I bought a lottery ticket tonight. I don't normally do that, but the Mega Millions Jackpot here in New York is up to $370 million and that seemed like an excellent excuse to drop three dollars essentially straight into the toilet. Now, I'm not the type of person who's going to be watching the drawing with my ticket in my hand. What will happen is that the ticket will sit on our desk until a few days from now when I see the news story that the winning ticket was bought by a bunch of machinists at a fake vomit factory in Buffalo, at which point the utter waste of my money will be confirmed and I'll throw the fucking ticket away.
Sadly, I no longer even--on those rare, rare occasions when I break down and buy a lottery ticket--take the time to fantasize about what I'd do if I won. Instead, I skip it and just get right down to feeling bitter.
Not today, though. Today, I think I'm going to pause for a few minutes and share with you what I'd do with $370,000,000.
Keep teaching. I think I might really love my job if I had the cash to employ hired goons to keep unruly students in line.
Upgrade my iPod. I'm totally happy with what I've got now, but you have to figure there's a super version for rich people with a button that you press for the bands to come to your house to perform live.
Mount a presidential campaign. I don't want to be the president. But if I had the cash, it might be fun to pay my way onto the debate stage. It'd be a nice opportunity to make fun of Joe Biden's hair to his face.
Fur for the wife. My wife is devoutly anti-fur, but maybe she could walk down the street and throw fake blood on herself.
My own 3 train. Holy shit, it would be so much easier to get around town if I had my own subway train just waiting to take me where I was going.
Never walk my dogs again. Now, I'm not sure exactly how I'd achieve this. There's a bunch of different options. But, whether I hired a dog walker, bought a building with a back yard or paid for doggy-colostomies, I would definitely not be trekking out every night before bed to watch them take a dump.
Goodbye cooking. There's got to be some super-expensive Jetson's-style machine that preps food automatically. I want one.
Lay low my enemies. Well, actually, I don't really have enemies. But it'd be nice to hire someone to throw flaming bags of shit at Derek Jeter during all the Yankee home games, wouldn't it?
Solid gold balls. Just what it sounds like.
New t-shirts. I could use some new t-shirts. A lot of mine have holes in them.
