Reggie Noble: First off, you tell no one. I can’t stress how important retaining a semblance of anonymity is to maintaining a happy post-win life. Whenever I see a winner accepting a giant novelty check on national television, I shudder. Your relationship with every single person will inevitably change if you’re suddenly a zillionaire. The less people that know you can buy and sell their ass, the better.
You want the money. You don’t necessarily want the fame. Don’t believe me? Well, smarter people than I have studied it in-depth.
Friends and family you never knew existed will come out of the woodwork and want a handout. Strangers will sidle up to you, wanting to play remora to your shark. Essentially, you’ll become an instant celebrity. And, you know, sometimes celebrities don’t have the best lives.
Secondly – and this will strike you as extremely boring – you’ll need to come to grips with the fact the government will take an exorbitant amount of your windfall. Complete bullshit, right? Those record-breaking jackpots are routinely halved by the fat cats on Capitol Hill.
Once you’ve done that, you can start budgeting. HOLY HELL am I boring. Like professional athletes who suddenly receive millions, you’ll have to resist the urge to blow it all on hookers and cars. Just because you have money, doesn’t mean you know how to manage it.
OK, the lame advice section is over. Time for the spendin’!
If I were fortunate enough to win, I’d spend almost every waking second of my life traveling. Conceivably, I wouldn’t need to work, so my schedule would be as open as a receiver in the New York Jets’ secondary. I’d hit every continent, disappear for months, and grow a ridiculous beard. If you’re rich enough, women will have sex with you no matter what you look like.
Upon my return, I’d purchase a controlling interest in a sports franchise near and dear to my heart. I’d let the professionals do their jobs at first, but would soon become a real power-hungry asshole like Jerry Jones. When you’re rich enough, you can tell people to suck it without repercussion. I’d follow the team around and be able to refer to the team as “we” without being an utter moron. God, I want that.
Honestly, that’s it. I’m nothing but a dim-witted simpleton. All I need in this world is a enough money to live. Annoying, I know, but it’s true.
Good luck to the rest of you money-hungry rubes, though.
J.Camm: I've already gone on record about whether or not I would stay anonymous or go public to claim the cash. Public was my choice (read here), but then, oddly enough, news came out this week about a chick who befriended a recent millionaire (likely wooing him with her frothy puss water), swindled him out of his $30 million fortune, killed him, and buried him in a concrete slab. Can you believe that? What a merciless tactician she is. I'm not even mad at the broad because the guy is a dipshit. Such. A. Fucking. Dipshit. First rule of new money: past friends can stay; new friends must be fellow one-percenters. So I'd still go public because everyone you know is bound to eventually find out. Unlike Reggie, the delusional man-boy, I realize that you can't keep that kind of cash a secret forever, especially if you want to enjoy it like the gluttonous American you are.
But what would I do with the roughly $250 million I'd take home from tonight's $500 million JACKPOT? That's a great question.
First, I'd quit my job. That's a brainless move. Love it here. Enjoy the whole writing/editing thing, but I'm a liquid motherfucker now. Time to move on.
Simultaneously, I'd get all my finances in order. This is A LOT of coin, you can't just open an ING account and toss the whole sum into a low-yield savings account. You need to have a plan. You need to diversify. You even need to say the word diversify ad nausem. People will love the new pompous you.
Three months later, after the dust settles and I've come back to earth, I get all of the family and friends charity out of the way.
I'd gather the 15 or so lucky recipients of my fortune in a room (at real swanky upscale establishment, like Romano's Macaroni Grill) and say, “I've brought you here today because, as you all know, I have $250 million and I want to share it with you people.” The crowd explodes with jubilation. “Settle down, you plebes. There's more. I am not a bank, a bail bondsman or Money fucking Mutual. This is a one-time windfall of cash, and it's going to be a lot of cash. More cash than you've ever had before. I don't care if you spend it all, save every penny, blow it up your nose, or burn it in a goddamn trashcan, but know that this is all the money you are ever getting from me. Also, 'Merry Christmas' and 'Happy Birthday' for the rest of your lives because I'm done buying presents for any of you. In fact, when the holidays roll around, you must use the money I gave you to buy a present for you and your children on my behalf. When I come to dinner you will all show me the present — it had better be fucking magnificent — and thank me profusely. I'll insist my kind gesture was nothing while you assure me I made your lives worth living again. Lastly, you all know how I like having the best seat while riding in a car, watching TV, eating dinner or doing anything else, those seats are now mine in perpetuity, no questions asked. Now then, each of you will be contacted separately and told the amount of money you will receive. The sum is non-negotiable.”
/Makes a violent masturbation gesture just as a cloud of smoke appears and vanishes.
After the charity to family/friends/actual non-profits, which will be about $30 million (that I'm more than happy to give)…I BALL. While remaining fiscally responsible, of course.
I look at it this way, after hooking up my nearest and dearest, and buying a few houses and golf memberships in choice locations, I'm left with roughly $200 million dollars. Even if my money doesn't grow at all, I could spend $2 million a year and live comfortably for the next hundred years. That comfortable living will include a lot of golf, drinking, sex, traveling, and other stuff that doesn't add a ton of value to society. Although I will create at least one job because when I'm rich I don't plan on washing my own hair. I will have one of those salon-type hair-washing torture chairs in my house and a really hot chick on staff to do it. Topless.
Now that I've planned it all out and my winning tonight's Powerball Jackpot is in the universe, all that's left to do now is wake up tomorrow a wealthy man. If you're listening, God, you better do right by me for once, ya bastard.