The Billionaire — The Poem

Scotty, The billionaire

Was known for having a billion dollars*

On account of he had a billion dollars!

He quite enjoyed this

And he quite enjoyed living a life he quite enjoyed

So he decided he wanted to live forever

To stop aging he tried exercise, supplements, light therapy and even hoping!

But none of it worked, his body declined towards decrepit horror just like it did for the rest of us.

Then one day he had a brain wave that came right from his thinking part of his brain right into his recognizing he’d just thought of something part of his brain

‘Maybe I can use all this money to live forever on a computer or something ’ was that brain wave thought, and it now moved into his ‘worth a try’ brain part.

So as a final hurrah he spent his entire fortune on scientists nerds, computer nerds, computer scientists and nerd nerds, tasking them with figuring out how to upload his brain and all its parts, including any bits that may or may not be his soul, onto a computer.

And by blimey, it was money well spent, because this ragtag bunch of geniuses just went ahead and nailed it they did!

(Technically it was the nerd nerds that pulled it off, but the others ‘helped’)

And just as his heart began to give out, his lungs stopped sucking in air, and his spleen stopped spleening, his brain and the rest of the consciousness and bits, went ‘whoop’ deep into a computer.

Sixteen billion years later the sun finally burnt out and the computer holding his consciousness powered down. He whooped back out. He was a little sore from being in the same place for so long, and a tad groggy, but happy when he saw god, who was now welcoming him to the gates of heaven. Right through the front door.

(They didn’t have to open it, as he was just brain waves and shit).

God sat him down.

Shook his head

And said…

‘You missed out on 16 billion years of paradise you f’n drongo’. Seriously? You fucking idiot! Did you not even read the book I sent down?’

Scotty, took a moment to think about this, then asked.

‘Is that more wasted paradise years than anyone else ever?’

‘Yep’, replied God, ‘the only other billionaire that got even close was Elon Musk, who spent 14.2 billion years in a computer’.

Scotty, The billionaire

Now raised his hands in their air!

‘Woo hoo!’ He cried with joy!

I’m officially NUMBER ONE!

The end

*He was also known for popularizing rich guys not wearing ties to work! Thanks dude.

Another No Tie Guy 

Speaking Of Friendship

Stephanie was there today. I’d met her a long time earlier when she was selling plastic owls at a plastic owl shop on a day I was shopping for plastic owls.

Her shop didn’t have any plastic owls that met my plastic owl needs that day so I promised I’d come back. A promise I kept every day for years.

This impressed Stephanie. ‘I’m impressed by a man who is clear and dedicated to his specific plastic owl needs’ she said to me, on my 754th straight day coming into the plastic owl store and failing to find a plastic owl that fit my plastic owl needs. ‘I like a girl who sells plastic owls’ I replied. And we’ve been friends ever since. We can talk for hours — about owls, about plastic, sometimes even about plastic owls!

It was from her that I found out that plastic can be used to make birds OTHER than owls — eagles, hawks, even some non-predatory birds! Quite incredible really.

I was glad to see Stephanie today as I’d recently stopped visiting the plastic owl store. You see I’ve recently discovered, much to my utter shock, that beavers can’t climb apartment buildings! I know. So I no longer even needed a beaver scaring plastic owl.

I learned four other important things that day too:

1. Why Stephanie’s plastic owl store never had a plastic owl that suited my plastic owl needs
2. Why the toothpick collection I keep on my fifteenth floor balcony has never been stolen from beavers
3. Even Stephanie, who has worked in the plastic owl business for years, still has some gaps in her plastic owl knowledge

4. An example of Stephanie’s gap in knowledge about plastic owls would be that beavers cannot climb apartment blocks

I was really looking forward to seeing Stephanie because I knew she’d be excited about expanding her plastic owl knowledge, but here is the thing, we had so many other things to talk about today that I never got around to it!

Like for example, during our chat, I learned that plastic can be used to make animals that aren’t even birds at all! Like alligators, lions and even non-predatory animals! Quite incredible really.

Friendship sure is awesome.

And Now The Story Of Chairs And An Unsatisfiable Ass

Rennington Crestonrail had had a storied forty-three year rein as one of the world’s most accomplished and successful master chair makers.

His chairs had won awards, been featured on the cover of Chair Weekly AND Chair Fortnightly (now weekly), and were so magnificent some even had won prized spots in art galleries around the world (causing many an art fan of all ages to ghasp “why the fuck is there a chair here, I thought this was an art gallery for fuck sake”).

Yep Crestonrail was at the absolute top of his profession. Then one day a man named Arnold Bonnybott appeared at his door, with tears streaming down his face…

“Can I help you sir?” asked Rennington politely and with concern.

“I sure do hope so” replied Arnold “you see my dear Rennington, I have travelled, uncomfortably I might add, around the world to see you, for I have a problem, I have never once found a chair that could satisfy my rotund and yet somehow also skeletal posterior, can you help, please?”

