Wednesday, January 13, 2016
It's Wednesday morning where you are. But here on the other side of the time/space continuum, it's still Saturday morning, (January 9th).
As I have explained in the past, I do the entire week's blogging on the prior Saturday morning and schedule their postings all in one sitting.
Impressive you say? Well, not if you're paying attention and spot all the facile thinking, the rehashed themes and the countless grammatical errors (that's for you Gary John).
None of that matters now.
Because by the time you are reading this column, the Powerball numbers will have been drawn, the giant over sized check plastered on foam core and hastily written out to yours truly.
More importantly, I will be sucking garlic-soaked snails from their paper thin shells while sitting atop my new 120 foot yacht somewhere off the coast Anguilla.
Oh and I'll be drinking Korbel champagne, extra dry Brut. Not that cheap shit they drag out for agency birthday parties because it's $3.99 a bottle and Janice from Accounting don't give a fuck.
You might be wondering how I can be so sure that I'm the next Powerball winner.
First of all you should know I never buy lottery tickets.
Not a big fan of gambling and all too aware how the odds are stacked in favor of The Man. But as I was coming home from my midday swim, traffic on Culver Blvd was unusually heavy, so I went south to Braddock drive. As I zig-zagged my way through the bowels of Culver City, I decided to stop at the 7-11 to pick up a newspaper and a Diet Coke.
I exited the car I was approached by a very disheveled, very obvious homeless woman in her late 40's. I reached for my wallet before she could utter a word about buying a sandwich or getting a bus ticket back to Sacramento. I handed her a five spot. Moments later I approached the counter with newspaper and beverage in hand.
The homeless woman, with her distinctive BO, was standing right in front of me. Without any shame or guilt, she used the money I had given her to buy lottery tickets.
I would've raised a stink, not that we needed any more of that, but instead I chose to take this as a sign. A sign from God that the consequence of my actions, the detour, the last minute impulse to stop at 7-11, and the generous display of empathy for my fellow man, had led me to this time and place for the fateful selection of my Winning Powerball Ticket.
It's the least the Universe could do in light of the incredibly disappointing sales of my recently published book.
Just so you know, I've opted for the all in one cash payout. Subtract taxes and various lawyer fees, the $900 million payout is actually closer to $425 million. What am I going to do with this obscene amount of cash?
After the obligatory yacht/snail/champagne buying, I'm going to snap up some ad agencies, form a holding company, go on tour speaking about "working for our clients", "redefining the digital landscape", "shifting paradigms via integrated synergistic messaging", and collect some fat ass checks.
That's where the real money is at.
(UPDATE: I did NOT win the Powerball. To all those dimwitted CEO's, Creative Directors, "Strategic" "Planners", annoying neighbors and crazy ex-girlfriends who might have received a vitriolic, long winded diatribe via email, please disregard. Unless, I win tonight.)