Heh, heh, heh....