--This Associated Press article, about West Virginia’s infamous
Jack Whittaker, is on the front page of today’s Scranton
Times.Whittaker, of
course, is the winner of a gargantuan Powerball jackpot ($315
million!), and star of the ongoing real-life Aaron Spelling soap
opera, Bumfuck 25880.
Since winning the money it’s just been one scandal after another for
Citizen Jack.There have
been dead bodies, stolen suitcases full of cash, strip club
banishments, fistfights, divorce, DUIs, lawsuits…It seemingly never stops.His
name is almost literally in the local newspapers every
day of the week.
A couple of years ago he bought a house directly across the street
from some people I know, and kept one of his “female employees”
there.He’d reportedly
show up in the middle of the night and park his Hummer-of-the-week in
the yard, right up against the front porch.This was presumably so he wouldn’t have to stumble so far to
reach the front door, and get right to the, um, 3 am dictation.
Oh, the neighbors were simply thrilled with this development.But, to everyone’s relief, the “employee” didn’t work
out; apparently she didn’t make it through her 90 day probation
period, and the house was eventually sold to a family of less-colorful
people.
Whittaker blames much of his troubles on the press.He says they exaggerate, and follow him around.But can you blame them?I
mean, seriously.The
guy’s a goldmine of material.He
dresses like something off Wagon
Train, and drives all over the place doing hilarious shit.If you build it, they will come.
Yes,
it’s hard to feel sorry for Jack Whittaker, or buy into his sad
victim routine.But he
talks about something in the article I do sympathize with.He
says he can barely leave one of his seven houses (or whatever) without
somebody telling him a sob story, and begging for money.How’d you like to deal with that crap every day?It irritates me, and I don’t even have anything in it.
Indeed, a distant relative of mine supposedly wrote Whittaker a letter
a while back, asking him for money to cover her medical bills.
Supposedly her liver is cutting in and out (I’m not clear on it),
and she got pissed when this complete stranger refused to pay for a
fresh one.“Selfish”
was the word bandied about, probably between drags off a moist and
slightly bent generic cigarette.Or,
as some of my distant relatives call it, “genetic” cigarette.
Man, I couldn’t deal with any of it.In fact, I want to take this opportunity, right now, to lay
down some ground rules for when I hit the Blueballs jackpot, or
whatever it is.
First of all, if I haven’t talked to you in the last three years,
don’t ask me for money.I
don’t care if you’re a “cousin,” somebody from my high school,
or a person who has to carry around his internal organs in a backpack.If we haven’t spoken in the past three years, you’re
wasting your time.
I will give my parents, my brother, and whoever Toney wants to put on
the list, a lump sum of money.This
will be a one-time pay-out; I will not become a freakin’ ATM.I have several good friends I’ll help with whatever problems
they might have, but “friends” need not apply.If your number isn’t programmed in my cell phone, you're not
going to get very far.
I will give money to charities of my choosing.If you lobby me for donations, you’re automatically out.Same goes for investments.The moment a broker or so-called financial planner contacts me,
is the moment they can commence to sticking it up their ass.
I will leave the state of Pennsylvania almost immediately, and head South.I will buy a house in a town where we don’t know anyone, and
tell white-lies about the source of our income.I might claim our name is Vandelay, and that we’re in the
waste management business.Or,
more likely, I’ll come up with my own custom-made load of
horseshit...I will make
it ever-so-slightly ridiculous, so as to cause gossip and speculation.
Buck, Metten, lakrfool, Brad, and the Angry White Guy will get
back-pay due to them, along with a bonus.Jason Castleberry will get nothing, because of the Surf Report
statute of limitations.
I will lead a quiet “normal” life in the suburbs, and drive
real-people cars.There
will be no novelty vehicles, or redneck mobiles in the garage.Our only obvious concession to incredible wealth will be
world-travel, and commercial-grade urinals in all our bathrooms.
I’m sure there are other things I’ll want to add to the list over
time, but those are the highlights off the top of my head.What would be on your laminated lottery rules of engagement?Use the comments link below to tell us about it.
--I had nine potential
topics for today, and only ended up talking about one.It’s unfunny how that happens sometimes…
I’ll leave you now with a very cool Smoking Fish sighting (item
number two), right here.The
person who sent it to me says photographs are not allowed where our
logo was spotted, and he/she risked prosecution and/or a beat-down
while documenting it.Now,
that’s the spirit!
And I almost forgot this one (item number three)…Earlier today I uploaded a classic mp3, considered to be one of
the crown jewels amongst Phil Hendrie phanatics, to a file-sharing
site.Click here to
download it.You’ll get
to listen to Phil interview Herb Sewell, a man who reportedly shoved his wife out
of a moving car because she just wouldn’t stop talking.It’s one of the all-time favorites, and definitely worth
checking out.
You guys have a great weekend.
I’ll see ya on Monday.
I think I'm going to ask Jack
Whittaker to replace all the wiring in my house
--