Futuramadrama

Let me tell you part of my plan for the future. It includes several disgustingly wealthy men dying in mysterious manners and leaving me all their money. I plan on being absolutely shocked when they keep dying, one after another. The following section is an excerpt from my future autobiography:

First there was Jerome. He made his fortune designing a revolutionary system of penile function for female-to-male transsexuals. He showered me with lavish gifts; and ironically, on the day his will was finalized, he passed away from an acute allergic reaction to peanuts. I blame Cook. Who leaves peanut oil next to the lube anyway? After him, I became involved with Eli. He was a great man who lobbied for and subsequently succeeded in reinstating the legality of hunting whales for ambergris. I practically bathed in it every night during our two short years together. I had no idea he was into auto-erotic asphyxiation until I found his corpse hanging from the ceiling with his swollen, purple dick out. Then there was Heff. He was so old by that time that he had no idea I was a man. He was blind, stroked out, and going senile. Our relationship consisted mostly of me giving him his afternoon viagra, manual stimulation, and drowsing off while he recalled the good old days. I had to wear a bra and heels for a few years of my life, but it was worth it. For him I mean. Worth it because. . . he was. . . so sweet. One day when I was away at the spa, he mistakenly took an entire bottle of viagra thinking it was his blood pressure medication. It broke his heart--literally.

After them, my friend Jay and I will move into a giant estate together. He will have had at least an equal number of men in his life, also dying and leaving him wealthy. We're going to get old in style. And by "in style," I mean doing whatever the fuck we want. Our staff will be comprised of attractive young men. My personal ones will be immigrants, mainly from Russia, who feel they have no choice but to work for me because they're in the country illegally. And I promise to get them legitimized for their service, and threaten them with deportation when they fuck up. Actually I think I'm going to need at least one burly, middle-aged woman in a classic maid uniform, maybe Zoila from Flipping Out. Jay and I will play the Blame Game. The point is to shit and piss somewhere in the house, blame the other, and convince Zoila it was the other nasty fucker she works for. I'll bribe her with promises of an educational fund for her grandbabies if she keeps Jay's "accidents" quiet. This will ensure whispers among the rest of the staff of how filthy Jay is. And we'll laugh all the while. And when we don't want to blame each other, we'll "accidentally" get our colostomy and catheter bags caught on furniture so they explode everywhere. I'm thinking perhaps every two years or so, we'll have Black Friday. We'll fire EVERYONE except Zoila, just to see those poor foreigners hearts and dreams break. We'll have already held interviews and hired replacements without telling anyone so they can show up at a moment's notice.

We think we might affix sex toys to the tips off our canes. That way, there are even more demeaning possibilities for when we sexually harass all the boys on the daily. I suppose we'll have pets, but we'll for sure have some dudes with buttplugs in that have wagging rubber tails. And when Barbara Walters rolls in to interview us, the "doggies" will be sniffing ALL up in her ancient, wizened crotch.

We're going to befriend Condoleezza Rice, gain her confidence, and call her Aunt Tom behind her back. Then one day when she least expects it, we'll push her down the stairs backwards. We'll keep Britney Spears in a cage and make her dance for her meals. The corpse of Janice Dickinson will haunt our basement.

Soooo, can anyone hook me up with Heff?