My Own Private Wonderland

Have you ever wished that with a simple snap of the fingers, or twitching of the neck, you could magically transport into some dreamlike world, where fucking unicorns are your transport and every lady looks like Christina Milian (or if you're a chick, every dude looks like Brad Pitt...I'm fair like that, ladies)? Where money isn't necessary for anything, because everything your heart desires is free of cost? Where people are measured based on their merits and character, and rewarded on such scales?

I know I do, like every hour or so. But that kind of shit only exists in Disney and Pixar flicks, which I realize. Just sucks. I look out of windows at times, and my vision of a utopia never changes:

-- financial headaches and concerns would be non-existent; rather, everybody would be on an even playing field, making each and all of us "wealthy," in whatever way we desire to feel as such

-- members of the opposite sex would use some of that brain-power generating within their pretty little skulls and see me as a great catch, and would fight over me. They'd realize that I'd treat them better than any other guy, that I'd make them laugh, that I'd be the best listener they've ever been around, and that I wouldn't sleep a wink until I knew they were content, regardless of what it is (romantic satisfaction, comfort, safety, blah blah blah)

-- whatever job it is that I hold, I'd be compensated in the way that I deserve. The dedication and unbreakable reliability I exude in the workplace would pay off in an agreeable salary, and my co-workers with power to make changes would realize my value and fight for my situation, not wanting to see me being mistreated and basically disrespected

-- Lil Wayne's music would never be heard ever, ever, ever again

-- publicists, particularly those working with music artist clients, would be ridden of their powers, and would undertake some other profession that doesn't require them to piss Matt Barone off to no end, on a daily basis

-- Zoey, my 12-year-old German Shepherd and bestest pal, would be immortal. She'd never experience hip problems, her hearing would forever remain as sharp as a tack. She'd be riding shotgun with me until my final day

-- I'd hang out with Gianna and Nicholas at least once a day, not this once a week bullshit. And on the days that people knew I'd be coming home to see them, they wouldn't be whisked out of my parent's house 47 seconds before I arrive, to go for "family walks," whatever the fuck those are

-- I'd be 100% happy with everything

Imagine that.