I’d buy the rights to the Susan Hart properties. And I’d buy a Coke with the change.
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See? I like where your mind’s at there.
I’d have to make mine a Cherry Coke, but you have a winning plan, I’d say.
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Pimp my wardrobe a bit. Buy a car that is newer than twenty years old.
Make it rain down at the local bar. All the time. Hell, buy my own bar, live jazz music nightly, no cover, no minimum.
Get me a cleaning lady/cook and a chauffeur, both on call 24/7. Maybe a personal valet.
Then? I don’t know. A few choice pieces of musical equipment (an acoustic piano [maybe a Fazioli], one of the new Hammond B-3s and Leslie, and maybe a couple of guitars and amps and speaker cabinets). More books: the fancy scholarly multi-volume editions that only university libraries really can afford.
Honestly? I probably wouldn’t live very long after the windfall, giving myself over to debauchery and excess. Probably get syphillis, although, somebody once told me, “it’s very treatable these days.” Bunch of herpes. Probably some other stuff.
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And me just sittin’ here waiting for someone to say “two chicks at the same time, man”.
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Pay my debts, buy a house for my mom and become a patron of the arts.
I’d probably finance my own ComicCon as a means to that end, with an emphasis on panel discussions and actual art rather than milling autographs.
And just so @moviegique isn’t disappointed, I would do the two chicks thing also. Nightly. With a harem of cosplayers.
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Based on my educational experiences from childhood, I know exactly what I would do with banker money:
I’d buy a covered wagon, some supplies, and a team of oxen and head west with my family, fording rivers and only resting for a day or so whenever anyone broke an arm or contracted dysentery. Once I made it to the Rockies, I’d provide my family with more food than I could carry by rapidly spinning around while spraying bullets in grizzly bear territory. At the end of the journey, I’d float that wagon down a dangerous river, skillfully dodging rocks. Good times!
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This.
I didn’t know it, but this is my answer of what to do with the billion.
I’m copying off of you for the rest of class!
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You’re going to die of dysentery.
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Anything’s possible.
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If I had a billion when I was younger I’d probably be more adventurous, I’d travel, book Abbey Road studios for a recording session… stuff like that.
But as a grumpy old man, I just want peace and quite.
Though my cabin in the woods would include a movie theater, and I’d probably invite family members over to watch Buster Keaton films, or double features, such as Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla and The Terror of Mechagodzilla in big screen splendor.
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Right?! As a fellow grumpy old man, I find myself often wondering how much it will cost me to not go places and do things.
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I’d buy seasons 2 and 14 of the Dark Crystal and MST3K respectively.
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But what if you get dystentery?
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F-ng A!
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The correct answer is I would buy me one of those montages
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Convince Felicia Day (Kinga) to marry me.
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I’d get in contact with Larry Blamire and offer to fund the unmade third Lost Skeleton movie, The Lost Skeleton Walks Among Us.
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Favorite thing about playing that game in class in school: whenever someone was presented with the choice of fording the river or not, without fail, the whole class would chant “FORD! FORD! FORD!” Heh, needless to say, the results were always something of a mixed bag.
Anyway, serious answer (I know, I’m aghast at the idea of serious answers, too):
-buy a beach house… nothing extravagant or showy or anything, just a humble little place where I can walk right to the beach
-talk to an internet service provider about securing a lifetime subscription plan
-spend my free time (that is, free time not spent watching stuff or reading stuff or meandering around the beach) doing volunteer work
-donate to some charitable causes I believe in
-fund MST3K’s future forever (or the closest approximation to forever)
-get some travel in
-maybe maybe maybe buy a few MST3K collectibles here and there
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Apparently Tony Travis mangled the lyrics, it’s actually about an unapologetic Oscar Wilde enthusiast named Sy Burns, whose fiancé is clinically insane. Sy assures everyone that they’ll be okay, and sympathy cards and letters, while appreciated, are not needed.
The song ends with the couple going out for a dish of ice cream.
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