Every week I play the Powerball, and every week I lose. But in those hours or days before the modern version of Yolanda Vega chooses my destiny, I get to daydream about all the ridiculous things I would buy.
For $322,000 you and your closest friends can book Richard Branson’s private island for a week. Choose your friends wisely and maybe they’d be up for a Lord of the Flies reenactment.
I love when “Shit You Can’t Afford” becomes a witty and obnoxious double entendre.
Sometimes I need to step back, let my intellectual jargon fall by the wayside, and simply quote my roommate who says “It just looks like poo.”
This modern toy is the equivalent to the Power Wheels that my parents never bought me circa 1991. And just to spite everyone, my kids won’t get this either. They’ll have to wait for the adults to have coffee and cake before opening presents, and the big Triceratops won’t be one of them.