A few years ago, my co-w*rkers pooled together some money for a good cause. Namely, there was a huge mega-millions jackpot, and we all wanted to win that money so we could never set eyes on each other again. Nothing will rally people together like the blessed possibility of tearing them apart, so we all threw our money into the pot and bought a stack of tickets. We didn’t win. That’s probably obvious.
But there were a few days where hope glimmered on our respective horizons. I dreamed of the day I could wake up, greet the reality of the morning with a hearty “GFY!” and go right back to sleep for 72 hours. “What are you going to do with your share of the money” was the question on everyone’s lips. There were lots of imaginary car purchases, island vacations, and real estate investments flying around (I worked with some boring and unimaginative people).
"What will you do with your winnings, Rev. Back It On Up 13?" asked one of these jerks, but my sincere response, "surgical gill installation", was met with derision. "What do you want with gills?" they’d ask me. "You know that’s not possible, right?" Assholes. Have fun shitting all over my fantasies.
I didn’t win the money and I didn’t get the gills, and I don’t work with those people anymore, which is just as well. They asked stupid questions, and they already HAD cars, vacations and real estate. If a vast and unthinkable quantity of life-changing currency suddenly fell into your life, why would you ever want more of the same shit you’re already dissatisfied with? Unless you are a fucking moron of the highest degree, in which case, I can probably con you out of your share of the jackpot, you snivelling shit. Then I’ll get gills AND ram horns. There’s no proof that there IS a population of wild angry bulls underwater, but there’s no proof that there’s NOT, either.
Eventually the tides will rise up and swallow this city. Who will be laughing then?