5:55 A.M. Wake up.
I like to start my day at exactly 5:55 A.M. The fives remind me of dollar signs, and it’s important to me that money be the first thing I think about in the morning because I have a lot of it now. Plus, even though it’s pretty much six, I can sort of still say I woke up at five and get some bonus points for that.
6 A.M. Eat breakfast.
I’m a creature of habit, so I eat the same thing every morning: a big bowl of milk and caviar. It tastes awful and is super expensive, but it’s the only thing that my robot chef can make without setting the kitchen on fire, and, hey, I’ve got the money now.
7 A.M. Hit the gym.
For some weird reason, I’ve been super into lifting weights. It’s so strange: I used to be this no-money noodle boy, but now I’m a big, beefy billionaire. I guess training with the Rock’s clone (sh-h-h!) will do wonders for one’s body. Yeah, I’ve added fifty pounds of pure muscle, but at the end of the day I just want to be healthy. Being able to physically crush anyone who’s ever made fun of me is a nice perk, but it’s not about that. And I will pound any of you paupers who think otherwise into a paste.
10 A.M. Get to work.
Since I’m the guy who built this company into the mega-corporation that it is today, I can afford to have some fun on the job. For me, that means Googling myself and freaking out if anyone has something negative to say. If I get bored with that, I’ll fire off a few e-mails about some genius ideas we should steal, or maybe disrupt an unpaid intern’s day with a prank. Even though I have a mansion, a yacht, a planet, and some prime digital real estate in this complicated Matrix-like thing that I won’t bore you with an explanation of, I still enjoy being at the office. Sometimes I even go in on Fridays.
11 A.M. Head off to a big meeting.
I hate going to the bathroom at work, so instead I tell my assistant to clear my calendar for the rest of the day, for a “big meeting,” and I make my way back home, where I somehow always get distracted by my phone for hours and hours, arguing on Twitter or undermining democracy.
4 P.M. Eat a late lunch/early dinner.
My second and third bowl of milk and caviar. Again, not my favorite, but my robot chef absolutely loses it if I don’t eat all of the meals that he’s programmed to prepare. Whose idea was it to make this thing run on cocaine? Mine, of course.
8 P.M. Chill with the crew.
The boys are always down to get drinks, and now that we’re all B-naires we don’t have to rush to the bar for happy hour. Every once in a while, some celebrities join us, but they tend to spend a lot of time in the bathroom. Big meeting? Just kidding. No matter how much moolah I make, I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve been better off following my dream of doing comedy. Certainly, the world would be a happier place. People are always acknowledging my jokes. But then I’d be busy headlining clubs and not doing whatever it is that I do. I say “tech stuff” when people ask, but it’s way more evil than that.
11 P.M. Kick back and relax.
Some play golf, others hunt the less fortunate for sport on their private islands, but I’m not your typical plutocrat. I really do want to help the world. I’ve been working on putting an end to poverty for a while now, but to be totally honest I’m not getting anywhere. I have a ton of money and most people don’t have enough, but the numbers simply aren’t adding up for me. Luckily, it’s just something I do to unwind before bed.
11:01 P.M. Hit the sack.
Yeah, it’s early—but, hey, I woke up at five! Thankfully, I have my alien girlfriend (sh-h-h!) to keep me company. She’ll turn on my favorite show and I’ll explain all of the epic gags to her. If I still can’t sleep after that, I’ll check my bank balance and count dollars until I drift off. Or I’ll just give up and get the headset that my Secret Santa gave me, at the Billionaire Holiday Party, and use it to mine rest from the body of an unsuspecting surrogate, while I stay up all night plotting my path to becoming a trillionaire.
