You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
312 MILLION DOLLARS!
It’s a number so big, it has Copernicus doing donuts in a WalMart Parking lot.
It’s such an unfathomable amount, Steven Hawking can’t compute the gravitational pull of this lump sum to the influx of new friends and family suddenly friending you on FaceBook.
Mega Millions gave away 312 Million dollars to one person in New York Friday night.
One person. 312 Million dollars. One lucky person. From rags to ridiculous riches in the drop of 6 balls. One dollar returns 312 million dollars.
Even Charlie Sheen doesn’t get odds like that with two hookers and an eight ball of crack.
That’s the kind of money only an African flim flam man can dream up over a western union money scam.
The winning numbers were 22-24-31-52-54, with Megaball number 4.
How random. What is the significance? It’s not like the code to the Lost Computer. It’s not like it’s your high school locker combination. It probably isn’t a birthdate since few people are born on either the 52nd or 54th day of the month.
HMMMMM?
312 Million dollars!
Can you even imagine? What would you do with 312 million dollars.
I’m excited when I open my wallet and there’s a twenty in it. 312 million dollars. You need an armored car to make a bank transfer.
The winning jackpot ticket for Friday’s drawing was sold at Coulson’s News Center in Albany, N.Y. According to the Mega Millions website, the jackpot is the sixth-highest in the game’s history. The largest jackpot was $390 million in March 2007.
What’s it like to wake up Saturday morning and watch the news and they tell you there is one winner in your town. You probably feel a twitch of anticipation as you grab your ticket. Then the announcer begins revealing the numbers as you carefully scan the paper in your hands. You read it over and over and over. You back up the DVR. This can’t be true, you say to yourself. Suddenly the piece of paper you tossed on the coffee table the night before, like so much gum wrappers and gas receipts is worth more than your coffee table, your house, your entire neighborhood.
Suddenly you are holding fort Knox in your hand. What do you do? Do you scream? Do you call your ex girlfriend and say “take that bitch” Do you tell anyone? Do you quietly giggle to yourself or do you bounce off the walls knowing that you are the richest man in your zip code?
If that’s my ticket, I’m so thrilled my eye balls will pop. I’m also freaking out. where do I put this magic ticket of life transformation? Do I put it in my wallet? No, that’s not safe enough. Should I put the wallet in my back pocket close to my body? OK, that’s safe. I can actually feel it pressed against my ass. That’s safe right? No, maybe it’s not. What if I lose my pants or what if I’m robbed before I can turn the ticket in? What if my own ass gets a crazy idea and robs me of my new found fortune? Damn ass. Can’t trust it as far as you can throw it.
Paranoia. Joy. Bewilderment. Excitement.
The emotions rush through you till your hair is electrified like a Brillo pad hooked up to a car battery.
What a terribly awesome problem to have. How to disperse, spend, save and otherwise roll around in 312 million dollars.
I don’t know what it is after taxes, but I would say who cares?
You have beaten the odds. You didn’t just beat the odds, you decimated them. You clubbed them like a baby seal. No you didn’t just club the baby seal, you dropped a nuclear bomb on that baby seal, sending its baby seal atoms back to the beginning of time.
Odds?
You lifted up its kilt and kicked them squarely in the family jewels with a Wolverine work boot. You had a better chance of getting hit by lightning inside a submarine under the North Pole than winning this lottery. You became the poster boy for luck. Somewhere in a sales office in Dublin, Ohio there is a framed poster of the word luck and your face holding a lottery ticket in one hand a stripper in the other. You are the official, singular, luckiest man on the face of the Earth this weekend. Even luckier than the man who waxes Holly Berry for a living.
For fun I googled what $312 million can buy:
Some obscure website said it would buy me ONE day in the Afghan war. More than half a million iPads; one for every citizen in some obscure Michigan town. Enough food to feed people in drought plagued Zimbabwe.
All good options, but it got me to thinking. What would I do with 312 million dollars.
Right off the bat, I’m getting that hamster I have been debating on buying. And you know what, I’m buying the extra large hamster wheel with the bell. No skimping here buddy boy.
Next up, I’m buying 200 tomahawk Cruise Missiles. I will also have to get a permit to store them in my garage because I’m pretty sure there is an ordinance violation associated with this volatile acquisition.
I am going to rent out ESPN for 24 hours and take over sports center. I am going to invite all my friends to the studio and we are going to do body shots live on ESPN Desportes.
I am going to ingest a wheel barrow of HGH and go on a basketball slam dunk fest in all the arenas across America.
I am going to buy a yacht with a swimming pool and a heli-pad. My swimming pool will be so big it will also have a yacht in it and the swimming pool in that yacht will be where I store my fleet of 400 hp turbo charged jet skis that look like the bat mobile.
I am going to rent a Russian rocket and go to space with Hawaiian tropic girls. I am going to slather myself in anti gravity sun tan lotion while drinking with Jimmy Buffet who is my personal blender boy.
I am going to buy an island in Costa Rica and give it to my friends so I have a cool place to visit on boy’s poker night.
I am going to harness the power of the moon with polar bear endorphins and make the most bad ass sports drink ever.
I am going to buy a professional baseball team and announce that I am the starting left fielder because nobody else can afford to pay my contract and I can’t make that long throw from right field to third.
I am going to build a tropical ski resort in Micronesia where the women wear thongs and pink ski boots and little else. The hills are dotted with black diamonds that represent margarita mixing stations.
312 Million Dollars.
Can you dare to dream? Yes you can!!
And that is crazy!