It's no Levon, but hey.

I was in line at the post office the other day, and that Elton John song from The Lion King was playing. I love the way he sings the line about “kings and vagabonds.” It’s so decadent. So over the top. Like you can only sing that line if you’re draped in velvet. Who the hell hangs out with kings and vagabonds? Elton John, that’s who, probably every Tuesday night. I bet Elton John’s entire life is like the Stevie Nicks songbook injected with Botox. I bet the ottomans in Elton John’s house are made out of live boys. I bet he won’t even get out of bed in the afternoon without someone turning on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack to accompany him on his prance to the loo. Only I bet he calls it the ladies’. And in the ladies’, I bet he has two sinks, one with a water spout and another that spouts body butter. Whenever I try to picture seriously rich people’s lives, I just imagine that they’re incredibly moisturized. It’s like the ancient Romans putting fountains in front of their villas to signify wasteful wealth. Like Oprah. You know that girl is swimming in lotion somewhere. Once Maggie described a lotion as smelling like “rich girl neck.” I love that.

If I ever become insanely wealthy, I’m going to be a real a-hole about it. You know, demanding gossamer hair extensions for my pet leopard, only eating fruit if it’s spraypainted gold, that kind of shit. I'm already impetuous and irresponsible, staying at the bar til 3 am because I want to keep talking to this cute guy, or reading about hot dogs on the train ride home and then stopping at the market to buy turkey franks and buns for dinner, so why not throw some limitless funds on top of my lack of self-control? I am basically a 10 year old in charge of my own life, and isn't that what rich people are? Plus, I'd really appreciate the fancy bath products.

In other news: mailboy.