Reality is confused enough these days. Perhaps if we try to overload it, and blow all its fuses and circuit breakers, we'll pop clear out at the other end, in some sort of sane, prosperous, sensible nirvana.
Let's give it a nudge and try this one: Yes, someone paid $65,600 for a pair of Marie Antoinette's slippers. Green and pink silk.
They fetched five times more than auctioneers thought they would get. They were flooded with bids from around the world -- which should give you some indication of the number of people sitting on oversized piles of cash who are hopelessly clueless about what might be constructively done instead with any of those Scrooge McDuck, dollar-sign-sporting, canvas-bag heaps they're using for sofas.
(Anyone else detect the hand of a Romney here, fishing for wifely trinkets? Just checking. After all: It matches up nicely, and completes the Let Them Eat Cake circuit of Life Entitlements, seeing as how Ann believes its "their" turn to be President.)
Meanwhile, crashing the desperate hopes of millions of millionaires, the celebrity sperm bank, "FameDaddy," has turned out to be a hoax. Sorry, all of you ITV network viewers in the UK: There's no pool of possible rock stars, aristocrats, or knighted and titled, lords-of-the-manor on which to draw after all.
Moving on now, to the rich, previously-untapped universe of electric underwear stories, an opportunity to ask a first-ever, groundbreaking question finally arises: How would you like a jolt of electricity to the buttocks?
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