Another one from Justin:
You just won 10 million dollars, how will you spend it?
Honestly I’d do the most boring shit imaginable, which is invest it for a 2 per cent return and live high off the hog with half that, a hundred grand a year. The other half I would give to foster kids. The group home Nikol works with. I would give them books and computers and a pool. The pool would never be used because all the foster kids are black. FUCK YOU FOR CALLING ME RACIST I GIVE HALF MY INCOME TO GOD DAMN FOSTER KIDS.
When I fantasize about having money it’s never about boats and cars and whores. I like my car, which cost me $1200. It’s a 1979 diesel Mercedes just like my last one and if it breaks I will buy another 1979 diesel Mercedes. The fucking thing just looks cool. New cars are stupid. They lack character.
If I had a boat I would just sink and die. Probably I’d capsize in the middle of a swarm of angry jellyfish. Or even if you don’t get stung to death you have to drive to the marina and sit in traffic and park and it’s a pain in the ass. Everyone thinks they’re gonna have fun on a boat but they just puke. Any girl who would come with me on my boat would probably have gone back to my apartment anyway. And once you fuck her you’re stuck on a boat with this person talking about her friend’s fucking Kickstarter. Maybe I would buy a captain’s hat and a double breasted blue blazer with anchors on the buttons just to look like I have a boat, but I don’t need the actual boat.
Women, you know, that seems like a nice part about having money but, I’m tall and not ugly and I can talk, which basically gives me a pussy value of ten million dollars anyway. Plus I feel like having money would actually make women slower to fuck you. They’d be trying to figure out an angle, how to stay in your life so you can buy their dad a liver transplant or whateverthefuck, and the way women think they can stay in your life is to drag out fucking you. Me, they can take a slip ‘n’ dip in a bar bathroom and if I don’t call the next day it’s no great loss.
So yeah, I never think about helicopters and hot tubs. I imagine instead that I’m buying some land outside LA, maybe a farm. Then taking dozens of kids who are wards of the state and letting them live with donkeys and goats and adults who won’t beat or rape them. I fantasize about a little kid’s eyes bugging out when they see that goats can climb trees. I fantasize about paying the kind of money that swanky PhD’s got paid to teach kids at my fancy New England boarding school, getting the best educators in the world to come teach wards of the state. Kids who spent their first ten years getting burned with cigarettes and fucked in the mouth, pussy and asshole by their grandfather. Taking human lives that we are throwing away and turning them around.
There’s a kid Nikol hangs out with who came out to LA from that group home. He’s going to law school now. With his law degree he is going to help other kids who went through third world poverty and horrific abuse like he did. He is doing this because one person, somewhere, said: hey, I give a shit what happens to you. That is seriously all it took. There are millions of people for whom no one ever does that; they age out of the child welfare system and end up hooking or in jail or dead.
So that’s what I’d do with my ten million, actually– I’d build a big farm where kids with shitty lives can live. I’d endow scholarships so they could go to good schools and I’d hire people who seem non-molesty to show them that someone gives a shit. And then I’d never visit because if I did I’d end up fucking some fifteen year old and getting arrested.