mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stories from the $200 Million Man. The JP you know right now is not the JP you will know in one hour, fifteen minutes. He will go through a sudden change. His skivvies will be all wet. Drool will be eminating from his mouth. And he'll be packing up his stuff for a move. Why, you ask? Because I just bought two -- yes TWO -- Powerball tickets. I am going to be one rich mofo. And no, you can't borrow a dollar, you greedy bastard. Get a job, will ya? I haven't decided yet if I will take the instant lump amount that they give you. You have to take a major pay cut when you do that, and frankly, I don't know if I will be able to spare it. The monthy $300K paycheck you get in the mail if you opt for the long payout is gonna go like *THAT*. What am I going to do with all of that money, you ask? Well, it has always been my dream to walk into a bar, stand in the doorway, and scream, "Drinks on me!" Then all of the chicks hang off your arms; the big biker dudes that would normally break off Mr. Wiggly, they would be giving me high-fives and cheers with beer in hand. The bar tender, Charles, will laugh hartily every time someone orders a drink and says, "Put it on his tab!" And everyone will be singing bad music out of the old juke box. Man, will it be fun! After that, I'm going to send a million to each of my immediate family members. But only half-million checks will go to the grandparents. They are way too old to be trying to spend $1 million. The sight of the check would give them an anneurism. Then, I'm gonna send money to the people who were all nice to me through the years. But I won't put who the check is from or anything. They will just get a check for up to a million dollars and they will be happy. I will do this because these people are priceless in my eyes. And then I will hire a really great lawyer -- one of the mean ones -- and sue the people who have been a major thorn in my side throughout the years. Especially the major slut bitches from high school who still think it's kewl to me a major bitch. Like the girl who's name rhymes with Banna Bedmonds. I will sue her for... I dunno... anything. Just to make her suffer. And if I lose, who cares? I have a LOT of money. Next, I will buy a really great house with a really great kitchen. It will be party central. I love entertaining people, so there will be lots of space for people to mingle and enjoy the big meals I cook for them. And I will have a heated outdoor pool. So, when it's -20 outside, I can still swim and enjoy the heated pool. After that, I may just do dumb shit, like tying $100 bills to fishing lines, wait for people to try and grab them, and give it a big yank. And then I will laugh my ass off because it is gonna be sooo funny to watch the greedy bastards chasing $100 bills all the way down the street. Damn... being rich is going to be fun! My faucet drips. Ever five seconds, I hear "Doip". My old-assed landlord -- as great a landlord as he is -- is blind and deaf. So, I told him to come over and fix the damned thing. He came, and he left me a note: "The faucet seems fine to me." Of course it does! You can't hear nor see the fucker dripping every five second. He said, "How 'bout I just replace the whole sink?" Well, you can if you want to spend a few hundred dollars fixing something you could probably easily do for free. I say this because I don't know for sure. I'm about as handy around the house as Christoper Reeves. Give me a pair of pliers, I end up either breaking a finger or putting the damn things through my sliding glass door. I don't know the difference between pliers, wrenches, and vice grips. As in, "Hey, JP... Would you reach over there and get me the eight-fortyninth's pliers? I have a gloobidy rod I need to tighten." Uh... Can I cook you a killer pot of gumbo? I'm going to be an uncle! My sis is going to have a youngin'. God, I hope it's a normal baby. But you can't call me Uncle JP. Because that sounds way too much like Uncle Bob. And I don't wanna be seen as a copy cat. So, I need a name. Leave a message on the Damn Guestbook telling me what I should have the little tyke call me. I wanna be a kewl uncle. It'll be a stretch, but I think I may be able to pull it off while the little shit can't talk. After his first words -- which will inevitably be, "Uncle JP, you are a dork." -- I will drop him and go find another baby who can't talk and befriend him. Well, now that I have gotten all of this out of my mind, I need to go do some writing for my classes. I need to write a few more poems, read Oedipus Rex, and read about what a computer is. Damned required courses. 8:50 p.m. - 2001-08-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||