What would YOU do?

My boy Steve is on to something here. And, while I can not expound on this premise with nearly the pinache and wittiness of Mr. Edgehouse, allow me to give it a go. The premise, from Steve:

I've been thinking about fuck you money. You know, Howard Stern money: having enough of it to do whatever you want, whenever you want, wherever you want, jobs and bosses and responsibilities and whatnot be damned.

Fuck you money also allows for the possibility of exacting a particularly fun sort of revenge against slights both real and perceived, and that's where my mind takes me the most when I find myself an imaginary billionaire.

I love my job, and I lovingly cling to the illusion that what I do matters in its own little way, so I don't find myself dreaming of quitting my job and living a leisurely life. ... What happens instead is I spend a gross amount of time thinking about ways to spend my F.U.$. on everyone who's ever gotten in my illbegotten way.

I believe Dave Chappell did something similar before wigging out and going to Africa (a sketch found in the "lost episodes" of "season 3"). What would I do? (You mean, besides two chicks at the same time?)

• Unlike Steve, the first thing I'd do would be to quit my job "Half-Baked" style: line up all of my bosses and co-workers in a room, and announce: "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.... you're cool... fuck you. I'm out!"


• On second thought, I'd rather go the George Costanza route. "Now, THAT guy got FIRED!" Honestly, if you knew you had enough fuck you money that you could just go to work and do a shitty job, to see how much you could get away with before getting fired, and/or then to make sure you got fired in the most collasal way possible, wouldn't that be every person's best wet dream?


• I would set up an endowment fund for the Cleveland Indians to be able to sign an actual GOOD player each off-season. David Delucci can go fuck himself.


• I would build a recording studio in my (new, huge) house and only record/produce bands doing something new, fresh, and NOT radio/trendy/knockoffs. I would do it at cost or even pro-bono in certain cases. I would then buy each band gold-plated diapers.


• I would give enough money to my step-father to open his own micro-brewery, and then I would take daily swims in the vat of my favorite beer (think: Landfill from "Beerfest" minus the drowning).


• A la Forrest Gump, I would pay someone handsomely to bulldoze Justin Zimmerman's house. If he happens to be in the house... meh. He knows why.


• And, much like Steve, I would track down the bastards that dumped our dog Riley by the side of the road to fend for himself and get heartworms. How someone could dump the coolest fucking dog ever to walk God's green earth is beyond me. They would pay mightily. I would also invest in cloning Riley.


• Along those lines, Melissa and I would buy some land in the country, and set up the Riley Rufus Epley Parker free-range abused dogs ranch. Here, the dogs could run free, frolic, and not be abused or neglected. It would be like Cesar's "pack" on The Dog Whisperer, only cooler. Maybe we could get Cesar on the payroll, even.


• Open a pizza place/bar. Anytime people I don't like come in, they get a little "Van Wilder-style" laxitive powder in their food/drink. They are then not allowed to use the restrooms of our establishment. I suspect this would be a short-lived endeavor, due to the health department's probable nagging and the mounting lawyer fees.


• I would pay midgets to joust in my backyard. OK, not really. Just wanted to check to see who read this far down the list.


• I would create a gym (possibly a chain) at which only scrawny and/or out of shape and/or not-that-good-at-sports people could workout. I really think this idea could take off, not only because I would be the gym's first client (because I hate trying to lift weights/work out next to burly dudes and/or trying to play hoop at my gym with people that: a) don't pass the ball, because they think a scout for the Cavs might be watching them as they drive to the basket and attempt the super spinning double-reverse layup every single fucking time down the court, on which they are fouled each time they don't make the shot, therby allowing them to check the ball out of that top of the key and do it all over again, and thus not reward the gangly 6'3" guy who sets good picks and is always open on the roll to the basket, and who might make a layup if you actually PASSED HIM THE FUCKING BALL!, b) talk way too much shit, and c) basically run my ass off the courts) but because I am taking a wild guess that there are hundreds of thousands of people out there like me.


• Finance the complete change-over of all of my schools' mascots to the middle finger.


• Talk to K-Lowe about what his ideal student-success/writing-success type of collegiate endeavor would be. Make this endeavor happen, which would hopefully allow him also to quit his job Half-Baked style.


• Give Steve his own talkshow. I would be the drummer for his band, and hopefully we could then have a Conan/Max Weinberg style dialogue each show. I would then bask in his sardonic hilarious-ness.


• Find all of those jerks from my high school class (too numerous to mention individually here) and treat them a la Dana Carvey's Ross Perot sketch... whereby I give them a $1000 to do degrading things, simply to prove to them how much more money I have than they could ever hope for.

I'm enjoying this a little too much, so I should probably stop. If I think of anymore, you'll be the first ones to know.