Skip to main content

My Billion Dollar Lottery Win

by The Urban Blabbermouth
I am preoccupied these days thinking about the lottery and that 1.6 BILLION dollars I shockingly didn't win.  There are other lotteries of course.  The most famous lottery is a short story by Shirley Jackson called, The Lottery.  I am not going to tell you about that story.  You will have to read it to find out why it's so famous.  Another famous lottery that had my attention was the military draft back in the Vietnam War years.  

Now that this particular drawing is one for the history books, there is only one thing to do: Start planning for the next one.

So what will I do with this money, this 1.6 BILLION dollars?  First how much would I have to work with?  The cash amount is some 900 MILLION.  That's a big number and more money than I can comprehend.  That is more money than all my family's income for the last thousand years added together, assuming that I can trace all of them. 

There are some 100 people who work in my part of the company.  We all could get four million each and that includes the people I don't like, and there would still be money left over.  We could all retire the next day.  Think how many companies' executive leaders dread a win in one of the office pools.

I assume that half of the 900 MILLION dollars will disappear in taxes - it always does!  So I end up with 450 MILLION dollars.  If I want to give away a couple of millions or so to all the people I know, I would have to pay a gift tax.  The money is taxed twice, once for me winning it and second for me giving it away.  Imagine that, the government taxes you for being generous.  That ain't right.

My wife has to get a share too.  It's only right that she gets half.  Share and share alike.  It's her reward for marrying me other than having me as her husband of course.  So that leaves me with 225 MILLION.  Wait a minute, wasn't the lottery winner suppose to get 1.6 BILLION?

Ultimately, as far as I can see, it comes down to what would I like to do for myself.  I would like a new house.  I don't want a mansion because I cannot fathom what I would do in a twenty bedroom house where there will be parts of the house that I never use or ever visit.  I would like a larger bedroom, a gym, a pool, a huge air conditioned/heated garage with marble floors for my seven cars - one for each day, a library, and an office where I can work to figure out what to do with the rest of this money.  What a tough job.


Popular posts from this blog

Memoir - The Year of Kent State

by The Urban Blabbermouth
I wanted to write a fictional memoir and it got away from me. 

I was born in the Year of Kent State. I didn't know. I was watching a cable channel specializing in historical programs, in this case, newsworthy events from the 1970s. The Ohio National Guard shot 13 unarmed students protesting the Vietnam War on the Kent State University campus. Four students died. By the time I was aware of a bigger world than my own, Kent State passed into history.

Im gonna git u Sukkah

by The Urban Blabbermouth [who may or may not be shown in the photo above... - v-E] ~ True story. I am walking to my car and I notice a couple of Jewish fellows, twenty somethings, with the bouquets of what looks like bamboo or palm. I know they are Jewish for they look Hasidic. They are wearing long black jackets, wide brim black fedora hats, and have curly sideburns. In truth, I classify all Jewish who dress like this as Hasidic although they may identify themselves differently. They are standing near the corner canvassing passersby.

Climbing to New Heights

by The Urban Blabbermouth
It started when I was ten.  I was riding shotgun with my father when a small plane crossed the highway in front of us.  The plane floated gently to its landing, like it had all the time in the world.  It was beautiful.  I knew then I wanted to be a pilot.  

I dreamed of soaring with the clouds and flying through them.  I could go anywhere the crow flies.  No stuck in traffic following a road as laid out by some anonymous engineer.  I could fly with the birds, although, I never thought myself a bird.  I loved the freedom.

But, I fear heights.  

It's not just any heights, it's low heights, the kind you get with stairs, balconies, bridges, and landing airplanes.  When I fly on airlines as a passenger, I look out the window at thirty thousand feet, no fear.  Somewhere between six feet, my height, and thirty thousand feet, airplane's height, lives my fear, a mysterious feeling that emerges from my stomach and rises up into my chest.  I can't…