Mark my words dear readers…. one of these days I’m going to be a successful artist. I will be so dadgum successful that I will actually be able to buy some land and build my very own dream home that’s so humongous it can be seen from space and will have its very own zip code. I will be so loaded that my new hobby will be swinging by random dealerships and buying their best car right on the spot just for kicks. Then I’ll spend my afternoons cruising the highways in one of my high-powered hot rods where my next goal is to pick up a Playboy bunny and woo her heart. And together we will book a round the world cruise and sail off into the rosy sunset where I will make her my wife.
But that’s tiddly-winks.
For in these wild days of bling and hot babes there is something I would love to buy that is even more precious than prime real estate or an all American mcmansion or a fleet of sports cars or a Playboy bunny hauling a wheelbarrow’s worth of wrinkle cream. I want to be so damn successful that I can actually afford to buy some eggs whenever I want! A hot plate of fried eggs and sausage for breakfast dear Lord is all I ask. For then I will know that my days of worrying and struggles are finally over. And I can bask in the comfort of knowing that the only thing I will ever have to worry about ever again is getting sick from salmonella all because my Playboy bunny of a wife doesn’t have a clue about how to properly fry an egg.
