Harumph.

Decided to google the fancy home for sale that I jog by every other day. It's on the market for 5 and a half million dollars. Further googling brought me to this story. It mentions the same house, which was at one point, according to it, on the market for an even 10 million. My how those prices do drop. What intrigued me most about the story, which focused on holding "extreme open houses" to move expensive properties, was this quote from the son of the home's now-deceased owner, who felt very protective of his childhood home and didn't want to open it to the public. The extreme open house was ''more selective," he said, and did ''not let the riffraff see the house."

Yeah, riffraff? That'd be me. But the fellow who was putting on such airs, well, he came into money because his dad invented Pringles. Yes, that's right, Pringles, those formed potato flakes in a can. And his father owned monkeys! Freak. Riffraff, my ass. If you were a Brahmin or some other old-moneyed blueblood I'd put up with your calling me what I essentially am, but not when your daddy was a monkey-lovin' junk food maker.