Mitt Romney and the Sparkly Poo
It’s none of my business how rich people spend their money. If they want their polo ponies to wear platinum-plated horseshoes, who cares if those horseshoes might have fed a dozen starving children for a year?
This week Mitt Romney attended a fundraiser at the home of Texas developer Harlan Crow. The photo of Crow’s library makes it appear that he hijacked the Sistine Chapel and brought it home to Texas because Jesus loves Texans more than anyone else.
The difference between Mitt Romney and me (other than his penis, his millions, and his being a pathological liar) is that I might have taken issue with the two original paintings by Adolph Hitler hanging on the walls of Crow’s home. He’s a collector and I’m not accusing him of being a Nazi sympathizer. But I’m outspoken (some would say rude) and I might have asked him if the seller donated all the proceeds to the Simon Wiesenthal Center. Then I would mention that’s the only way I would own original paintings by Hitler.
I admit I occasionally daydream of the things I would or wouldn’t do if I tripped and fell into a huge freaking pile of money.
I would quit my job, never get a nose job and call for a moratorium on blow jobs.
My white trash Toyota would be honorably retired and replaced with a Toyota that doesn’t have two hundred thousand miles on the odometer. I might even splurge and hire a cute college student to flirt with me while he drives me to the grocery store.
I would probably buy that thick cookbook I’ve had my eye on for years. Once it’s placed on a chair, I’d finally have the height needed to change the light bulb in the kitchen. Then I could read the labels on the cans of soup I’d be heating up in the microwave.
Even though my cats are in desperate need of therapy, I won’t shell out one hundred bucks an hour for a pet therapist. I might consider buying them a few cans of cat food to alleviate their depression.
I would become a world traveler and convince every single person in every other nation that all Americans are as fabulous as I am. After achieving world peace, I would be suitably humble in my Nobel Peace Prize winning speech.
I won’t buy a mansion or a fur coat. I can’t be bothered to clean the first and overwhelming guilt would cause me to make reparations to the descendants of the second.
I really don’t need or want most things people with money seem to find necessary. Of course I could be wrong because it’s been said that money changes people. Once I’m filthy rich I might go on a crazed spending spree. But I can emphatically state that the one thing I definitely won’t be buying when I’m filthy rich is a real product which is advertised on the Internet. I was astounded to learn there are inch long edible capsules filled with gold flakes. Each capsule costs $92 and the pure gold passes straight through the body and ends up in your stool. The end result is sparkly shit. I can only imagine rich people oohing and aahing over their sparkly shit as they toss back glasses of overpriced wine. No thanks. I’ll just avoid looking, flush and go have a cheap beer.
This election season, I hope there’s an intrepid reporter out there who has what it takes to sneak into Mitt Romney’s bathroom with a camera. Geraldo?