Are you out purchasing Christmas gifts yet? Well, you should be! The survival of our entire economy and, thus, very society relies on malls having a profitable Christmas season.
And aren’t material goods just the best? You can make a person think that you care for them without showing any true affection to them with material goods. Did we mention our blowout sale on diamonds? Diamonds are always a safe bet, because you don’t have to know anything about a person’s favourite colour or personal style, if you get them a giant diamond. Sparkly sparkly. Expensive expensive.
Tired of your annoying wiener kids? Get them a tablet or a game console, so that they can self-medicate their ADHD with constant stimulation. Later, get them a Fitbit for when they start embarrassing you with their unsightly fat asses from sitting around all day.
And don’t forget to keep stuffing your faces with meat and candy. As long as you’re chewing, you don’t have to talk to your relatives. This helps preventing slip-ups where you tell people what you really think and your great aunt gets all offended and junk and then your mother bitches at you about it for the rest of eternity.
Always stop of at the dollar store for stocking stuffer doohickeys. I guarantee you that they won’t end up in the junk drawer by February.
Anyway, buy me a widescreen TV. I, actually, need one. Because I have to watch things for research and stuff. Yeah, that’s it.
So I go to the store and I get myself 8 bottles of pop, a jug of milk and stick of butter. The checkout girl and the manager were all like, “Are you sure that you don’t want any help with that?” and I was all like, “Nah, I got this.”
And so, I grabbed all my bags, waltzed on out of the store and carried it all up the steep hill to the house.
My refusal to give in to the convenience of a granny cart has resulted in the formation of giant scary muscles in my arms.
I’m going to use my awesome muscles to punch stuff and commit supervillanry.
With the advent of social media, we’ve been given an unprecedented look into the private lives of the rich and famous. And what are these affluent individuals doing with their vast resources and spare time? Playing rocket-powered cybernetic water polo? Having every one of their individual hairs gold leafed? No. No, as far as I can tell from their status updates, rich celebrities spend most of their spare time sitting on their butts playing video games or watching TV. In fact, I’d say that they seem to spend a great deal more time on their butts than the average person.
Seriously, if I see one more tweet from a famous actor about how they’re eating Funyons and going on a Netflix binge…
But I digress. Their choices of what to do with their means is not what I would choose if I were in the same position. Who am I to judge? “Different strokes” and such.
But, hoo-boy let me tell you, if were a lady of wealth, there would be rich guy shenanigans and capers a-plenty. No butt-sitter would I be.
I would live in a tree house in the centre of a hedge maze. Dressing like David Bowie from the movie Labyrinth, I would taunt UPS men in their attempts to deliver packages to me. Anyone who traverses the maze will be rewarded with a ten-pound Wether’s Original.
Remember those annoying talking shoes from MC Hammer’s horrible cartoon Hammerman? I’d have a bunch of those genetically engineered and you’d all get a pair for Christmas.
I’d pay FOX to stop making more seasons of The Simpsons.
At night, I would disguise myself as a commoner and partake in their drunken revelry. A dawn, I would reveal myself as their queen and reward the serf who I was entertained by with the hand of my no-good brother, the Duke of Scarborough.
I would have Cadbury Cream Eggs enlarged to the size they were when I was a kid.
I would commission a giant pink flamingo statue to put on my front lawn. The flamingo will emit a low-level buzzing noise that will set visitors ill at ease.
I would have a dogsbody. I just like saying “dogsbody”.
I would start a league for the world’s most dangerous game: red rover. The uniforms will consist of tutus, moon boots and fuzzy cowboy hats. The trophy for winning will be a silver-plated sippy cup and, of course, the winning team will get to sip the finest Canadian beer from it.
I would finally be able to afford juice that’s actually 100% the fruit that it’s supposed to be. No more of this “cocktail” or “blend” nonsense.
There would be Magic Eye wallpaper all throughout my house. It would be stereograms of kittens frolicking, mostly. I don’t care if it would give me a constant headache.
I would stop doing that thing where, when I’m low on shampoo, I swish some water around in the bottle to stretch-out the remainder. I’d just buy a brand-new bottle, baby!
I would travel everywhere in a blimp, even just down the street to go pick up some groceries. I will have special attire just for wearing in my blimp, of course there will be goggles included in this outfit.
I would have a herald who will announce loudly the arrival of the mailman each day. He will list a bunch of fake titles for the mailman, such as “The Baron of Spam” or “The Marquis de Mail”. My herald will have a fancy trumpet.
I would have pants encrusted entirely in LEDs. The LEDs will have a slow pulse frequency causing a phantom array effect, so they’ll look really freaky when I walk.
I would use my influence to start a curly-toed show trend. If there can be a drop-crotch pants trend, then there can be a curly-toed shoe trend.
There would be a marble arena, wherein I would host twice-daily toddler fights free for viewing by the public.
If possible, I would have a genetically-engineered minotaur put in my maze, otherwise, I would just put a particularly ornery dairy cow in there. Moo.
I would assemble a team of teenagers with attitude to pilot my extensive collection of mecha and to run errands for me.
I would have a naked mole rat habitat in my living room. Guests would be regaled with various naked mole rat facts. It would be the highest honour for one of my naked mole rats to be named after you.
I would have a lifetime supply of new sock, so I would never have to such through my clothing for a matching pair ever again.
Basically, I would be a menace, if I were a rich person.