And while we’re at it – see post below about my dream ride (the Aston, not Megan Fox… although… I digress), I thought I’d give the EuroMillions lottery a shot. What the hell, one ticket at 4 quid = R1,5 billion. Yup, you heard correctly. One and a half billion ront. Sounds like a decent investment to me.
Figured if I want an Aston Martin DB9 someday I’m gonna need an extreme solution. Yes yes, I know: I’ve got more chance of being hit by lightning while ducking a fighter jet while finding a dodo while ghoening Jessica Biel, but hey, it ain’t gonna happen if I don’t take a shot. So please don’t go and play the EuroMillions lottery too – I really don’t feel like sharing with you lot. I don’t think I’d be able to scrape by on a paltry R750 million. Times are tough and all that…
Can you imagine? All those folks who harp on about “oh if I won I’d still keep working and not change my home and blah blah boo frikkin hoo blah blah”. And do you know what I say to that? “BOLLOCKS!” I’ve come to terms with being shallow: this blog would be updated from my very own Maldive (or to be precise, from my yacht offshore of my very own Maldive, but now we’re just arguing semantics). By the way, can one say “Maldive” in the singular? Who cares, I’ll have R1,5 billion and can say whatever the hell I want!! Oxford Dictionary got a problem with that? Bring it on bitches!! Don’t make me buy the whole institution just to fire your asses.
Next stop: Aston Martin. As mentioned in the previous post: Vroom. ’nuff said.
But anyway, that’s next week’s problem. Reality just phoned, so now I’m off to the ATM downstairs to beg it to donate a few scraps of cash to my fuel tank fund. Pretty please? Who’s a beautiful bank machine then? You are, yes you are.
