Let me begin by saying I've spent much of my life being insanely awesome. So awesome, in fact, that my urine has been used to cure diseases in third world countries. Yes, I am so awesome that most of the people that know me don't even talk to me that much. I like to think it is because my awesomeness creates a sort of "force field" around me, in which the force of my awesomeness almost pushes people away. My physicians have told me that I suffer from clinical awesomeness, a real condition, partially genetic but also environmental. I'm told it's the ultraviolet rays from our very own Sun that give me my powers.

That being said, I have not lived my life without a sense of "What if?" The question that has dogged me since before I even had a dog (or cat) is the same question that drove Jay Gatsby to a life of fabulous excess. What if I had been born a purebred?

Pardoning the comparison to Mr. David Cross' treatise on the subject and by extension Louis C.K.'s thoughts on the matter, I write not on the subject of rich people being boring, but instead to say that to have a certain pedigree in life would be of inexhaustible usefulness.

Think of some of the great names in American history: Kennedy, Rockefeller, Walton, Proctor, Gamble and well, you get the point. To be born into one of these families is to enter a world of privilege and expectation that most of us plebeians will never know. Sure there are tons of millionaires out there, but there is a difference between old money and new money, as Jay Gatsby knew all too well.

Even though her recent lottery win made her the wealthiest woman in Mississippi, Lakwanda found it difficult to let go of some of the simpler things in life.

So without further adieu, I give you a list of things I would do if I were of a more significant pedigree:

• Stage an elaborate hunting trip with several of my cronies, while keeping it a secret that we are actually hunting our recently wealthy friend Sebastian.
• Drop heaping bags of manure onto McMansions in suburban America.
• Fuck a model.
• Make a smoothie out of money and drink it.
• Go to hospital for drinking a money smoothie.
• Go to Jamba Juice for a real smoothie.
• Become a U.S. Senator, work my way up to a lucrative position like Chairman of the Senate Appropriations committee and frame a President for murder.
• Get acquitted from treason charges after a cunning defense attorney comes up with a clever rhyme.
• Write a book about how if I did frame a President for murder, this is how I'd do it.
• Bail the U.S. Government out of a financial fuckhole.
• Play a ton of gol...
  

Actually, y'know what let's pause here, how much swagger did J.D. Rockefeller and J.P. Morgan have when they, along with a handful of other preposterously wealthy men donated millions of dollars to bail the U.S. Government out of the panic of 1907? That's a level of swagger most NBA players don't even attain.

I've never known anyone that is the progeny of a well established American family. In fact, I don't think I even know anyone that has taken the time to figure out whether or not they actually are part of a well established American family. The extent of my knowledge of wealth and wealthiness is limited to that which I've seen in the cinematic classic, "Richie Rich."

There's more to life than badass water slides and slicked back hair? Poppycock!

If "Richie Rich" got it wrong, then I don't want to be right. Actually, instead of finishing this tract, I'm going to let you watch the extended theatrical trailer to the movie.

Tell me what would be not-awesome about having Claudia Schiffer as your personal trainer, your own amusement park and a fucking chair that LAUNCHES YOU INTO THE FUCKING AIR? Friends from an urban community? Fuck friends from an urban community. Fuck friends. I'll pay a bunch of hobos a dollar each to come sit in my magic chair and laugh my ass off as I blast their asses up and over my immensely expensive perimeter fence.

Yup. I'll take money.