Jeepers-Creepers was teaching his disciples a lesson…
So, some pampered, rich, chinless public-school educated dimwit, with more money than sense, jets off with some of his chums to “like, find myself, yar?” Before he leaves, he gives his chauffeur 3 kilos. Say no more. He gives his cook two kilos. Mum’s the word. Finally, he gives his butler an eighth of an ounce.
Exactly one year later, and the spoilt rich pillock, replete with nascent dreads, returns.
He calls his servants to him. The chauffeur is all blinged up, high-status swagger. “And what did you do with the kilos I gave you?”
The chauffeur looks quizzically at his boss. “I’m wearing them,” he says. “Well, some of them; there’s quite a lot in a safety deposit box in Coutts.”
“Excellent!” replies the toff-master.
Next, the upper-class twit addresses the chef, who is similarly ablinged, although not to the same extent as the chauffeur.
“I can see that you also made good use of the stuff which I gave you.”
“It would have been rude not to,” says the chef, as knowing laughter fills the room. “I opened an ISA with the rest.”
Finally, the youth with over-developed sense of entitlement turns to his butler. Deep set vacant eyes stare out emptily from his waxy and sallow visage.
“As I expected,” says the privileged youth, and turns to the chauffeur and the chef. “I see you found a market.”
“The meaning is quite simple,” said Jeepers-Creepers to his stupid and vacuous followers. “If you want to make loads of money, you have to be lucky and then not mind who you exploit. Only then will you ascend in a winged Mercedes to the gated property of heaven.”