Congratulations on Buying the Can of Barbasol from Jurassic Park!

As the world’s fifth most eccentric billionaire, and the only one of the top ten who doesn’t presently live in seclusion, you’ve got a reputation to maintain. You’ve got to keep the public guessing so every once in a while you’ll move up on a grocery store, buy all the toilet paper and run around outside with your bodyguards, pelting people with rolls of Charmin. That’s just an example, you also pull plenty of pranks that aren’t totally lame.

But this Thursday, a week after your tremendously successful “pay all the cops in a small town in Iowa to act British” prank, you’ll feel as if you’ve outgrown the high concept prank phase of your eccentric billionaire-hood. You’ll make a final blog post explaining that you want a change of pace and then head into the west wing of your mansion/Bat Cave to ponder.

While lounging in a sex swing which has never been used for its intended purpose you’ll run through the various “done” aspects of zany wealth. You could purchase music rights, but that would be perceived as mercenary. You could go in for charity work, but then it would seem like you were trying to hide something. Investing in pharmaceutical research is so blah, and it would put you adds with the universal healthcare agenda which as an off-beat billionaire you naturally support.

You’ll spend nearly an hour and a half laying there, swinging back and forth awkwardly, listening to the creak of the carabineer in the eyebolt before inspiration strikes you and you phone your secretary’s assistant to make an appointment at an auction house selling pointlessly expensive worthless memorabilia.

Within 36 hours you’ll have flown to Vienna, Austria, idle rich capital of the world, and seated yourself in a luxuriously appointed 14th century palace which has been converted to serve an auction house for the rich and bored.

Most of the items will be uninteresting. Catholic reliquaries, celebrity semen and ovum and Angelina Jolie’s first strap-on will all be paraded across stage without eliciting even the tiniest bit of excitement from you. When lot 26B comes along, though, all that will change.

You’ll leap out of your chair, shouting “ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS!” the way you always wanted to. The auctioneer will inform you that there’s no need to shout and that bidding starts at a paltry two-hundred thousand dollars, but you’ll tell your man to strike him in the face and shout your offer again at the top of your lungs.

After a brief fine and the most exciting check-writing you’ll have experienced in a while you’ll leave the auction house with your purchase, content in the knowledge that you’ll appear briefly on a few news stations tonight and give a few people bemused smiles with your antics.

When you get home you’ll check to see if the can of shaving cream from Jurassic Park opens the way it did in the movie. You’ll be overjoyed when it not only does but also contains tiny nodules containing what you assume to be a representation of “dino-DNA.” You’ll share the news with a bored Megan Fox, who will inform you that she never saw that movie because “dinosaurs are for nerds.”

You’ll give her a quick “eat shit” look before retiring to your Egyptian-style antechamber where you’ll be fellated by a woman who looks just like a young Ally Sheedy. After she finishes the two of you will talk about Jurassic Park at length and years from now, long after the two of you have married and raised your children, you’ll recount this meet-cute story for your first son’s in-laws to be as they shift uncomfortably, surrounded by your army of cloned dinosaurs.

Congratulations on Buying the Can of Barbasol from Jurassic Park!