A Sure-Fire Way to Get Rich

People who have visited me, Ol' Hoss, for awhile know how much I need money. Oh, I've got enough to pay for the thin gruel they serve here at the Old Wizened People's Home. And in fact, I got enough to buy me some Tennessee sippin' whiskey now and then, too. (I feel sorry for you bozos who can't afford sippin' whiskey. You'll never get to enjoy recovering from a hangover.)

Anyway, what I need is several bazillion dollars so I can:

A. Be cryogenicized, or
B. Be mummified and buried in the Valley of the Kings, or
C. Be cremated and have my ashes rocketed to Deneb or Polaris so's you can continue to look up to me, or
D. Be reincarnated.

I am somewhat leaning toward A., because then I would have plenty of ice to put in my sippin' whiskey. On the other hand, D. has good potential. I could come back as a dung beetle, for instance, and never go hungry. I could come back as a rabbit, and you don't have to guess why. I could come back as Humphrey Bogart because I have committed to memory his two most famous lines: "Play it, Sam," and "Here's looking at you, kid." I could get me a cigarette, get all squinty-eyed and go on a stage tour if I came back as Humphrey.

Now, as to the money. Well, I finally have it all figured out. I have just printed up some business cards identifying Ol' Hoss's Endorsements Company. Listen, there is millions in this, maybe bazillions. And I am going for it all right out of the box.

Here it is: What do you suppose the Trojan prophylactic people will pay me if I can get their rubbers endorsed by the Pope? Huh? Ain't that wild?

If anybody can get this done, it is Ol' Hoss. So I will be traveling to the Vatican tomorrow to make my case. I will tell Benedict I am willing to split 50/50.

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My favorite word today is satisfaction. Adj., let's get smug. Def.: Knowing that all those young people descending on Ft. Lauderdale will soon be in debt up to their ears.