By Scott Snyder
February 9, 2017
If I won the lottery, (you know, the big one, I’m talking like one hundred billion dollars,) I wouldn’t tell anyone but my parents. I’d catch a plane across the country and start contacting different agencies. I would need a guy to find me an island to buy and a marine/aviation guy to transport all of my stuff to my island.
Here is a list of things I’d buy before going to my island. These things include jet skis, a speedboat, an RPG, assault rifles, grenades and mortar – all with an endless amount of ammunition. I would also need a 50-caliber machine gun to mount in my helicopter. I’d also need fishing supplies. I’d also hire the entire Moscow Ballet to accompany me like Bruce Wayne did in “The Dark Knight.”
One of the agencies I contacted back in California would have been the biggest private contractor in all of the lands, who would then build me a mansion to my liking with a waterslide from my bed leading into the ocean. I would have also found the best chef in America and bought him out to be my dude with the food.
Other than sea, the only way to access my island, which I would name Scottopia, would be to parachute out of a plane into my lagoon.
After establishing Scottopia, with all other knick-knacks to make it the best place on Earth, I would contact my friends. Each of my friends by now has thought I’ve either vanished without a trace or died would receive a letter by mail. The content of my letter would simply be an address with a date and time signed by me, which would be the address to my aviation guy’s headquarters. Upon all of my friend’s arrival to their marked location, my aviation guy would load them up and take off. The plane would be loaded with tons of booze. By the time they got to Scottopia, they’d all have had plenty of liquid encouragement to prepare for their chute. I’d greet them at the lagoon sitting atop my grizzly bear, wearing a toga made of gold and an eagle on my shoulder and say “Welcome friends, to Scottopia.”