I want to be a celebrity. Not just any celebrity, but a rich and famous celebrity. I want to be followed around by the paparazzi… not being about to even scratch my ass without at least a dozen photographers snapping pictures and zipping those images to every gossip magazine in the world.
I want Rupert Murdoch to really want to hack my phone.
I want to be a guest on talk shows, where I can wax philosophic about my childhood traumas and my astute political opinions.
I want to be the master of all things self-promotional. I want to make Kim kardashian look like a rank amateur when it comes to being famous for being talentless.
I want to be paid ten-of-thousands of dollars to attend parties given by the rich and powerful.
I want to be invited to the White House. I want to be a guest on the Bill Maher show.
I dream the dream that is quintessentially American. Posting “Brand Me” on Facebook will just not make it anymore. I want to be loved and admired by all. Hell, I even want a new clever name, like, “RiRoy”. Yeah, that works.
But most of all….
I want to marry a girl who is forty years younger than I am. Somewhere around nineteen or twenty years of age will do. A supermodel or a famous actress would be fine. Perhaps even a disgruntled Sports WAG.
And with straight face, I will go in front of the media and my loving fans to explain that Love knows no boundaries, and that me and my new love are seriously, head-over-heels, right down to the bone… In Love. We were a match made in heaven. Soul Mates.
Sure, there might be some naysayers out there who correctly point out that a man of my age has no business being in an intimate relationship with a child, and there might even be those who say that I used my power, wealth, and celebrity to nab myself a young large-breasted gold digger.
Obviously, they don’t know anything about Love.
Some things never change.
Have a day.