I've had an aspiration that has laid smoldering, unspoken in my breast for countless years. It is an idea of great weight and importance, and I have thought it through thoroughly. However, the powers that be have supressed it since its conception, and I have never been able to speak of my wonderous creation aloud.
What is this unfathomable verity? What global ramifications does it hold that it would wreak danger to the masses if they were aware of it?
Ah...This plan that I have hatched deep within the bosom of my soul is, What I would do if I had a year to do anything, all expenses paid.
I am indebted to the Admissions officer at prestigious Stanford University for affording me, at last, the oppurtunity to offer discourse on a subject that has nearly burned a hole through my shut lips with its urgency. Here goes.
People need money. Evidence is everywhere. Babies die by the thousands for want of food in India, Children prostitute themselves in Bangkok so that their parents might have a roof over their heads, Congress is forced to vote itself a clandestine pay raise, just to be able to afford hush money.
Need surrounds us. But so does money. And so much of it goes unused. It sits, whittling away the time in dank, dusty bank vaults, where no one can appreciate it. And what do the people with all this money do? They make it into more money, money that is never to be spent, and is destined to live the rest of its days in obscurity, tucked into the corner of a lonely bank vault.
But there is hope. There are the lone philantropists, the people that give money to the needy, the ones that realize to die rich is to die disgraced. Who are these modern day messiahs? Who is an example of this selfless martyrdom, this answering to a higher source? It is Ed MacMahon, and he tells me that I may have already won ten million dollars!
I am understandably excited, but my joy is not unmarred by trepidation. How will Ed know that I am the one? How will he know that I alone will be able to spend his donations wisely? O, how I long to be an apostle to this gracious man! What I could do with the money! Feed Ethiopia! Put Bangladesh on stilts! Grease a few palms so that Stanford Research wasn't so unfairly scrutinized! O, the good longing to be done!
But first, I must prove I am worthy of the TEN MILLION DOLLARS. I devote a year of my life to this endeavor. I will cast away all material trifles, opting to live beneath the steps at Tressider Union. I must shave my head to spite vanity, and carry an empty bowl to scorn opulence. My days will be tireless, to rise above the rest of Ed's adoring throng I must show upon him my never ending devotion.
I will write to Publisher's Clearing House and politely request several thousand entries, and a subscription to Highlights for Children. My fingers will numb as I tape hundreds of hidden pictures of watches to box A, B, or C, then affix stamp. My tongue will dry up, and swell in my throat, but it will not deter my sealing of the blessed envelopes. Months will pass by, my bread-only diet will cause my teeth to fall out, but then, so much easier to lick the stamp!
My clothes have tattered into rags, but it is no matter, soon I will be dressed in elegant leathers, and driving a speedboat.
My year is almost up, my body has become balckened, encased in dirt, but I have just now finished my 7,000th entry. I sit back, with a satisfied gum smile on my face. The trials of the last year have been difficult, but they will soon be overshadowed with the gift of Ten million dollars plus many valuable gifts.
The envelopes are safely in the mail, having taken up the entire row of mailboxes at Hamilton avenue, my year is over. I reflect on motorhomes for the Kurds in Iraq, and Jaguar sports cars for the homeless in New York. Perhaps I'll even get a Winnebago myself.
Although at this point, I could really go for a pizza.