Even people who I assume to be comfortable are talking about the big lottery jackpots out there this week, which I guess makes sense.
I mean, you can’t be too comfortable, right?
Like a lot of y’all right now, I’m spending way too much time thinking about what would happen if I were to win, and in my case, debating with myself what I would and wouldn’t do if I had a billion dollars.
The internal tug of war includes:
Funding a vanity political campaign. I don’t get why rich people want to be governors, senators, run for president. I think they think they want power, but then when power comes, they find out, most of it isn’t sexy at all.
Politics isn’t being interviewed on the cable news at night; it’s making sure the garbage gets picked up, the bridges aren’t falling down, the Navy isn’t shooting at Iranian oil tankers, those sorts of things.
On the other hand, seriously, if Donald Trump can do it, and he’s a total blithering idiot, how hard can it be?
Making myself into some kind of celebrity. Again, this is something that comes with real responsibilities, like not saying dumb things, which is impossible to do in this day and age, because anything you say is going to sound dumb to somebody, and there are a lot of somebodies with axes to grind, and access to social media to be able to grind them.
Not to mention, the paparazzi. I don’t need TMZ following me around to baseball games and gas stations and wherever asking me about Jason Aldean’s lynching video, or whatever.
That said, I dunno.
I’m well-read, got a lot of opinions, a decent sense of humor.
Not to mention, the media savvy.
I was born for this part of being stinkin’ rich.
Exacting revenge on perceived enemies. Now this one, this just seems … it’s just wrong.
Just because you have the ability to, say, buy buildings next door to a certain guy’s hot-dog stands so that you can open your own hot-dog stands to put his out of business, or you can buy, just to cite another example, the parent company to a chain of newspapers that happens to employ a guy who used to keep a photo of you on his desk, which, that was creepy to learn, but even so, that’s …
It’s just wrong.
Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be something to do.
Writing big checks to charity. Of course I’d do this.
I wouldn’t necessarily want my name on a building or anything, considering how that kind of thing opens you up to being canceled after your dead, and future generations decide that because you used to eat hamburgers, and meat is murder, you know, take his name off the building.
What the hell: I’d be dead when that happened.
Buying an island in the Caribbean. This one would depend. How big is the island?
Is it too hot there? (I freckle easily.)
I’d need good broadband.
And relatively easy access via air to Charlottesville. (I’d need to be in JPJ a lot between November and March.)