This may warrant actually buying a lottery ticket on the sheer, sheer, sheer, atomic particle-thin chance that I may see some money out of that. Tax on stupidity, whatever you'd like to call it; I'd probably lose the dollar down a grate or spend it on Hostess Cupcakes so perhaps throwing away a buck to the lottery isn't such a bad idea. At least nobody has to fish the dollar back out of the grate this way.
I already know I won't win, anyway; for one, I'm not a group of factory workers in Ohio. Second, I won't win because God knows what I'd do with the money. No, not the promise that I'd build my own theme park with blackjack and hookers.
What I would want to do is to fully do the Uncle Moneybags Millionaire character up to a tee for every point of contact with the media. We haven't had a fellow like that address the reporters in a long time, and that truly is a point of chagrin and shame for our fine nation. I'm talking top hat, monocle, opera cape, cane with a jewel on top (or maybe an 8-Ball) and perhaps even a hilariously fake mustache. And if one was to go to true extremes, I'd adopt a fine W.C. Fields-esque character -- you know, Mahatma Kane Jeeves and all that. I'd speak in absurdly elevated language, discourse at length of my affliction with mogo on the gogogo while visiting the Antipodes, berate my neighbor Mr. Muckle, ah, yes. The alcoholism I'd probably want to avoid, but everything else? My inner eccentric says go for it. Go crazy with it. All contact with the media in this fashion would be better than the Mooninite "that's not a hair question" press conference, as I don't think I could be accused of disrespecting anything. Once I had enough fun walking around town like that, I'd invest most of the dough in a wide variety of investment options (diversify, you bastards, diversify!), either live off the interest or keep a yearly chunk for myself, and take up a happy, quiet life as Professional Anonymous Donor.
Don't try to talk me out of this. Alea jacta est, bizotch.
