Billion Dollar Child Care Package

I’m gonna trade this life for fortune and fame.

I cracked open my children’s piggy bank. Not literally, as on the bottom is a rubber covering. Okay, I sat there violently shaking my kids’ piggy bank and catching coins as they ricocheted this way and that way. Investing THEIR money in the lottery wasn’t a sign of a growing debilitating gambling addiction, I was ante’ing up on their future. Could I have used my own money? I mean, most the money in the piggy bank was mine at some point. I have yet to see these toddlers work a day in their life. Since becoming an adult, I didn’t ever carry actual tender on my persons. It is always SWIPE, SWIPE, SWIPE of the magic plastic. How much money does this little plastic card hold? No fuckin’ clue, but I swipe it like I am Daddy Warbucks. Unfortunately, I needed cold hard cash for the lottery.

 *Shake*

*Shake*

*Shake*

There I stood, shaking and catching precious pieces of silver from the piggy bank. Thoughtfully helping my kids learn about investments. You got to spend money to make money! Right? RIGHT? I wish I had some sort of Crown Royal bag to carry all the change in. There are two thoughts flying through my head anytime I pay out with change.

I need to learn to be more fiscally responsible so I have more than this handful of change on Thursdays. 

Or

Holy crap, I feel like I am living in the Medieval Times! *Tosses sack of change at cashier* “Here, peasant, it’s all there, no need to count. Okay, I will wait while you count. I am sorry for throwing a sack of change at you. No, I didn’t call you peasant. Okay, I am sorry.”

Now, picking the perfect lottery numbers turned out to be a bit difficult. Of course, this was for the kids, like Wu Tang, so I felt maybe they should have a part in picking their future.

Test your might!

While I momentarily entertained the idea of giving three-year olds’ who were terrible counters (1,2,3,4,5,4,6,9,10 YAY!) the chance to pick their own winning numbers, unless I planned to release them in a ball pit filled with giant lottery balls to pick, it was probably best I pick the numbers. Although, this sounds like one hell of an idea. Saturday, I placed their birthdays as my lucky numbers, knowing for certain that God Almighty graced me with twins and the least he could do was grace me with a couple hundred million dollars to take care of them. We know how this story plays out, as I am now going for the billion dollar child care lottery package.

Are you there God? It’s me, Punk Rock Papa.

I am not going to tell you the billion dollar numbers I picked. Sorry, I have very little intention of sharing my “Get out the ghetto” Powerball digits. Now just know, my intentions with a billion dollars are nothing short of wholesome. My kids have needs. This is their investment which I plan to surprise them with after they realize the piggy bank is lighter. Seriously, I think they weigh the thing before bedtime. Last time I borrowed from it, I was exiting the bathroom and there stood two scowling children, one violently shaking the yellow pig in my face. I had to put a legitimate dollar bill in it to appease them. Sometimes I hear the jingle of that pig in my sleep, with tiny toddler voices saying, “We know. We know!”

Yes, this money is for da kidz! I am sure at the top of their list of wants and needs is a really nice car for daddy to escort them around in. Followed by making sure daddy gets the bar he has wanted since realizing he was going to be a father of twins. Oh, and college funds, of course.

Punk Rock Papa’s Pub GRAND OPENING!!!

As “If I Had A Million Dollars” played in the background, I scoffed at The Barenaked Ladies. I am a few hours away from a billion dollars. I mean, my children are a few hours away from a billion dollars. I haven’t looked in to the odds of winning. I hear they are astronomical. But, it is the 13th and that is my lucky number. All I am saying is the stars have aligned.

Now, excuse me, I have to hit three more gas stations to draw numbers. My kids still have a few investment coins to throw down on a life of luxury.

Thank you, Misfit, for inspiring me to write a lottery post. Happy Bestie Day!!

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