Scanning the Yahoo news this morning, I saw this story about a 117 MILLION dollar home recently sold in California, supposedly the most expensive home in the country (or the world?).  Sick RICH fuckos.  No wonder the Rich are opposed to Mental Health Care.



PETEY SWEETY’S 10.5 BILLION Dollar Dream Home

My Dream Home will have 20 bedrooms and 35 bathrooms and restrooms, its own indoor pool and indoor sauna and sweat lodge, and its own indoor baseball field.  My Dream Home will have its own indoor nightclub–a real bar, with a bartender, a band, and a dance floor.  It will have its own indoor woods, so I won’t have to worry about a view.  Also, an indoor shopping mall where I can buy lots of shit, and then return it.  But the indoor mall will be closed on Sundays, so my Dream Home will also have an indoor corner store where I can go for the Sunday Times and coffee.  My Dream Home will also have an indoor ‘red light’ district where ladies of the night can gather, after my indoor nightclub closes.  And also an indoor street corner where I can buy drugs.  And another indoor street corner where I can hang out with my very own indoor homeless people.  My Dream Home will have its own indoor Public Library, where the ladies of the night will have their day jobs.  I will have my own indoor public bus service and indoor taxi service to drive me to my various indoor venues.  Of course, my Dream Home will have at least 3 indoor restaurants, two of which will be upscale.  I will have real animals in my indoor woods, and I can go indoor hunting.  And an indoor trout stream, and a very large indoor lake where I can fish and swim and boat and maybe spot the Loch Ness Monster from my indoor yacht.  My Dream Home will have its own indoor weather, which I can adjust by remote control.  And its own indoor Police Force.  There will be an indoor junior high school and an indoor schoolyard where I can lurk if the mood strikes me.  My Dream Home will have its own indoor Municipal Building and government, and an indoor municipal front lawn large enough to hold vigils and rallies against my very own indoor WAR going on in the East Wing.  Of course, because of my indoor WAR, my Dream Home will have its own indoor hospital and mortuary.  Also an indoor cemetery.  My Dream Home will have a large landing strip on its roof for alien spaceships to set down, so aliens from outer space can go shop in my indoor mall and then take homeless people on a space trip.  And yes, my Dream Home will be totally sustainable and socially and economically diverse.  It will have its own group of politically correct indoor assholes who will harass me about my cigarette smoking, but, because this is my Dream Home, I will be able to kill them, and then tell my indoor Police Force that they were probably killed by a bunch of kids from my indoor junior high school.  Ah, my Dream Home.  It’s in the works.  It will have its own indoor Hereafter, where I can give my very own indoor God a piece of my mind on occasions.  And its own daily newspaper and radio and TV stations, and its very own blogsites and Facebook and Twitter.  So enjoy my posts now while you can, because after my Dream Home is completed, I will have everything I need.  And I won’t need you anymore.  My Dream Home will have its very own indoor nuclear missiles and missile silos, and I will be able to sit on my indoor yacht on my very large indoor lake drinking a very expensive single malt scotch and use my remote to slowly eliminate those of you who threaten to fuck-up my neighborhood and depreciate the re-sale value of my Dream Home.  I will not kill all of you though.  Because my Dream Home wouldn’t be a Dream Home without people around to be impressed by it and say: “Wow!  Look at that house.  Wonder who lives there?”

Peter Buknatski

Montpelier, Vt.