When it comes to charity, I’m of the belief that the deed is worth appreciating regardless of the real thought behind it. This is borne out the belief that people give in order to get- whether it be love or sex, adulation or appointment. Sure, there are a lot of people who are not motive driven, who simply have benevolence running through their bloodstream and who gift what they have. And sure it doesn’t matter what the motives of the rest of those who give is all about. Like I said, the deed is the thing.
This Canadian couple giving away most of their $11.3 million dollar lottery winnings? Are you serious? See, this is why my beliefs on the subject of charity amount to nothing more than McRib meat. They held on to roughly two percent of that cash windfall, which amounts to like $56,000 dollars I think. Whenever people say “It’s not about the money”, you can rest assured it’s probably about the money. Except in the case of these two. They gave most of it away to family members, local needs and their favorite charities.
As the card carrying cynic that I am, a George Costanza line flashed through my brain when I read this article. It’s from the episode where George learns that the engagement gift he had contributed money to was donated to a charity by the Drake’s ex and he screams, “How could anybody be so selfish and inconsiderate!” I can’t help the thoughts that move my head . . . some of them are quite pretty, and then some of them are just like that.
It was a beautiful thing, what that couple did. It would have been a whole lot more beautiful if I was related to them in some way. Believe me, I checked ancestry.com and that was a bummer. I couldn’t find any relation to this couple, but I found out Mel Gibson is my uncle and Jose Canseco is my big brother. Shit.
This lottery love story left me wondering what I would do with 11.3 million greenbacks at the ready. Could I top the humanity shown by this couple in some way, shape or form? Of course not. That’s why I wouldn’t even try.
With 11.3 to blow, the world would be as limitless as the stupid crap that comes out of Kanye West’s mouth. The first thing I would buy is a really big house. Nothing pretentious. Maybe twelve floors, a couple of elevators, a waterfall, a movie screen, batting cages, a floor devoted to exotic animals, an indoor swimming pool shaped like Rosie O’Donnell’s head, round the clock maid service, a masseuse named Chantal and a personal chef. I’d have a firepole running down the center of the house. It would really be a stripper pole, but I have to be a responsible father and such. Which is why I would house the strip club in the basement with a private entrance.
Maybe a year’s worth of party . . . but what a year it would be. I’d buy Lady Gaga’s meat dress and invite friends over for a grill. I’d let the shark in the pool after I invited Tom Cruise over for a swim and then I’d sit back and watch from a leather recliner in the Starbucks I opened at poolside, a venti mocha kahlua riding my elbow. My house would truly be my kingdom.
And once my pumpkin came calling and my flow was dwindling and my creditors were biting at my waxed, tanned legs . . . I would donate the rest of what I had to the Human Fund and abscond to Brazil where I would take up soccer and learn Portuguese.