What would YOU do with a million dollars? It’s an oft asked question, right up there with “Are you a cop? Y’know you have to tell me if you are, right?” or “Dude, how much for those 99 cent potato chips?” If you asked me what I would do with a cool million before today, my answer would have been “a Branch-Davidian style compound, where I had multiple wives and would subject my followers to all-night prog-rock jam-sessions, featuring me on all instruments.” After all, I’m a one-man band and I don’t like sharing credit. But today the idea hit me, “What could I buy with 325 million?” and the answer became all too apparent…a planet.
First I thought…Earth:
My first choice was quickly shot down, however, due to overpopulation and the fact that that Daily Discord was created there. Besides, the Ghetto Shaman has already subjected most of the female population to his New Age Cuties (NAC). Plus all the logistics, with multiple land-owners, countries, dictators, copyright laws, etc.
My next choice would be Mars, until I quickly learned that men are from there. Since I’m not your “average Joe”, conversation quickly turns to thin, watery gruel at best. Here’s what usually passes for conversation between me and another male.
“Boy, sure is cold out, huh?”
“What is UP with that Tebow guy?”
Awkward silence….crickets (cue tumbleweed).
You get the picture. So if men are from Mars, fuck that.
Too many satellite pictures. When I get crater front property, I like to be naked. Besides, still way too close to the in-laws.
I immediately ruled out the closest planet to the sun, because…er, it’s the closest planet to the sun. Unless I am planning to make the first human casserole colony (HCC), it sounded like a bad idea. Of course, I haven’t ruled out making this the penal colony for my actual planet.
I’m told women reside there, en masse’. While visions of green “Star Trek” styled space babes in silver thigh-high boots & matching mini-skirts & nine vaginas dazzled my thoughts, I quickly realized I can barely get a word in when there’s three Earth women in the room, let alone an ENTIRE PLANET populated with them. Then I envisioned roughly six billion menstrual cycles and how they could be coordinated like the plot-outline from Ocean’s 11. It’s tough enough having one woman mad at you cause you dropped your dirty underwear three feet away from…”THE GODDAMN HAMPER, ERTEL! YOU COULDN’T WALK IT ANOTHER 3 FEET?! WHAT THE HELL’S WRONG WITH YOU? I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE MARRIED THAT NICE JEWISH DOCTOR WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE! …SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT TEBOW GUY!”
OK, let’s multiply that scene by six billion….AHHHHHH!! –
No thanks….Venus is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to fling my underwear in the general direction of the hamper.
Didn’t make the cut, ‘cause it’s too big. It just screams too flashy. Donald Trump probably already has some deal worked out involving solid gold moons and The Red Spot Casino.
With all those rings, it smells too much like a commitment. Besides it’s almost as flashy as Jupiter with even more of that infernal cosmic bling.
Pass. I think it’s named after the Roman God of seaweed, or somethin’.
Admittedly this is not a planet, per se, but this one is a no-go as well. If I bought the Sun I’d feel way too much like a Bond Villain. Although, a shark tank in my office that drops people from the shark tank directly into the sun would be pretty cool…well, hot.
I’ve tried that line on many women already. “Hey, babe, I OWN Uranus!”…sadly to no avail. For this line they often call me an asshole, while completely missing the irony.
So, the obvious answer to me, since I’m a sucker for a good underdog story anyway, is…
Since its downgrade to a “dwarf planet”, it seems like the obvious choice. It’s out of the way, small enough I can maneuver about on foot. And, statistically speaking, a 7-11 is bound to be nearby. Solar System real estate agents probably describe it as “cozy” and since its recent downgrade, I can probably get it up for a steal.
Oh, and most importantly, I can stock it with Space Midgets. I’ve already done the math.
$325 million well-spent.
Oh, and for those docking with my planet, please report to the Branch-Davidian style compound, where I have multiple wives and I’m currently subjecting my followers to all-night prog-rock jam-sessions, featuring me on all the instruments.
Damn, if I’d just remembered to save one measly million for a night with Demi Moore.