401k-9

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Poring over my Predator Press investment options, I use the little cardboard “calculator” as I ponder reconfiguring them this year.

I am shocked to find out that I won’t be able to retire in 2008.

In fact, I don’t get my first lousy million until 2037. And to do so, I’ll have to finish filling out this boring paperwork, and then start doing lots of healthy crap in the depressing effort to live longer waiting for it.

One million bucks? With inflamation, I figure the minimum for a trophy wife in 2037 to be 2.6 million. And that's probably rock bottom: you'll still get something weird like webbed toes or a redhead.

I chuck the papers in the trash, depressed.

This is all a zero-sum game if you think about it.

For now, rest assured that I have no immediate plans to stop sharing my radiant brainiosity with you, o loyal reader.

Unless I’m not a published author by the time I turn twenty-seven.