Compound Disinterest

Back in the age when wealthy folk

Made twenty cents an hour,

The internet was in morse code,

And photographs were dour

A strapping lass of 25

Dug up a hidden stash

Of gold bouillon from Mexico

Worth $20 million cash.

She put it in a bank account

That earned an APR

Of 65 percent a year

And traveled wide and far.

A hundred thousand years went by

And humans passed away,

But in an old abandoned bank

The fortune’s there to stay

Until some alien arrives

And withdraws so many bucks

That the number almost equals

How much I think soccer sucks.

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