The thing about being super rich is that you eventually run out of things to buy. You can only live in so many houses, or drive so many cars, or pay to have so many enemies killed.
Fortunately, before you ever get so desperate as to, say, give money to the poor, there is a whole industry devoted to inventing ridiculous things to waste it on.
So let's say your ass has grown raw from wiping it with all the extra cash you have laying around. You're desperate to get rid of some of it and have already bought all of the nice sports cars the world has to offer. What's left? Charity? Ha, no.
They'd probably just spend it on something stupid. Like poor people.
Luckily, Paul Dalton will relieve you of nearly $12,000 to give your grotesquely overpriced luxury car the wash it deserves.
We know what you're thinking; this is some crazy guy who's priced his car washes into the stratosphere thinking if just five people fall for it, he can retire. Not so; the service is so popular among the "money to burn" crowd that he has a nine-month waiting list. Which means our Italian sports cars will remain mud covered most of the year (we like to go off-roading and play touch football in our Lamborghinis).
But what does an $11,500 car wash get you? Once Paul gets his OCD hands on our vehicle, the magic begins. Paul spends three days working his 61-step process. Once he's washed the thing a few dozen times, Paul whips out the ultrasound depth gauge so he can buff out microscopic scratches only 1000th of a millimeter deep. Then Paul finally applies the wax by extensively "massaging" the car with his bare hands.
Basically this, but the girls are one guy named Paul.
OK we get it; Paul gives your car an erotic massage with a happy ending. That's great but seeing how we could get 150 real erotic massages with real happy endings for the same money, we'll stick to taking the bus.
Now that you've got your car washed and waxed with a compound made from the crushed eyeballs of white tiger cubs (not true, but that would make more sense) you might as well park that baby somewhere really nice. Like a third of a million dollars nice.
Admittedly, it may take a while to put in all those quarters.
Buying and selling parking spaces apparently isn't all that uncommon in places like the Back Bay in Boston, where parking is short. Real Estate agents broker the deals just like they were selling houses, and in that area prices routinely reach six figures.
But at least the undisclosed buyer of the $300,000 space (believed to be the most ever paid for a parking space, and we pray it is) probably got some pretty wicked amenities with this pricey Boston parking spot, right? Climate-controlled, purified and dehumidified air 24-hours a day? Mood lighting? A pretty woman to come around nightly and whisper erotic car-oriented poetry to your vehicle? A house for your family to live in?
Nope. For more than the price of most people's homes all they got was a rectangular chunk of concrete... outside and uncovered.
For that kind of money we're thinking we'd rather pay for the Transformer conversion so at the end of a long day our car easily transforms into a briefcase or a puppy. Whatever. Or screw the car and just commute by jetpack or Pegasus.
Or rocket-propelled recliner.
With 300-grand, the possibilities are limitless. It's like rich people don't think sometimes, you know?
Nope, it's not Assholes with Money Monthly. It's called Nomenus Quarterly. What's in it? The secret to time travel? A vagina? Nope, just pictures and a shitload of pretension.
Originally you could pick up an issue of Nomenus for a relatively thrifty $2,500. But, seeing the world is in a financial clusterfuck right now, editor Erik Madigan Heck cut the magazine's normal 50 copy circulation down to just 10 copies. That's the economics of rarity, but it's kind of cheating when you manufacture the rarity. For instance, here's a picture of Jesus painted by beloved 80s Russian comedian Yakov Smirnoff:
Now this is the only Yakov Smirnoff Jesus painting in existence. To make sure, we burned all the other copies and for extra measure we burned Yakov Smirnoff, also. We'll start the bidding at four decapitated and diamond studded Sasquatch heads.
See, it doesn't work. By the way, we just had to see the guy who has the balls to put out this magazine.
This guy? With the wrinkled Snuggie? Oh wait, we get it. He must wear a Snuggie to encompass his massive testicles. And he doesn't bother to iron it because he trying to be very nonchalant about his giant testicles. Got it. Still don't want your magazine, though.
We were about to point out that this was the world's most expensive cat wedding, but that seems pointless. Spending just 25 cents on a wedding ceremony between two cats officially makes you the scary woman whose door all the moms in the neighborhood forbid their kids to knock upon when trick r' treating.
We know how it goes; one day you're getting your cats married the next thing you know you're forcing said cats to mate with your dead husband's ashes. But we digress.
