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What Aggravates Me John Knight

Still Not a Billionaire

Welcome to our regular Saturday feature “What Aggravates Me”

by Comedian John Knight

After lulling us into believing it might not show up this year, winter came rolling in with a vengeance this week. Any other year it would have bothered me. Cold, bleak January with months to go before spring and nothing to look forward to.

This time, though, I had two things to look forward to. First of all, the Steelers were still in the playoffs after one of the greatest games I can remember. It was like watching an old western. The part of the villain, played by Vontaze Burfict, was an antagonist throughout the game. Spitting on people, purposely trying to hurt people, you had to hate him.

Then, in the calamitous part of the script, the bad guy intercepts the ball and rides off into the sunset. Well, in this case, runs like an idiot into the locker room. But, that’s not how the story ends. It was,

“Get your ass back out on the field, Burfict.”

In this movie, you play the loser.

The other thing I had going for me, this cold week in January, was that I would become a billionaire. Like a lot of you, I’m a novice lottery player. I don’t bother on those twenty or thirty million dollar jackpots. I only play when it’s going to be life changing.

Looking at the chance to win over a billion on the Power Ball, I couldn’t pass it up. That’s the second easiest way to become a billionaire. After the way most people do it, being born that way. It was up to around a billion and a half when I bought the ticket. Of course my wife said,

“After taxes, you probably only get around seven million.”

“Yeah, probably not worth wasting two dollars on.”

I began to think about what I would do with my winnings. Buy an Island in the Caribbean?

“Nah, I probably wouldn’t spend enough time there.”

Buy my own airplane?

“Nah, I’ve flown enough in my life. Winning this will allow me to stay home.”

Then I saw the answer on the news. The Playboy mansion was for sale for two hundred million dollars! My teenage dream and I’d still have about five hundred million left to kick around with. Then came the kicker. You can buy the mansion but Hef gets to stay.

If you’re totally unaware, Hef, is Hugh Hefner is the founder of Playboy magazine. It was really cool because he sat around the house in his pajamas all day. Now he’s eighty-nine years old and it’s really sad because he sits around the house in his pajamas all day.

Imagine, going to look at a house and it’s your dream house. You love everything about it, but the whole time you’re taking the tour there’s a creepy old guy sitting there in his pajamas, drooling on himself. Then when you’re ready to make your bid they tell you,

“Oh, by the way, the old guy comes with the house.

Would you still make the deal?

The way I was looking at it, I could buy the house with Hef in it. Be nice for a couple of weeks and act like everything was OK. Then I could start working on turning everyone against him. You know, do things like tell the Playmates that it was him…forgetting to lift the toilet seat. I would have him out of there in no time.

With my ticket in hand, I watched the drawing with high hopes. Can you believe I didn’t get a single number? I mean at least let me get the first one. That way I could have had that brief moment of hope when I thought I would actually win. You know, like being a Cincinnati Bengals fan.

So for now, I’m still not a billionaire. It’s probably for the best. I don’t think I have the heart to throw Hef to the curb.

Follow John on Twitter @jknight841

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