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Short story from redit posted by member DarkFlarb worth reading https://www.reddit.com/r/Monero/comments/4dnqh0/the_count_of_my_monero/

The Count of My Monero...

The log fire crackled pleasantly within the confines of the impressively large stone fireplace, casting flickering shadows over the sumptuous interior of the library. A pleasant warmth pervaded the room; a sensation only heightened by the falling snow glimpsed through the heavy, mullioned windows flanked by deep red, velvet curtains.
Count Monero raised the decanter and poured a whisky into the heavy cut glass. It had become a habit of his, this early evening drink.
It helped. Helped him to bear the load. The weight. The responsibility.
Lowering the decanter to the bar, the Count walked toward the fireplace and stood in front of the ornate mirror that hung above it. He smiled as he raised his glass in mock salute at his reflection. “Your good health, my dear fellow,” he muttered, taking a sip of the single malt. Distilled from a small batch on the western side of the Isle of Islay, the whisky was one of only five bottles ever produced by the short-lived Kilchomore distillery before it burned down in 1931. One hundred years later, the whereabouts of the five bottles still remained a mystery to whisky connoisseurs the world over. Legend had it they burned in the fire.
The Count knew better.
The grandfather clock chimed the quarter hour, and, as was his custom, he settled into his favourite armchair, placed his glass upon the side table, and unfolded the Daily Crypto. The news was, as usual, of little note. A couple of paragraphs on that perennial young upstart, Zerocash. Too bloody slow. Too bloody expensive, he thought. A sidebar on ‘How to Preserve Anonymity on the Blockchain’. Been there, done that. An opinion piece entitled ‘Poloniex: Ready yet for the Big Time?’ Nope.
One piece did catch his attention, though. It was on the fourth page, bottom left corner, tucked below that day’s earnings reports. A short piece, not much more than a footnote really, but the Count read it with some interest.
‘The Fall of the House of Bitcoin’. He shook his head slowly, smiling as he read the all-too-familiar story. Poor old Lord Bitcoin, he thought. Not a bad chap, when all was said and done. Count Monero was of the opinion, as were most in his circle, that if it wasn’t for his two bastard sons, The Right Honorable Classic Bitcoin and The Right Honorable Core Bitcoin, the empire would not have been rent asunder and Lord Bitcoin wouldn’t be in the position he found himself. It was a damn shame and no mistake.
Count Monero yawned and let the paper drop to the floor. His eyelids closed and his head sank slowly back to rest against the cushioned wing of the chair. The warmth of the fire and the bite of the alcohol combined to ease him into a soft, welcome sleep.
The soft knock on the door woke the Count from his dreams. He sat up and slowly rubbed his eyes drawing his fingers slowly down his cheeks until they met at his chin. A fine, chiseled chin, even if he said so himself. “Come in.”
The door opened and a tall, thin man in dark livery entered. His clothes were starched and creased and his shoes shone with a gleam that betrayed the obsessive nature of the wearer. His hair was divided perfectly down the center of his head, both sides oiled to an exactitude that bordered on frightening.
“My lord?” he said in a short, clipped voice.
The Count sighed and reached for his glass of whisky.
“What do you want, Ripple?”
“My lord,” Ripple repeated, “Dinner will be served shortly in the dining room.”
The Count squinted a little.
“In the dining room, you say?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Not in the cellar, then?”
“No, my lord.”
“Or in the gardens?”
“No, my lord,” said Ripple beginning to look a little agitated.
“You weren’t thinking of serving it in one of the bathrooms, I take it?”
Ripple shuddered. “Heaven forfend, my lord.”
“Indeed, Ripple, wouldn’t it be true to say that dinner is served nowhere else but the dining room?”
“It would indeed, my lord.”
The Count sighed. “Then for God’s sake, Ripple, just tell me when. Not where.”
Ripple straightened his already impossibly-straight back and nodded.
“As you wish, my lord.”
Count Monero took a sip of whisky and laid the glass back down.
“Any calls for me while I was out?”
“No calls, my lord, but you did have some visitors,” replied Ripple.
“Oh?” said the Count.
“Yes, my lord. A gentleman by the name of Mr. Fluffy Pony paid his respects.”
“Fluffy what?” said the Count, his brow wrinkling.
“A Fluffy Pony, my lord.”
“Damn stupid name.”
“Quite, my lord.”
“Well what did this Pony fellow want?”
“Something about a GUI, my lord.”
“A what?” said the Count, his brow now leaving behind all vestiges of a wrinkle and bordering most definitely on a frown.
“A GUI, my lord. I am led to understand it’s an acronym for Graphical User Interface.”
