Conspiracy? We don't need no steenking conspiracy!

A sign announces ...

SECRET CONSPIRACY OF RICH BASTARDS
an equal opportunity employer

Below the sign, we see the freaky, paranoiac image of the eye on the floating pyramid.

Below that, there's a bigass table. With a bigass meeting in progress.

That meeting is attended by MR. BURNS, RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS (aka the MONOPOLY MAN), RICHIE RICH and the MONOPOLY OCTOPUS.

MR. BURNS: Well, gentlemen. (bangs gavel) This meeting of the Secret Conspiracy of Rich Bastards is hereby called to order. Old business? Monopoly Octopus!

MONOPOLY OCTOPUS shrugs.

MR. BURNS: Excellent. New business?

RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS: The destruction of the middle class proceeds.

MR. BURNS: Splendid! How shall this be accomplished?

RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS: I defer to Richie Rich.

MR. BURNS: Very well. Richie. How do we destroy the petite bourgeoise?

RICHIE RICH: You're going to die, grandpa. And I'm gonna piss on your grave.

MR. BURNS: You're a little shit, Richie Rich. But I like the way you think. Now answer the bloody question, whippersnapper. How do we kill the middle class?

RICHIE RICH: With these, pops! (whips out credit card)

MR. BURNS: Ah! The ever-tightening vice of compound interest.

The assembly laughs.

MONOPOLY OCTOPUS: But .. why? Why give stuff away?

MR. BURNS: Why? You cretinous cephalopod! You ask why?

RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS: Because we shipped all the real jobs to China. Nobody's getting paid, dumbass.

RICHIE RICH: The economy should crash.

RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS: But a crash in the standard of living might lead to a peasant's revolt!

MR. BURNS: Yes. And the peasants are definitely revolting.

MR. BURNS looks up. No laugh. Not a titter. 

MR BURNS: The point being ... they don't actually revolt.

MONOPOLY OCTOPUS: Why not?

MR BURNS: Because the peasants don't know they're peasants. Don't you see?

MONOPOLY OCTOPUS: No. Uh. Why don't they know they're peasants?

MR. BURNS: Credit cards, you idiot! Credit cards! By means of these magical plastic lozenges, the great unwashed can magically beam money from the future! They can maintain their standard of living! Buy cars, and stereos and so on and so forth ... for a time.

MONOPOLY OCTOPUS: I still don't get it.

The assembly laughs again.

RICHIE RICH: We boil the frog, dummy.

RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS: Delaying the inevitable.

MONOPOLY OCTOPUS: Ah! Until the bottom drops out.

MR. BURNS: Now you're catching on!

MR. BURNS presses a button. A trap door opens beneath the MONOPOLY OCTOPUS. He falls into a boiling pit, screaming in agony. The trap door closes, cutting off his dying wails.

RICHIE RICH: Stupid octopus.

MR. BURNS: Next order of business, William Jefferson Clinton. He must be punished!

RICHIE RICH: Why, granddad? His sexual indiscretions?

MR. BURNS: No! Because we had a deal! Grease the skids for our complete domination, and we'll soften the blow for the wretched Baby Boomers. Touching medical insurance was never part of the deal!

RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS: I should say not, sir! That's where we keep our money!

RICHIE RICH: Yeah. State the obvious, pops. That'll keep you out of the nursing home.

RICH UNCLE PENNYBAGS: Fuck you, you little shit! Fuck you!

RICHIE RICH laughs.

MR. BURNS: Belay this squabbling! (whips out enormous paddle) Summon the miscreant!