I am a general... General Tate... and every dollar at my command is a soldier.
Every purchase is a battle.
My objective is to win the battle while incurring the least number of casualties.
Salesman and crafty marketers direct the enemy's movements, and my needs and wants are the terrain we navigate.
A foolish general will send wave after wave of his own troops at an enemy position, but I don't have waves of troops.
I will be patient. I will move through the land with caution.
I must fight only when necessary, for my men are few.
My men proclaim trust in God upon their uniforms as the source of our provision and our victories.
...and that change jingling in my pocket. That jingling is the moaning of the war wounded... the pain-addled half man... the bloodied and broken soldier who was ripped apart in the savagery of the battle.
We took that hill, but was it worth the cost?
The weight of my responsibility keeps me up at night and intrudes upon my dreams. Will I ever stop hearing that infernal jingling...the reminder of my failings and the broken dollars.
...oh the humanity!!!