Then again, 1) if you have enough money to blow tens of thousands on a cat wedding, you can afford to be batshit loony. And 2), this wedding took place in Thailand. The land of Bangkok, where the tourism department's slogan is "Whatever Happens in Bangkok... Makes Unicorns Cry."
This 1986 wedding between felines Phet and Ploy took place in a Bangkok disco, cost over $16,000 for the ceremony itself, not to mention the $23,000 dowry, five hundred guests and $6,000 in wedding presents for the bride and groom. The bride arrived by Rolls-Royce; the groom by helicopter (remember these are cats). An iguana played maid of honor and a parrot filled in for the Best Man.
The clearly monogamy-loving cats were brought together by cosmetics magnate Vicharn Charas-archa due to a shared, rare glaucoma called the "Diamond Eye." In Thailand people believe the Diamond Eye to be lucky, because diseases that make cats go blind are lucky. Kind of like how feline AIDS is considered lucky here.
As you're probably figuring out, there are two ways to solve any dilemma: 1) The Sensible Way and 2) The Rich Asshole Way. Allow us to demonstrate. Let's say you own a tree (it could happen) and a lightning strike blows a hole in your otherwise nice-looking tree.
What do you do about that pesky hole? If you're sensible person you might say, "Who gives a shit. It's a tree." However; if you are a rich asshole your solution might be to cram about $100,000 into the tree's gaping ass while creating a safe place to live out your Lord of the Rings fantasies. Perhaps you could pretend the people out in the street begging for food are orcs!
Fly! You fools!
Thus we have the Lord of the Rings Tree House. This Scottish tree gap filler cost more than twice the average Scotsman's annual salary, features stained-glass windows and multi-leveled verandas, which makes it perfect for the kids! Also, there's a 600-foot zip line so your little hobbits can pretend they're flying! Or, you know, actually fly.
So let's say you want the world's douchiest phone number. You might find whoever has 468-2439 (DOUCHEY) and offer to buy it. But that's far too straightforward; the average rich prick is far craftier than your average Internet comedy writer.
"Is 'EL DOOSH' taken?"
So instead, a guy went out and bought a phone number that costs $2,750,000. And what number could possibly cost so much? Why, it's 666-6666.
You might ask, "Where did my Slayer-loving cousin Rodney get 3,000,000 bucks?" Don't worry, Rodney's still living in your aunt's basement and doing Satan's work at the Carl's Jr. drive thru window. Turns out, while a bunch of sixes might be the mark of the beast in Western culture, the word six in Arabic is equated with "ellah," meaning God. So in Qatar, where the number was sold, owning 666-6666 is like owning God's phone number.
Though it seems like that would really piss God off. The douchebag owner might expect to get a rather irate voice mail one of these days:
"Yeah, hey, this is God. I seem to be getting a lot of your calls lately, mostly from guys who keep asking if I want to 'go catch a John Mayer show' or help them 'pick up a case of Axe Body Spray' or 'grab an Orange Julius and go beat up some queers.' Listen, give me back my phone number or I'll melt Dane Cook. You have until sundown to decide."
Sitting at your desk in second grade, as your mind began to shut down from the onslaught of soul crushing fractions, you probably slipped a piece of paper out and drew up your dream house. Don't be ashamed, we've all done it. Like us, you likely sketched out an anti-gravity room, a room just filled with lasers and robots that made you food. No it didn't make sense, but it was terrific.
We all wanted a room full of pandas, right?
Then you grew up and never got the dream house. But guess what? Someone stole the blueprint for your fantastical, Bond Villian-esque dream house and built it...for a couple of dogs.
This nearly half-million-dollar super kennel and home to two Great Danes features a $220,000 sound system, 52-inch plasma screen TV, a heated spa, self cleaning and automatically filling food and water dishes and sheep-skinned, temperature-controlled beds.
But wait, there's more. Not only does this high tech house feature a closed circuit television system but the front door includes a retina scanner security system.... for dogs. You know, when you're a well-to-do dog you don't want undesirables, like homeless human beings, invading your space.
If you feed one, more will just show up.
The female surgeon who ordered the construction of this doggy uber-home wished to remain anonymous. See? On some level, they know this is wrong.
You can read more from Cole at Fun With Cole
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To become as rich as these assholes, check out 5 Ways to Get Rich (Without a Single Discernible Skill). Or find out about some rich people that earned themselves a ticket to Satan's brothel, in The 6 Most Horrifying Ways Anyone Ever Got Rich.
And stop by our Top Picks to Editor-in-Chief Jack O'Brien crying over DOB's expense report (it's mostly dildos and Cognac).