Big news flash on Tuesday of this week: the Powerball jackpot was up to the nice round figure of $1,000,000,000. I didn’t buy a ticket . . . not just because the odds were so ridiculously slim, but also because I honestly would not want to have to deal with that kind of money. But on Thursday morning (or Wednesday night, L.A. time), someone in Los Angeles did win it — and I would like to express my sympathy. I mean, think about it . . .

To begin with, at my age it would only make sense for me to take my winnings in cash, and not as an annuity to be paid out over more years than I probably have left. Then, of course, there’s Uncle Sam waiting at the front door of my bank with his hand out. In the end, what I would end up with is about 30% (or a little more) of the original amount: “only” around $300 million. Bummer. But our government is trillions of dollars in debt, so if my tax money can help, I won’t grumble . . . too much.

Now seriously, what does one do with $300 million? After you’ve finished rolling around in it, that is. I mean, logistically . . . what the hell do you do with it??!!! You don’t just plunk it into your checking account and head for the nearest Rolls Royce dealership. Clearly, you take some — maybe 20 or 30 million — to be put to some immediate use, like sharing with your family, contributing to your favorite charities, and buying that forever home you’ve always dreamed about. But the bulk of it has to be invested somewhere, preferably somewhere secure. So do you begin with your checking account, and then start making wire transfers to . . . Well, to whom? Or what? And how? Where do you buy gold bullion, for example? And do you suppose Fort Knox has private safety deposit boxes? Do you start a foundation of your own for some worthy cause? And if so, where and how do you begin that process?

You’re probably as befuddled as I am about this, so let’s agree that the smart thing to do would be to postpone claiming the winnings until you’ve hired a team of advisors — a lawyer (to draw up your new will and all your trust agreements), a tax accountant, an investment advisor, and a really good psychiatrist to help you deal with all of this stress. And, if you’re the religious sort, I’d also recommend a spiritual advisor to join you in praying that you don’t get bumped off by all those relatives looking to inherit your new-found wealth. Come to think of it, a phalanx of bodyguards wouldn’t be a bad idea either. And maybe you could get in touch with someone like Bill Gates or Warren Buffett — people with actual hands-on experience in rolling around in piles of greenbacks. They’ll take your calls now because you’re one of them. You’re a one-percenter.

By now, if you’re anything like me, you’ve got a splitting headache and you’ve starting screaming at the walls. It’s just . . . too . . . much. Like most people I know, I’ve had my little fantasies of being rich enough to do pretty much what I want — cruise around the world, buy or build that dream home, hire a masseuse on payroll, and secure my children’s futures. But I don’t need a billion — or even a third of a billion — dollars to do that. I’d rather wait for someone else to hit that jackpot, then buy a winning ticket for the next round of $20 million. Figuring on the cash option and the tax bite, that would leave around six or seven million in the bank. I don’t know about you, but I could live happily ever after on that.

So that’s my fantasy. It’s about as attainable as my becoming a tennis champ, negotiating a peace treaty with North Korea, or solving a Rubik’s Cube. But that’s why they’re called fantasies. And they’re fun.

Just sayin’.

Brendochka
7/21/23