Sorry Ma$e, it doesn't work like that, Pal. All that happens when one acquires money is instant gratification when they buy themselves that first delight. That first reward for their hard work all these years. The first treat and certainly not the last.
Since all I do is think about money I thought maybe I would actually write down some things I would do if I won the lottery.
Buy Nice Suits
I'd buy the nicest shit you ever saw. I'd be rollin up in der so fine you'd be all, "Who dat GQ lookin' mofucka o'er der?" and I'd be all like, "Calvin Cline up in hurr, bitches! You best believe biddies from tha 50's wanna get all up in dis"
They would be so nice that I would have to hire hit men to kill everyone who ever saw me wear them, save for one person who was known to exaggerate. They would be the only person in the world who would know what true beauty was and they would tell the rest.
Go to dinner at Buckingham Palace
I'd definitely see how they do things in the ritziest of places (not the Ritz though) and see what hi-jinx would ensue. Maybe the Queen and I would have a shot-gunning contest. Or maybe I would just kick it old school and have a freestyle rap competition with some beef eaters (most of my material would be in reference to them "eating my beef"). Whatever the situation, it would be killer fun and wicked expensive.
Buy a car just to smash it
I would most definitely buy a car but I would immediately smash it. Right there in the show room. I'd walk to a Mercedes, Ferrari, Porsche, Hugo Boss, any big-name car retailer, select a showroom model, buy it without negotiating a price and handing the salesman a briefcase full of money, and then pull out a sledgehammer and go to town on the bitch (The car, not the salesmen. I'll get to homicide soon enough). I'd like to watch and see what everyone in the dealership would do. And the answer is: NOT A DAMN THING! It's my car and I can do whatever I want with it. I'd throw some money on the floor as I walked away or something else cool while everyone would just be standing there, dumbfounded. Then I'd light up a smoke and hop into a mini-van full of kids in soccer uniforms that was driven by the hottest of all moms. We would stop for ice cream.
Become a rapper
All rappers don't have money initially but when they do get money their music becomes the soundtrack of the lives of college girls who get their skank on. They would dance away their daddy-issues as they grinded their junk into some stranger's business as my drug-influenced beats and money-centered lyrics reverberated off the walls of the skeeziest bar that has a townie to frat-boy ratio of 2:1.
I like those odds.
Don't look at me like that, you know you would too. I'd pay for their funeral and I'd buy their artwork that was "too risque" for the internet.