So you've finally reached the pinnacle of manliness-the rich girlfriend. "Oh yes," you say to your self "I'm gonna bone this brat 6 ways till Sabbath." But the truth is, rich g/f's are a lot more than just sex and cool presents. You have to work…and work hard. You must learn the way of the rich person.



I have outlined a standard day, which you will presumably encounter, and supplied you with a manual to refer to, should your stupid ass become confused. Oh, and remember, rich people love to talk about fertility, it is a way for them of controlling where they're money goes, hundreds of years after they dead. So act fertile.



The day at the Yacht club: The Yacht Club is like the oober-rich man's country club, which is like the black man's barber shop, which is like the poor man's junkyard, which is similar to the cave man's cave club, which is what your hairy parents belong to. Show some class, dress up like the judge from Caddyshack and act like you've seen the ocean before. Oh, and don't mention that you can't swim when you come aboard the SS Rolls-Royce, no one likes a fucking land lubber. Of course you'll be consumed with the thought of sex all day, so head below for some quality time with your girl-if you haven't already turned her off by asking to "swab" her "poop deck."



Riding in a limo with her family: Act natural, you've done this before. Try to recall your experience in that limo ride to prom, then, do the exact opposite. Drinking Vodka from a Fruit2O bottle—don't, the limo has nice clean cups with plenty of straws and ample Bombay Sapphire. Giving the driver the finger when the divider is up—stop, that's rude, call him the chauffeur, and have the decency to flip him off when the divider is down, it's otherwise sneaky and condescending. Also, try not to stare at her mom's voluptuous boob job. Use the mirror on the ceiling and I can almost guarantee 50% more cleavage and partial nipple.



A friendly game of polo: Ok, you've bullshitted your way to this point, but it will become clear that the only horse you've ridden was, in fact not a horse, but your mom with a saddle on her back at your 6th birthday party. Please, do a little research to make up for your lack of both skill and big leather Nazi boots. Attempt to know the terms of the sport, and throw them around while blinking a lot (that's a rich person thing.) Replace normal phrases with polo-sounding words like "Horsefallocks" for "Hello, this horse has huge testicles," or "Tallyho" instead of "I cannot control my horse's sex drive, Ma'am," or say "Hogwash" instead of "Ouch, I need ointment for this intense chaffing." Most importantly, be a gentleman. Good sportsmanship means shaking hands, refraining from "Brokeback" jokes, and apologizing on behalf of your horse after it sprays shit into the bleachers.



Dinner: Try and keep good posture, as to show Mr. and Mrs. Livingston you have a good straight spine that will produce strong children capable of working the sails on their boat. Also pay close attention to which utensils you use, because rich people believe this to be a barometer of infertility. Your girlfriend's parents will think she's getting knocked up with second rate, working class "skeet skeet" if you use your soup spoon to pry open your lobster-if you hadn't already smashed it to bits with your salad hammer… Oh, and please, try to unfold your napkin and place it on your lap, instead of passing it around showing it's resemblance to a vagina. You better get used to that, standard napkin folding procedure closely follows the pattern of folds on a standard vagina, yet it will never be funny to rich people.



Smoking Cigars with the boys: Rich people love cigars. It gives them a chance to unwind after a long day of yelling at Mexican people-their arch nemesis. The common custom here is to bring a couple of your own cigars and neatly tuck them into the breast pocket of your girlfriend's dad, as to say "Here ya go, Mr. Huntswallowsworth, enjoy this melon flavored Philly Blunt, you've earned it." To start up conversation, talk about "the market" and use your hands to illustrate a graph, but avoid mentioning Scrooge McDuck and his swimming pool of gold coins""they will become jealous. Ask him about his job, that will make him happy, but avoid asking him about his insider trading scandal, that will make him think you're a smartass. Also, try not to refer to your cigar as your "fatty," rather, call it your "smoldering joy in life."



Now go forth and conquer, my friend. Jump dick first into the upper crust of society. Free yourself from the oppression of the middle-class, and enjoy the spoils of your victory on Christmas and the Jewish holidays your rich girlfriend deems "present worthy." You now can piss on your friends from your ivory tower of sex, money, and, umm, ivory-and proudly shout to them "Oh, look at that, it's raining pee." You've paid your dues…