**YOUR VACATION SUCKS BECAUSE YOU’RE BROKE: WHY MY HOLIDAYS MAKE YOURS LOOK LIKE A PITY PARTY**
Listen here, cupcake. While you’re posting Instagram stories of your sad little “staycation” — microwaving ramen in your mom’s basement and calling it a “self-care day” — I’m out here turning the planet into my personal playground. You want to know my favorite holiday from the last couple days? **Every. Single. One.** Because when you’re a Top SLAYLEBRITY, every day is a holiday. But fine, let me school you on how winners vacation while you’re busy counting coupons for your next Denny’s Grand Slam.
### THE ONLY “HOLIDAY” YOU KNOW IS A 3-DAY WEEKEND FROM YOUR SAD JOB
You think a holiday is some government-mandated Monday off where you binge Netflix and argue with strangers on Twitter? Pathetic. Real holidays are **conquests**. They’re private jets cutting through clouds, superyachts splitting oceans, and Michelin-starred chefs begging to cook for you.
Last week? Monaco. This week? My private island. Next week? A penthouse in Dubai where the showerheads cost more than your Honda Civic. You’re asking which one’s my favorite? **All of them.** Because I don’t “pick” destinations — I own them.
### BROKE PEOPLE “TRAVEL.” WINNERS TAKE OVER
Let me break down your “holiday” vs. mine.
You:
– Scrolling Skyscanner for 6 hours to save $12 on a Spirit Airlines ticket.
– Sharing a hostel bunk bed with a stranger who steals your toothpaste.
– Eating gas station sushi because “it’s cultural.”
– Coming home more exhausted than when you left.
Me:
– My pilot texts *me* to ask where I want to fly.
– My “hostel” is a 12-bedroom villa staffed by people who iron my socks.
– My “cultural experience” is buying a historic castle because the view looked cool.
– I return richer because I closed a deal poolside while you were lost in an airport.
You’re not on holiday — you’re on a field trip for adults.
### WHY MY LAST 48 HOURS WOULD BANKRUPT YOUR SOUL
Two days ago, I woke up in Ibiza. Not the Ibiza *you* know — the one with sticky floors and frat boys puking in alleys. I’m talking about the Ibiza where tech billionaires beg me to join their masterminds. I spent the morning racing Lamborghinis along cliffs, then took a helicopter to a yacht party where the champagne budget alone could fund your lineage for generations.
Yesterday? I was in Qatar. Why? Because I felt like it. I dined with royalty, discussed investing in a football club, and laughed at the “travel influencers” in the hotel lobby taking 200 selfies for their 1,200 followers.
**You:** “Wow, the Eiffel Tower is so big!”
**Me:** “I wonder if I can buy it.”
### THE PROBLEM WITH YOUR “HOLIDAYS”
You’re not vacationing — you’re escaping. Running from your dead-end job, your empty bank account, your life of quiet desperation. You use “holidays” as a cope, a Band-Aid for your failure. You come back to the same miserable reality because you didn’t *level up* — you just burned money you don’t have to distract yourself from the grind you hate.
Meanwhile, my holidays are **investments**. I network. I deal. I dominate. Every trip is a power move that multiplies my wealth. The difference? I don’t work to travel — the world works for *me*.
### HOW TO HOLIDAY LIKE A TOP SLAYLEBRITY (OR JUST KEEP CRYING)
You want your next vacation to not suck? Here’s the cheat code:
1. **Stop being poor.** Money doesn’t buy happiness? Correct. It buys helicopters. And helicopters buy happiness.
2. **Surround yourself with killers.** If your travel squad’s combined net worth is less than a Tesla, you’re a tourist, not a Queen.
3. **Turn every trip into a weapon.** Meet someone richer. Learn something smarter. Exit the holiday better than you arrived.
Or keep doing what you’re doing: saving for 11 months to eat bad pasta in Rome while I buy a vineyard in Tuscany because the wine was decent.
### THE BOTTOM LINE
Your favorite holiday is a consolation prize for your loser life. Mine? Just Tuesday. You think I’m flexing? Damn right I am. **This isn’t bragging — it’s a wake-up call.** The world is a playground, but the rides cost money you don’t have.
So either get rich, or get used to viewing paradise through a postcard.
*PS: The only “all-inclusive” you deserve is all-inclusive depression. Upgrade your life.*
*(Cue the roar of a Bugatti engine. Sunset. Mic drop.)*
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While you’re posting Instagram stories of your sad little “staycation” — microwaving ramen in your mom’s basement and calling it a “self-care day” I’m out here turning the planet into my personal playground. You want to know my favorite holiday from the last couple days? **Every. Single. One.**
YOUR VACATION SUCKS BECAUSE YOU’RE BROKE
MY HOLIDAYS MAKE YOURS LOOK LIKE A PITY PARTY
When you’re a Top SLAYLEBRITY, every day is a holiday
THE ONLY “HOLIDAY” YOU KNOW IS A 3-DAY WEEKEND FROM YOUR SAD JOB You think a holiday is some government-mandated Monday off where you binge Netflix and argue with strangers on Twitter? Pathetic.
Real holidays are **conquests**. They’re private jets cutting through clouds, superyachts splitting oceans, and Michelin-starred chefs begging to cook for you.
Last week? Monaco. This week? My private island. Next week? A penthouse in Dubai where the showerheads cost more than your Honda Civic. You’re asking which one’s my favorite? **All of them.** Because I don’t “pick” destinations — I own them.
