My 8 Millionaire Possessions That No Longer Make Me Happy
The 1990 vintage Ferrari – The only reason I bought this car was to be able to drive it to the college reunion this year. I wanted to prove to them, especially Brock, that I’m not a ‘Slimy Douchebag.’ But the morons at the college cancelled the event just because the principal died of COVID. He wasn’t even a millionaire. WTF!
The antique watch – I bought it at a charity fundraiser in order to get noticed by the president of the country club. We were bidding against each other and having so much fun but then he unexpectedly stopped when I raised to fifty thousand dollars. He hasn’t spoken to me since and worse, the watch doesn’t count my daily steps. In the time it takes me to tell the time on it, I’m already in the future. My life sucks.
The NBA G League team – I instructed the coach to sign my girlfriend’s nephew, Shorty, for the team but he refused. Un-fukin-believable! He’s a 5’4” hunk and was an excellent shortstop in his Little League. Shorty would have been an excellent Small Forward but the coach has simply no eye for talent. My girlfriend, who once dated Brock, is pissed with me.
My yacht, ‘Cur N Sea’ – It is a 117 feet beauty with nine helipads; you know, just in case. The upholstery is very tastefully designed with motifs of global currencies. The master bedroom is themed on the mighty US Dollar. Obviously. The wallpaper is Benjamins, the duvet is fifty dollar bills and the pillowcases are hundred-thousand-dollar bills with a picture of Gordon Gekko. But I’m gutted for Cur N Sea has been impounded by the Government because they found a few teeny kilos of coke on board.
The Newspaper – I woke up one night from a nightmare having dreamt that everyone else had stocked up on toilet paper while I was away on my yacht. So I bought the newspaper as a plan B. But I haven’t run out of toilet paper yet, so the newspaper is just being put to one use. What a waste!
My Street Pharmacist – Technically he is not a possession but he has done time for it. You could argue (and he did) that his product was indirectly responsible for our tech venture. While on a trip, my co-founders and I decided to give him 0.5% of the shares in our start-up. He is now a millionaire, which puts him annoyingly in the same demographic as me. Plus his girlfriend is a certified porn-star. Mine used to be just a garden variety stripper. Life’s so not fair.
Wine Cellar – I met another of Brock’s exes at a party and she told me that she had curated Bezos’ wine collection. I immediately commissioned her. She bought tens of bottles of Chateau-this and Bordeaux-that for my brand new cellar. Turns out all my bottles are old and dusty with faded, peeling labels. Some even had cobwebs on them. The bitch totally scammed me. Worse, my monthly executive health check shows I’m allergic to tannins. Will my nightmare never end?
The Country Club – I can’t even show my face there. I’m probably the only one without personalized cutlery in the dining room. Only certified billionaires get those. It is so embarrassing eating with spoons and forks without my name on them. I tried getting the Club to add up my real estate and other assets, but they want to see a clear billion in a bank account. How much shame can they heap on a man? I feel like killing myself every day at 11 a.m. as Siri announces my bank balance as my wake-up alarm.