A smile came over Rennington’s face. Then he snickered out loud. Then he apologized “of course young man” he added with glee, “there is no ass I can’t satisfy”.

He confidently set to work. First he went into his store room and pulled out examples of some of his finest chairs through the years — The Executive Wingback, The Dancing Klismos, The Rennington Ironback, The Cone Of Desire, The Slingbacked Eames, The Ball Of Sink, The Stone Cold Chaise Lounge, The Deep Throned Bouncer, The Horizontal Leg Based Stool Of Prospect and dozens of others with just as cool sounding names, which I just haven’t mentioned due to time restraints, not because I, your narrator, have run out of names I know, I promise.

Sadly none of these chairs went even close to satisfying Arnold’s Ass.

Unperturbed, inspired even, Rennington went to work, he studied Arnold’s ass, he took tissue samples from his ass flesh, he made three dimensional models of his ass shape, he watched his ass, he looked at his ass, the stared at his ass, Arnolds ass became his obsession, and at the same time prototype after prototype poured out of Renningtons workshops — The Arnold Asserartor, the Wingback Asshelp, The Soft Bottom Ass Softener, The Arnoldassfix, The Magnificant Bottomasser, The Flinghorned Asscradle, The Asswide AssSoul, The Facefirst Assingnorer, and dozens of others, which also had great names, most of which included the word “ass” in them, and which again I am only not saying due to time restraints, I can name ass chairs till the cows come home, watch this Cowhide Asschair, see I know them ALL.

Yet, time and time again, Arnold would sit, he’d slump, he’d lay, he’d shift his weight, he’d wriggle his ass, and yet his ass would remain completely unsatisfied.

No longer unperturbed, and instead SUPER perturbed, Rennington turned to history. He turned to the masters of the craft over the centuries of the chair.

Masters like The Baron Von Chairingon, Lumber Horks iii, Hurst Le Hozidavert, and even the original master Svenson Chairsoot, “all hail his name, his legend speaks for itself” Rennington said out loud as he lit candles around his great shrine in the outskirts of Uppsala Sweden — it had of course been Chairsoots early stools that allowed the Vikings to sit down on voyages and ultimately made them much calmer, ultimately resulting in the more reserved and regal Scandinavians we know today.

“If he could tame the ass of great hordes of savage Vikings, then surely I can find a way to calm the ass of my own disgruntled Arnold” he said trying to motivate himself, but records of the event later revealed it to be a cry for help. (All activity near the shrine is recorded to try and prevent ravenous fans breaking in and sitting on the great Stool Of Forever which is the centerpiece of the shrine and said to hold the souls of thousands of satisfied Viking ass cheeks — some say if you sit on the shrine you can opposite fart Viking souls into your own ass cheeks, others say if you get within a foot of it a guard dog will have removed both you ass cheeks faster than a cloud dissolves in a gluttonous volcano).

Still no answers came Rennington’s way (he did get to see a punk kids ass chewed off by a couple of German Shepard’s though — he had dedicated his life to ass care, but he still found it really funny).

He was no longer super perturbed, he was more perturbed than King Perturb of the Purturb Family, and this only made Rennington MORE perturbed, when he remembered that the Perturb family throne was renowned around the Purturban region of East Purturbia as the best throne in the WHOLE castle — a contract Rennington himself had lost out on to his great rival Roger Laz-E-Boy.

Rennington broke at that moment. He offered Arnold his money back, but Arnold reminded him that he’d never actually paid him anything, and upon consultation with his accountant he was told not only was this true, but his many failed prototypes had left him on the verge of bankrupt.

Upon hearing this devastating news, grasping at straws, Rennington asked his accountant “you’re still happy with the Ergonomic Crestonrail Lavish Contentment Chair I gifted you right?” And the accountant had to tell the truth “actually I switched to an Aeron Chair a few years ago, have you tried one, they’re awesome”.

Later that week Rennington was institutionalized. Some say he is just gathering his thoughts before his big come back, he has plans to turn entire floors into chairs, they say, maybe the entire world into chairs! Others say his chair life is finished.

Definitely Art

What is known for sure though are these three facts:

1. Arnold’s ass is still unsatisfied

2. Rennington has designed some of the best fucking chairs in the history of the world, including, but not limited to — The Cantilever Of Imagination Prospects, The Manchette Excelsior, The Footrest Magnificant, The Meshbacked Goliath, and even the Bean Chair of Baggles.

3. Yep, I told you I could still name cool chair names, consider this narrator INFORMED.

Ps. Why DO they sometimes put chairs in art galleries, they’re just chairs for fooks sake.

What Chewbacca Probably Thinks About While Trying To Fall Asleep

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Ahhh. It’s so nice to have my head on a nice soft pillow. Man, what tough day.

Well done today buddy. You really shone in hard circumstances. Great work. Seriously. You were amazing.

Sure I didn’t get a medal, or a reward, again. Or get to be the center of attention. But I know that I was JUST as heroic and important to the mission as the others, and if I know that, then that’s enough right?

