I shopped online this morning.  Looked at watches, cars, and vacation properties.  One Billon Dollars!  That’s what I stand to win should (should?  no, when)  I fill out the perfect NCAA March Madness Bracket.  That’s how much of Warren Buffet’s money is going to go from his account into mine.  So that by this time next month I’ll have One Billion two hundred and fifty six dollars in my bank account, and a contract on a new condo in Miami.  Taxes will eat up some winnings, of course, but that’s okay.  I can survive on half a Billion Dollars so long as the government puts my hard-won money to good use, which they most certainly will because now I’m an optimist (one Billions Dollars will do that to a man).

Like Madonna, I’m going to sleep on this.  Right before going to bed I’m going to study the bracket and have it mostly memorized.  I’m going to keep it on the nightstand with a pen, click off the lamp, and, again like Madonna, sleep in the nude (this simplifies the act of sex, the odds of which are about the same as winning).

But I’m an optimist now, remember, so yeah, after a wicked lay the winners will come to me a dream.   (By wicked I’m talking sixty, no, fifty seconds of sweet sweet love, and fifty, no, forty seconds later of even sweeter dreams.)  The clouds will part and the angels will sing.  Moses will come forth, and instead of the Ten Commandments he’ll be carrying the perfect bracket.  Hallelujah and Amen!

That’s right, bitches, I’m gonna be rich, and I’m not going to be no asshole, neither.  Hell no.  I’m gonna be one the nice rich guys with an easy-going attitude, and not no big shot with one hundred dollar tips for the bell hop or barber just to prove how rich I am and how rich they aren’t.  No, I’m going to be graceful, and donate anonymously to worthy organizations like The Bunny Ranch, The Meth Institute of America, and Rock-‘N-Roll University!  What?  There isn’t a RockU?  Well, there’s going to be when yours truly has one Billion Dollars, or about half after taxes.  Our mascot is going to be Gene Simmons of KISS, in full regalia.  Instead of basketball we’ll have competitions to see who can roll the meanest and fattest doobies.  Ten years from now the brackets won’t be about basketball but about beer bongs, with the number one seed being from where else but RockU.  We’ll sanction extreme sports and our students will major in Fun, with a minor in sex ed!  Boom!  Instead of the geek dorm or the athlete’s dorm we’ll have the Kush dorm and the naked dorm.  We’ll have awards for those with the worst attendance, the most pathetic grades, and in another five or ten years we’ll see those individuals in the White House and congress.  Another boom!  Wanna come?  Sure you do.  Just take that stick out of your ass and let’s start the paperwork.  Tuition is free, ’cause I’m stinking rich.  And if you’re thinking abut going all Twenty-One Jumpstreet on my ass and coming undercover, bring it.  You think the law can keep down a Billionaire?  Pah!  You don’t America.

Okay.  Let’s see.  Number 1 Florida vs. number 16 ALBY?  Jesus, how simple.  Suck it, Moses.  Who needs ya?

All right.  Number 8 Colo vs. number 9 Pitt.  Shit.  Okay.  Maybe I’ll sleep on this one. That thing I said about sucking it, Moses?  Please disregard, because remember: I ain’t gonna be no asshole Billionaire with one hundred dollar tips or making it rain all up in the club, no sir.

So, number 5 VCU vs. number 12 SFA.  Ha.  Easy.  That’s right, suck it Moses, I’m gonna be a freaking Billionaire.