Count Monero just about managed to control his short splurt of laughter, though a few drops of the precious whisky did manage to leak down his chin.
“A Graphical User what?!” he chuckled. “Well now I’ve just about heard everything!”
Ripple said nothing.
Count Monero brushed the few drops of whisky from his smoking jacket as he continued to smile.
He sighed. “Well, tell me Ripple, what did Mr.—?”
“Fluffy Pony, my lord.”
“Yes, that’s it. Fluffy Pony. Extraordinary name. What did this Fluffy Pony chap have to say about his…what was it called?”
“GUI, my lord.”
“Yes, this GUI of his?”
“He said it’s still in development, my lord.”
The Count scratched his head. “That’s it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“How very strange.”
The Count took another sip of whisky, the traces of a bemused smile still on his lips.
“Anyone else, Ripple?”
“The Earl of Ethereum’s valet called, my lord. You’ve been invited to dinner next Saturday.”
“Really?” said the Count. He didn’t often see Ethereum these days. The poor chap was always up to his eyeballs in paperwork.
“One bloody contract after another,” he had told Monero the last time they met at the Club. “Not like you, you old bugger! With you it’s so bloody easy. It’s just money with you. With me it’s all so…bloody…bloody…”
Monero had felt sorry for him. Ethereum was a nice fellow, no doubt about it, but he was in the wrong line of work. Wrong line, entirely. Money was where it was at. Store of value. That sort of thing.
“Saturday you say?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Anything else on my diary that day?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
The Count pondered. He knew he should go out more. Meet more people. But dinners like these could be hell. Sheer, bloody hell— A thought occurred to him. “Will the Lady MaidSafe be there?” The Count’s eyes twinkled. He’d always had a thing for Lady MaidSafe. There was something about her blockchain that a full-blooded man like himself found hard to resist.
“I couldn’t really say, my lord,” replied Ripple, “though it’s likely given her…“.
Ripple paused.
The Count looked up at him.
“Given her what?” he asked.
“Well, my lord, her…er…reputation, as it were.”
“Reputation? What reputation?” demanded the Count.
Ripple looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“It was rumored, my lord, that…er…she—“
“Go on, spit it out, man” insisted the Count.
Ripple swallowed hard, his adam’s apple dancing up and down his long, thin neck.
“That she’s been er…premined, my lord.”
The Count slammed his glass down on the table.
“Premined!” he gasped.
“On more than one occasion, my lord.”
“Dear God, man. You can’t be serious!”
“I’m afraid so, my lord. It is well known in the village.”
“By whom? Who was the damn fellow that took advantage of her?”
Ripple swallowed again.
“It would seem there was more than one, my lord,” he managed to squeak.
The Count’s face paled and he drained the last of his whisky. He took a deep breath and handed the glass to Ripple.
“Another, Ripple. Make it a large one.”
“Very good, my lord,” said Ripple, taking the glass and making his way to the bar.
The library was silent. Nothing more was said until Ripple had returned with the whisky and the Count had taken a long swallow of the amber liquid.
The Count sighed. “When will people learn eh, Ripple? Reputation counts for everything. A premine! What was she thinking?”
Ripple looked down at the ground and then back up at the Count.
“Impossible to say, my lord. It's very tragic.”
“Quite so, quite so,” replied the Count. “Still, we must carry on despite the circumstances. Accept the invitation, Ripple. But make it clear to Ethereum that under no circumstances should I be seated next to Lady Maidsafe.”
“Very good, sir.”
The Count took another long sip. He seemed to need it more than ever tonight.
“Right. Well that’s dealt with. Anyone else visit?”
Ripple sighed.
Count Monero looked up at his valet. “What is it now?”
Ripple sighed again, flattened his mouth and raised his eyebrows.
“I’m afraid, my lord that—“
“Oh no,” the Count interjected, seeing in Ripple’s face the tell-tale signs. “Not again.”
“I’m afraid so, my lord.”
“But again?”
“It’s the third time this week, my lord.”
“Won’t he take ‘no’ for an answer?”
“I’ve tried everything, my lord. But he keeps coming back. He says—“
“Oh, I know what he says all right,” interrupted the Count. “I’ve heard him enough times. He mimicked a voice, both groveling and unctuous. ’Eternally grateful’. ‘I’ve loved you since the beginning.’ ‘You mean everything to me’. The man’s a bloody embarrassment.”
“Quite so, my lord.”
“A lunatic.”
“Couldn’t agree more, my lord.”
The Count sighed. “Is he gone?”
“Yes, my lord. I managed to get rid of him.”
“Good job, Ripple, good job. He’s not easy to dissuade. How’d you manage it?”
