What?! No, never in a thousand years. I've lost my dog Whiskey six months ago, largely to old age and encroaching tumors, and I loved him to bits even back when he wasn't much more than a huge, cute, dopey and furry liability limping around the house looking absolutely miserable thanks to Neoplasene applications.
I'd shoulder my way past Argyle, hunker down so I could get a level look at the billionaire, and I would tell him in my most earnest tone to use that illegally large lump of cash he has to buy himself a ticket to Nepal or Tibet, spend a few years meditating in the hopes that this would renew his dwindling faith in the human spirit, donate half of his fortune to cancer research and use a few hundred bucks to get a pet of his own.
Then I'd give him my most angelic smile and ask him if he would kindly get a fucking life. I'd walk away, still broke as all Hell and still effectively unemployed, but at least I'd know I'm not as wretched as that poor old son of a ***** with all his money.
