Why don’t you have an elevator installed in your home? It’d be so convenient to be able to ride up to your upper rooms with a tea tray instead of attempting the journey by foot up a perilous flight of stairs. It’d also be helpful when you’re dying of the flu or whatever the hell has been trying to off me all weekend. I nearly died. I didn’t. But it could have happened. I’m going to immediately start researching the prices of a nice, iron, European-esque elevator for the farm. It could save my life.
Why don’t you kindly tweet all the astronomers you can find online and ask them to kindly keep their research to themselves? I have nothing against science or astronomy personally, I just don’t want to know anything about quasars, neutron stars, or the career of Edwin Hubble. I like being knowledgeable; I pride myself on it, but I have a great lack of interest in the inner workings of the stars. I can’t wait for my class to be over. It’s a miracle (that I don’t understand) that I have a very low A. It’s more of a mystery than a miracle. Tell the astronomers to leave us alone with their black holes and expanding universe and gamma rays. I don’t have time to concern myself.
Why don’t you invest in a real estate venture in a place with a downward economy? Eventually the value might rise. Maybe not. But you’ll still have a beautiful house on the cheap to go to on vacation. Look into Thailand or Egypt. As you well know, Luxor is my future home. You can get a villa for thirty thousand dollars. With retirement income, you could even afford staff. Think of the staff! Plan ahead!
Why don’t you go to a fabric emporium like Mood in New York City and buy yards of the most beautiful fabric, then take this to your tailor and have it whipped into gorgeous outfits? It’ll be a bit more than the cost of something off-the-rack, but at least you will be fashionably outfitted in one-of-a-kind masterpieces. People will beg for the shops you go to, but you will have to demurely shrug and say it’s just something your designer whipped up. They’ll cry.
Why don’t you hire some destitute art students to make a half hour docu-series of your life? About six episodes to start; you aren’t a Kardashian, yet. When it’s edited, and when you’ve invited your friends over to watch with a freshly popped bottle of champagne, it’ll be fascinating to see how you really act and how you really look away from the preconceptions of your mind. And you’re probably hilarious and destined for stardom, so get going.