It occurs to me that the reason I’ll never win the lottery is that God loves me.  Or,  better,  he loves YOU.

He knows what I’d do with obscene amounts of cash,  you see.  To paraphrase The Rainmakers (AWESOME band, btw – go download or buy a CD):  I’d live myself to death in a couple of years. Instead of plodding along,  earning a (mostly) honest living,  learning and growing from the little day-to-day things,  I’d suddenly be able to do whatever I wanted.  Picture that spoiled kid from your school who got everything and had no responsibilities.  Remember how surprised they looked in the back of the Mounties’ cruiser?  That’d be me after a lottery win.  I don’t know how surprised I’d look though.

Even just writing about the things I’d do with my money makes me smile and think that it actually wouldn’t be so bad.  See how weak I am in the face of filthy lucre’s siren call?  I’m sure things would start out innocently enough…

Like supplying my family and friends with everything they ever needed or wanted.  Like donating SCADS of money to the world’s oppressed.  Like buying a 50 cal Desert Eagle and going Down Under to shoot some ‘Roos.  Giving Ceno a showing of “Eraser Head” projected on a man-made fogbank over a lake as we sat on the beach and smoked.  Like flying myself to the top of some giant mesa in the American southwest and sitting there,  martinis in hand,  while my favourite music thundered all around me.  This would be possible because I had a massive speaker array set up behind my lawn chair the night before.

After enjoying all that,  I’d pay to see my good friend Neo fight a couple of massive tom turkies,  and a hissing Canada goose.  (This, of course, would be a cage match.)  But then I’d think to myself:  “Self – how can we make this better?  How can we make this spectacular?”  And so would begin an epic fall from “generally OK sort of guy”  into the realm of  “ass hat”.

Because from there,  I would add more barnyard fowl into the cage.  And a rammy little goat.  Then I’d quickly become a bad person because I just couldn’t resist it.  I’d haul Neo out and replace him with machete wielding little people who knew how to fight.  After that,  I’d have Ceno in the cage pounding the daylights out of a couple of clowns.  What a spectacular spectacle!  I’d pay all fighters involved a big wad of cash,  and have a barnfowl Bar-B-Q afterwards.  The beer would flow like wine.  I’d fly Viper and Atomique over to play really loud music for us.  After I reunited the Beatles to open for them.

I might settle down for a bit after that and simply take a trip to Tahiti…but then again,  I just might end up in the canopy of the Amazon or Madagascar on a giant platform,  smoking Cuban cigars and smacking golf balls at any monkies that happened by.  And yes – I would pee off the edge.  I would also go to Antarctica just to see what happens when I run screaming and yelling through penguin nesting grounds.  Could I feed the penguins to the Leopard seals?  OH!  Wait!  Let’s fly to Scotland and golf  St. Andrews!  With hockey sticks!  And wearing mustard-stained “wife-beaters”!

After getting the bum’s rush out of Scotland,  I’d realise just how boring having scads of money is,  and I would ask myself again: “Self?  How can we make this less boring?”  The easiest answer to that is,  of course,  ROAD TRIP!!

Only it would be in a Lear jet with all my friends,  a never-ending bar, and a pile of strippers.  We’d all take turns telling the pilot where we wanted to go…the only caveat would be the pilot gets to make random, aerobatic maneuvers en route.  In a moment of rational thought,  I’d think to invite a doctor.

Also?  I’d buy a tank.  Late model.  And probably drink and drive in it.  But only off-road while I was hunting elephants on the Serengeti.  I’m pretty sure I could get a 105 or 120 mm paintball to do so…I’d hate to actually hurt an endangered species, you know.

But silver tarnishes.  After a long while of general ass-hattery,  I’d start to think about storing up for the future and leaving a legacy.  So I’d endevour to buy the Phillipines.  Warm,  lots of beautiful people,  lots of pineapples, lots of banana ketchup.  I’d also look pretty darn smashing in a military cap and aviator shades.  I’d have Churchill and Patton and Ghandi cloned to run the place while I paved the lawn of my presidential palace,  and mowed it weekly with a bubble mower.  However,  being of quick temper and with a readily available supply of rum,  the prospects of all this ending well would be slim to none.  I’d probably start some shit with North Korea one night after going on yet another pisser and watching “Red Dawn”.  I suspect it would end in a global conflagration of some sort,  and I’d end up burnt,  broke,  and making a hut on a Phillipine beach out of roasted pineapples.

There you have it.  None of this will ever happen.  Proof that God loves us.

That being said,  can I borrow a fin til payday?