A Fool and His Money Are Soon Pajiba
Sometimes, we do unwise things in the pursuit of money.
Not that long ago I set up a Fortune Telling business in the local Laundromat. I imagined that I’d be creating a frivolous diversion for all the people stuck there doing their wash, but quickly discovered that the Ouija Board can unleash some very dark and destructive forces.
You shouldn’t mess with the Ouija Board.
Carla, a feisty redhead with a drinking problem, did not like what the Ouija Board had to say during our channeling session. As if suddenly possessed by some demon spirit risen from the dark plane, (it could have been Oxy, too) she began to scream, “W is not a friggin’ option in the lotto! It’s got to be numbers! Jesus H. Christ, you are on my last nerve, retard!”
I told her that I was merely a conduit and had no authority over the spirit world, at which point Carla’s famous temper flared and she began to whip me with a laundry bag.
I’m big enough to admit when I make mistakes and that venture was a mistake. And as my lady frequently reminds me, it was stupid to have lied in an attempt to get on “My Strange Addiction” (which is not the money-winning game show I thought it was) by signing a waiver that stated: “I, Michael Murray, am addicted to making ornaments from my own fingernails.”
That experience caused more problems—both legal and emotional—than I had anticipated.
And yes, the line of Sniper Towers I tried to market through a Tea Party web site, and the Haunted Toronto: Walking Tour of Ghost Animals I hosted, also proved ill-advised. However, in spite of these few missteps, I’ve managed our investment funds—primarily through Fantasy Sports Pools—very admirably. But now that Rachelle wants to buy a house, and I am still unprepared to get a “job,” I’ve found that I must once again think outside of the box in order to make some money.
Luckily, outside of the box is where I live.
When I’m outside of the box, I’m like Wayne Gretzky behind the net.
Small but dangerous.
In order to make our dreams of home ownership a reality, I decided to merge two of my greatest skills—gambling and pop culture—into one brilliant enterprise and handicap the Golden Globe Awards that were staged on Sunday. A friend of mine runs a Poker website and agreed to let me set odds and take bets through his system.
These are the lines that I posted:
Odds that Tom Selleck makes an appearance: 10-1.
Odds that a pregnant Natalie Portman would be hotter than a not-pregnant Natalie Portman: 2-1.
Odds that Robert De Niro would perform lame stand-up: 60-1.
Odds that Michael Cera would win best actor for The Social Network: 12-1.
Odds that Colin Firth would win best actor for The King’s Speech and commence his acceptance speech by stuttering: 1-1.
Odds that Scarlett Johansson’s Judaism would be mentioned: 18-1.
When all was said and done, I had to pay out over $7,000.
Now, I don’t know if any of you have ever tried robbery, but it’s actually a very common and socially acceptable practice in the part of town where I live. After doing a little research on-line though, I decided that thievery might not be the best option for me as I lack mobility, nerve, intimidating body mass and have difficulty projecting my voice. This realization proved a pretty big disappointment, as there’s a dick-head restaurant just down the street that I really want to knock-off.
They have the bitchiest staff in the city, boasting one waitress who always sighs when you ask for tap water instead of the fancy, sparkly stuff she’s trying to sell you, making you feel like you’re some sort of animal that doesn’t understand the nuances of water. And if you ask for a recommendation, she’ll give you attitude, and then say something like, ” I don’t eat meat, but if I did, I guess I’d have the lamb.”
Man alive, I would just love to rob her blind.
Anyway, instead of getting all depressed on account of my huge gambling debt and my inability to enter into the burglary field, I decided to think outside of the box again and turn my attention to Craig’s List, where any manner of crap can be sold just as long as you put the word “vintage,” in front of it.
I was able to sell a few of Rachelle’s possessions—mostly jewelry I had bought for her that she never wears, claiming they look better when she wears them inside of her heart, rather than outside on her body, whatever exactly that means—and a few quirky items that I pretended were used on set for the movie The Royal Tenenbaums.
I made the certification papers and printed them off on the computer myself.
One gullible film geek— who looked exactly as you’d imagine he might look— asked me if I was related to Wes Anderson regular Bill Murray on account of our shared last name, abundant charm, and my ownership of so much memorabilia from The Royal Tenenbaums.
I laughed and said no, but told him that I actually got to golf with Bill Murray at a Pro-am organized by a film festival I was working for a few years ago. I continued, telling the guy that Murray was incredibly funny and nice and actually gave out Tenenbaum props from the trunk of his car to the participating media as a promotion.
He thought this was just incredibly amazing.
And then I told him that I was a born again Christian.
Have no idea why.
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