Hey if I risk my life and just survive then even THAT’S enough right?

I don’t do it for the plaudits. I do it for what’s right. And to save the people I care about. To be honest, in some ways, not being one of the ones honored in the end is maybe even a BIGGER honor. I wasn’t personally rewarded, so no one can EVER say that I was only in it for the rewards right? I risked MY life to save OTHERS. Period. No other end game. I don’t need to be remembered. I don’t need to be the one getting applauded. I just did it. That’s real heroism.

Still, an award would be nice. Remember when at school that Guidance Counselor said if I didn’t start applying myself and lift my test scores then the most I could hope to amount to would be to become meathead nightclub bouncer or something? Well I DIDN’T apply myself, and flunked biology AND woodwork, and I’m going to end up helping blow up the Death Star! Twice! Man if I DID have an award I would so go stick it right in that Guidance Councilors stupid face. That would be sweet.

But still it’s not WHY I do it. I can’t think that way.

Cause, man. I could have died today. Wow.

You forget in the moment. But I really could have DIED today.

That’s big.

I wonder what would become of me. Would I get buried? Or burned? Would I just disappear like Ob-Wan? Oooooh I hope I end up becoming a rug in a log cabin. No no no, in a Ski Chalet! That would be sweet. Near a fire. Maybe with someone’s pet kitten or Ewok curled up asleep on me. That’s how to spend eternity. I’ll probably end up just a coat or something though right? I wish I wore clothes. I bet I could rock a pair of leather pants. Although I bet if I tried Han would just mock me. For a guy that seems to wear the same damn shirt every single day, he sure is judgmental of other people’s fashion choices.

Anyways, stop thinking about it Chewie, you know you never get to sleep when you go down these paths, and besides I’m sure you’ll risk your life for nothing again tomorrow, won’t you big fella, so you can save these thoughts for after THAT adventure.

Wake up. Get blasted at. Blow something up. Watch Han get the rewards AND the cute dates. Go to bed. Start again. That’s your lot in life.

No no no. Don’t do this to yourself. I can’t get bitter. I have to stay positive. And I have to sleep. I HAVE to. I need to sleep if I’m going be fresh enough to survive anyway. Come on Chewie. Stop thinking about every damn thing and just sleep.

Maybe I should count sheep or something.

“One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep. Four…”

Oh screw it. That’s doesn’t work. Now I just want to chew the sheep’s faces off. Oh man, how good is chewing faces off!

You know I never asked my mom what a Bacca is. Man, I must’ve LOVED chewing them as a kid to get named after them. They must have been YUM. I probably just shoved my face into bowls of them and chewed them like some sort of animal. Not even waiting for the table to properly be set. Like…

Wait.

I just had an idea.

I just thought of something.

Yes, yes, yes!

It’s the best line ever.

Next time I see someone eating something just with their face I can yell out...

“Use the forks!”

Lol. That’s brilliant.

Wait no, even better. I could yell it when I see someone struggling with chopsticks. 

Lol. Genius.

“Hey buddy (tee-hee) instead of struggling with those… USE THE FORKS”.

YES! I’ll bring the house down. Now THAT will get me remembered. YES. Goddamn YES!

Man, I hope Han’s up for Chinese food soon.

Ok, ok, ok, I have to plan this right. I can’t just suggest it, can I? I can’t make it clear it was my idea, or the joke won’t seem off the cuff.

But then again Han hardly ever suggests Chinese.

Oh man. How can I get him to think about it on his own.

Maybe I can just like play around with the hyperdrive or something, and when he says “what the hell are you doing in there Chewie” I can be all like “just NOODLING around”.

Or or or, I can like clean out the toilets and ask him “should I just DUMPling this stuff into a pile of space junk and hope the Imperial Green Police don’t catch us, or is that too big a RICE..SK”.

“Just risk it Chewie” Han will probably say, “say for some reason I suddenly feel like Chinese food, want to go to Ming Koks for dinner” he’ll ponder my way.
“Chinese? That’s out of the blue Solo, let’s do it”, I’ll roar nonchalantly, while casually preparing the Falcon for the jump into light speed.

“You’ve been manipulated again Solo”. I’ll think with a chuckle.

Wait, I just realized something. Solo? He doesn’t even NEED that second name. It’s redundant. Otherwise he’d be Hans plural. Han singular leaves the Solo implied for damns sake. I don’t have a second name. Man, Han just get’s fucking everything doesn’t he?

Wait, wait, no no no. Did I just hear him in the other room saying “I’ve got a bad feeling about this”?

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fall asleep now and pretend you didn’t hear it.

Come on buddy fall asleep.

Now please.

Come on.

You can do it.

Just stop thinking.

Sleep away.

Come on damn it.

Oh fuck I think I just heard the deflector shield get activated.

Here we go fucking again.

Well this time, if Han nicks my Bowcaster again, and takes all the plaudits again, then I am TOTALLY gonna make him shout the Chinese Food! Suck on that, Solo.