A few weeks ago, because I guess he felt that I was someone who he could confide in, a friend of mine that I have known since college told me that he inherited 10 million dollars from his grandfather. Of course, because of the scumbag that I am, I immediately thought about the both of us gallivanting around with women who look like they should be either on a fashion show runway or a porn movie, sipping on expensive champagne while throwing loose cash in the air like confetti. I also had an image us going to Vegas, hookers giving me a back-rub as we laugh hysterically about a story about a bouncer I once beat up, all the while "going all in" with 100 grand worth of chips even though I'm holding a truly shitty hand. That all sounds good, but because this guy is a friend and I feel guilty about being negligent in that category, I shifted to "friend Mode" and told him to invest his money. I gave him a lengthy lecture on stocks, not telling anyone about his new found fortune, and not blowing his loot on some bullshit, it was the best advice I have given any living human being ever.
I really thought I had gotten to him, infiltrated his consciousness with the "jewels" of wisdom I had placed in his lap. That was until I found myself in a ritzy ass club, getting attention from women who usually wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire, watching my friend pull out a wadd of money paying for a one thousand dollar bar bill. Yeah I'm a hypocrite because I contributed to said bill, but if you saw the luscious set of human Latina speed bags that were propped in my face, it would make a heterosexual woman throw her arm around me and say that she "feels my pain". Even though I declined his offer to buy me gifts, reason being because I didn't want to feel like "his bitch", why am I now currently enjoying the use of 5 high priced IPOD components as I type this post.(I'm such a fucking whore) But after watching him buy 3 cars, a boat, and a house that looks like a fucking museum, I feel guilty and in no way want to contribute to him blowing money that should last him a lifetime.(Even though the trip to Cancun that he offered all of his friends sounds nice, even though the mass amounts of college ass I would get would have me nervously waiting in my doctors waiting room anticipating "negative" test results)
But that had me thinking, if I won the lottery, what would be the first thing I would do with my new found fortune?? Hell, I might be as extravagant with my money as my friend is, who am I to judge?? These things might not sound that appealing to you, but here's what I would do if I hit the lotto.
Look out for my family: My mother is the only person in the world that I could ask to hold a million dollars for me while I do a 5 years prison bid and it would all be there when I get out. She is so unselfish that I know that any attempt to give her any dough would be thwarted, so I would have to do like Kain did in "Menace to Society" and put money in random places like her medicine cabinet, glove compartment, and possibly refrigerator and shit. I'd obviously hit my siblings off with loot, along with my favorite uncle in Chicago and my god-mother, besides that everyone else is pretty much shit out of luck. I mean, I'd give them some "Leave me the fuck alone" money consisting of possible 30 grand a piece, but after that runs out you are on your motherfucking own. Not because I'm trying to be mean or anything, but I have a hard time supporting anyone who probably feels that I'm a piece of shit in my now pre-lottery condition.
Get my black ass out of dodge: Yes, if I won the lottery the first thing my pudgy blogging ass would do is move, with a quickness. For one thing, I have lived in Virginia Beach all of my life, so imagine all of the loathsome women who have been kind enough to let me clumsily thrust on top of them over the past 18 years. If it became public that I was the new black "Daddy Warbucks", they would want back in my life for reasons stemming from "love" to payment for having the misfortune of losing their virginity to me. Besides that, I have been in so many physical altercations in my life that Mike Tyson would criticize me for having an anger problem. To be honest, I can name about 10 people who wouldn't be too upset if I became rather intimate with the business end of a bullet, I have enemies. I'd have to hire a bodyguard while packing twin glock 9mm's on my hips like I'm in the Wild West and shit, just to thwart any elaborate kidnapping plots headed my way. Come to think about it, I'd have to move my mama as well.
"Un pimp" my ride: A few years ago my republican friend Danny said, "That whole 'cops harassing black folks' shit is bullshit isn't it? Cops don't harass you if you are innocent!!" So what I did was I had an experiment where I would drive each time Danny and I went out, just so he could see that cops unnecessarily harass black folks. He took me up on it, thinking that I would look foolish after weeks of hanging out without any heat from the Virginia Beach Police Department. Well, 3 weeks and 7 police stops later, where I was cuffed and thrown against the car like I was a perp on the show "The Shield", Danny has a whole new outlook on Police Harassment. Shit, Danny might still believe that Saddam had WMD's, Bush is a "great leader", and that Bill O'Reilly is a prophet, but he also believes that Cops go out of their way to harass black folks.
Anyway, I went into that lengthy spiel to say that I have never been a guy who was in love with fancy ass cars. Especially if I won the lottery, I see no reason to make myself a bigger target for police attention. Shit, I got pulled over on a regular basis in college driving a 1985 Spectrum, my black ass might get a public cavity search if I all of a sudden drive a Hummer. So, I would purchase some horseshit car like a Pacer, or a Pinto, something that doesn't immediately shout "money". I'd ever leave the car looking like a fucking mess on the outside, rust spots and all. But, because I'm a sorry bastard who likes to laugh at my own miserable sense of humor, I'd make everything "in" the car brand spanking new. New high performance Engine, state of the art stereo system, GPS, hydraulics, nitrous, PlayStation 3 for my passengers, the frills. (Holding a Candle)Yes, I'm Humanity F Critic and I'm an asshole.
Live Below my means: Since my goal is to find a woman with a bar set low enough to marry my ass with hopes of her being goodly enough to let me spread my demon seed, finding the right candidate is a must. I don't know about you, but I feel that it would be difficult to find "Mrs. Right" if I threw my dough around more than a pizza maker, living in a 15 room mansion equipped with solid gold toilets. So, because I would want to find a decent woman, I would live in a modest size apartment, even telling her that I am a "struggling artist" just to maintain the "I'm not rich motherfucker" facade. Yes it's deceptive, dishonest, and any other adjective that puts a negative light on my particular choice, but don't you think she will look past the lies after 2 years of dating as I throw her a "You're going to Marry a Millionaire Baby" surprise party. When the streamers fall on her face as her friends and family cheer her on, won't the years spent eating grilled cheese sandwiches and shopping at the thrift store be worth it??
Start a radio station or own a record store: I'd never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather get a colon exam than be forced to listen to the radio for an entire day. Besides the fact of the eye-rolling music that they play, or the play-list they have to stick to where you might hear a song 10 times a day, its just that modern day radio releases a sticky goo of wackness that probably has the look of what sperm coming from the Stay-puff Marshmallow man would look like. To combat this, and I have no idea how much a radio station costs by the way, I would start my own broadcast where I would play real hip hop all day and talk straight shit about the other stations in my area. Of course there would be death threats from other local DJ's and listeners who are upset at me for saying that a "Young Jeezy album sounds like an hour long bowel movement from a turkey", but it would be so fucking worth it.
Being a music snob who has been diagnosed with a sexual addiction, besides a smorgasbord of women with big backsides vying for my attention, nothing gets me more exiting to me than a room full of Vinyl. I'm old school, and the mere thought of owning a vintage record store makes me want to eat healthier and drink less, to prolong my life that would be filled admiring my Hip Hop section and constantly adding to my blues section. I wouldn't care if my business made any money, just to be in a well insulated room as I play a rare remix to Rakim's "let the Rhythm hit em'" would be well worth being in the red.