Like everyone else, I spend a lot of time following news about President Trump and his various advisors. I may not agree with everything they say, but I can’t deny that they’ve inspired me. After carefully considering their biographies and their public statements, I have completely changed my life goals. If I had to narrow it down, I guess I would put it this way: I want to be rich and famous.
I thought about just being famous without being rich. It would be nice to have people ask for a selfie with me at Panera. And I wouldn’t mind People running
pictures of my abs or an Us Weekly poll indicating that I “wore it better.” I could probably make a little money from being famous, but I don’t want to have to appear at the opening of a Mazda dealer or keynote the annual meeting of payroll accountants in Reno. I’d get sick of telling the inspiring story of how I safely landed that plane, or how I showed the world that a 42-year-old man could medal in gymnastics.
I also thought about being rich but not famous. I could just just sit in one of my open floor plan homes looking at my Apple watch until it was time to go to”the club” or some sort of gala dinner “for charity”. Also, I could buy cool stuff from Pottery Barn that looks like authentic stuff but costs more. And I suppose if people saw me at one of my houses or my expensive replica stuff from Pottery Barn, they would say “hey, he’s really rich! Well, good for him. Huzzah!”
That wouldn’t happen, though, because no one would know I was rich unless I was also famous. That is why I want to be both. I think this might be confusing to people. Yes, I want telephoto shots of my abs in a weekly magazine and I want to have reproduction tchotchkes from Pottery Barn. But being rich and famous is just a means to an end.
I want to be rich and famous because I have certain beliefs. I believe that black pepper is a topical cure for colorectal cancer, for example. And that the many celebrity deaths in 2016 were actually assassinations – part of Fidel Castro’s terrorism long game (that bastard’s henchmen took two members of ELP in one year, and we did NOTHING!) And I’m convinced that the Sermon on the Mount is the only proper source of a STEM curriculum for middle schoolers.
Are you laughing at me? You wouldn’t be if I were rich and famous. If I were rich like Betsy DeVos, I could set up foundations with lots of staff and media people to publish lesson plans on Jesus-based technology. I could make big donations to politicians who would pass laws banning ropa vieja and rumba unless and until Cuba released all of its files on Florence Henderson. Sean Hannity would probably have a segment asking why scientists don’t admit they can’t prove putting black pepper in your butt doesn’t cure cancer.
Unfortunately, Betsy Devos will get to make schools safer for rapists and less safe for grizzly bears while my equally factual and useful positions never get heard. Robert Kennedy Jr. compares vaccinations to the Holocaust, which Ben Carson says wouldn’t have happened if the Warsaw Ghetto had more AR-15s. Are those opinions better than mine? I say Polish immigrants introduced eczema to the US in the 1920s. National Security Advisor Michael Flynn says that Shariah law is being imposed in Florida. You can’t say these aren’t all equally serious ideas.
What do these people have that I don’t have? Money and fame, of course. It would be so great to just spitball ideas and theories and then have people buy my books. I could meet Dr. Oz! Bill O’Reilly would probably let me finish my sentences! I bet I could get Kid Rock to tweet out links to my YouTube videos! If I became rich and famous, other rich and famous people would want me at their events. I could be on the red carpet and say things like, “yes, I am wearing Brioni. But you know what matters tonight? That all kids have the opportunity to learn what Jesus teaches about trigonometry.”
No one would think that was weird! I could get my teeth capped and use pomade and Americans would think I must be on to something because I was rich and famous. If Meryl Streep criticized me on MSNBC, Joe Scarborough would probably say “but wouldn’t you agree we have to teach both sides of the debate? There are serious questions about the Poles and skin…” and the Meryl would try to answer, but Joe would cut her off because they have to go to commercial.
The best thing about being rich and famous is that once you become rich and famous, you will basically always be rich and famous. Someone from New York Times might “discover” that my grabbing the yoke didn’t save that plane, and that I was really just lunging for the female pilot’s breasts. And that maybe my gold medal in gymnastics wasn’t from the Olympics, but from the Ol’ Impiks, a competition my family sponsors every year in Martha’s Vineyard where I’d impishly hired Mary Lou Retton to dress up like me. It wouldn’t matter, because the people who bought my books and admired my abs would say the media was trying to bring a good man like me down.
When you are rich and famous, people think you can do anything – even if those nerds at Vox insisted that all of my money was from my wife’s family who made it selling tear gas in Birmingham in the 60s. I could start a lifestyle brand, or fund a start-up to develop my idea for a car than ran on safe, renewable kittens. Maybe I could even run for President!