“Well, my lord,” said Ripple, a slight smile appearing on his face, “I told him you were visiting your cousin, the Viscount Aeon.”
“Did you, by jove!” chuckled the Count, “He must have loved that!”
“Oh he did, my lord, he did,” agreed Ripple. “The look on Mr. Pegasus’s face when he realized he had the opportunity to see the both of you together! It was a real treat, if I may say so.”
“You may indeed Ripple, you may indeed,” chortled Count Monero. “And he left?”
“Oh he didn’t just leave, my lord. He ran. You never saw a man run as fast as he did down the driveway.”
The Count let out another roar of laughter and then took another sip of the malt.
“You know, Ripple, one doesn’t get to the position I occupy in society without meeting one’s fair share of rum fellows. But I can tell you this. That Mr. Pegasus is about the rummest I’ve ever met.”
Ripple said nothing but merely nodded in agreement.
After a few moments, the Count looked up at him.
“Is that it, then?”
“Just one other visitor, sir,”
“Oh, yes,” said the Count. The whisky had more than begun its seductive work and a pleasant calmness had spread throughout his body. He was feeling relaxed, genial and rather looking forward to a good dinner.
“Yes, my lord. A man by the name of Brown.”
“Brown? Brown? Doesn’t ring any bells. What did he want?”
Ripple paused and looked up into the ceiling as if trying to remember the exact words.
“Something to do with taxes, my lord.”
The glass shattered on the floor, the treasured whisky splattering against the stone tiles and oozing into the crevices between. Count Monero’s face paled and the woozy relaxation he had experienced just moments before vanished in the twinkling of an eye.
“With…with…tax…” he whispered, barely able to bring himself to say the word.
“What…what…about them?” he managed to stutter after a few more moments.
“I believe,” said Ripple, rather warming to the effect this was having on his master, “that he wants them.”
The Count gasped. “Wants them?”
“Yes my lord.”
“Taxes?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Count ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, the other tapping a stern beat on the side table. He looked up at Ripple.
“What did you tell him?”
Ripple cleared his throat. “I told him, my lord, that you conduct your business through an anonymous blockchain and I wished him the best of luck in finding anything.”
Count Monero’s eyes widened.
“You did? You told him that?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Hah!” said the Count, a smile appearing on his face, “And what did he have to say to that?”
“Nothing he could say, my lord. He said he’d be back, but I doubt it.”
“Hah! Good job, Ripple. Dashed good job!”
“Thank you, my lord.”
The smile on the Count’s face promoted itself to a grin.
“You know, Ripple, I think I’ll have one more small one before dinner.”
“Very good, my lord,” said Ripple making his way once again to the bar.
“And while you’re there,” said the Count in a moment of generosity, “Pour yourself one as well.”
Ripple looked up at the Count, unsure he had heard him correctly.
“Well, that’s very kind of you, my lord. Very kind indeed. I don’t mind if I do.”
In a few moments, Ripple had returned with two glasses and handed one to the Count. They stayed there for a couple of minutes, the Count seated in his chair, Ripple standing beside him, both men sipping their whisky in a somewhat uncomfortable silence.
It was Ripple who broke the stillness first, the whisky having gone straight to his head, by uttering a small giggle. The Count looked up at him.
“Something on your mind?” he said.
“I was just thinking, my lord”
“Thinking about what? Out with it Ripple. No-one likes a tease.”
“I was just thinking, my lord, that tax man had come to count The Count.”
Count Monero’s brow furrowed for the second time that evening.
“Count the what?” he said.
“You know, my lord. Count, as in count something. The Count, as in you.”
Count Monero placed his glass down carefully on the side table. He slowly brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his impeccably laundered trousers. His left eye twitched. Then his right.
“Am I to take it, Ripple,” he said, in a slow, measured voice, “that you are making a joke?”
Ripple gulped, his sobriety returning with startling suddenness.
“Yes, my lord,” he muttered.
The Count’s face looked solemn and he turned toward the fire, unwilling to look at Ripple.
“I think, Ripple,” he said, “you had better go and prepare dinner.”
Ripple straightened his back and gave a short, sharp nod of his head.
“Very good, my lord,” he said before heading for the bar. He placed his glass on the counter and opened the library door.
“And Ripple,” said the Count.
Ripple turned back toward the man seated in front of the fire.
“If I’d wanted a comedian for a manservant, I would have hired Dash.”
“Quite right, my lord” said Ripple and closed the door softly behind him.
Count Monero took one last sip of the Islay whisky and allowed himself a smile. Life isn’t easy when you’re the world’s foremost currency.
But it wasn’t all bad either.