As a teenager you win £141,26 at a bingo night. You were born for happiness.
During your studies you collect the most boring postcards at garage sales. You were born for happiness.
Years later you’re known as ‘the master of pens’ and illustrate for The New Yorker and the Guardian. One night, you’re alone and drunk in your studio, you decide to send a postcard… but to whom? “I will send a postcard with an offensive message to the first person who replies to this”. Within a minute you have 50 responses on Twitter. You were born for happiness.
Without having ever seen Jonathan or his legs you write “Fuck you, Jonathan, fuck you and fuck your shit legs”. Ignorance and injustice are the pillars of the business model you just invented. You were born for happiness.
The postcard gets posted, also on Twitter. Insults to order; £ 50 + postage per postcard. Within a few days you can’t keep up with the demand. You were born for happiness.
Every now and then you make the service available via Twitter. For fans this is more exciting than teenagers buying tickets for Justin Bieber. Sold out in minutes. You were born for happiness.
After over 1.000 postcards it is time to publish the definite collection. You not only have a sharp pen, a sharp tongue helps you raise £ 35.000 by insulting backers over the phone or getting drunk with them in the tube. Well before the campaign closes you pass £ 100.000! You were born for happiness.
You make the book and never have to work for clients again! From now on your stories earn your living. You’re Mr. Bingo.