Welcome, next-door neighbors, come on in. There’s a lot of space for every person, apart from God. He has no place inside this well-ventilated, open-concept personification of runaway commercialism.
What you see before you is my 14, 000 -square-foot testament to preference, accomplishment, and unrepentant hubris. A five-bed, six-bath new-construction McMansion with a gaping spiritual injury that can never ever absolutely heal.
Allow’s begin in the foyer, which functions as a waterpark and triples as a temple to me. The marble floorings are hand-cut from an Italian quarry that geologists pled us not to touch. The chandelier? They discovered it inside a meteor already formed like that.
I saved no expense. Specifically out humbleness.
Over here is the living-room. I’ve actually never ever remained in here prior to. Vaulted ceilings that touch the second paradise, twelve Corinthian columns (structurally unnecessary, spiritually confrontational), and a roaring fireplace powered by a tiny however consistent coal fire deep within the planet. Is it environmentally appear? No. But is it reliable? Not truly.
Now, please straight your look to the kitchen. Except cooking, lord no! We have Postmates. However we do have a thirteen-burner Viking variety, 2 walk-in fridges (both empty), and a spiral ham enclosed in material. The island is so large that it has its own HOA The kitchen counters? Carved from pure astatine. Extremely radioactive things. Might have fed a whole town for a year with how much I spent for that, FYI
Follow me upstairs using the golden escalator. It’s similar to the one Trump had, except 5 employees passed away making it. It’s haunted.
Likewise, the escalator just rises, so you’ll need to glide down a lot of silk headscarfs I had the help tie together. Extremely trendy, extremely hazardous. OSHA has been right here nine times.
Below is the key room, or as I like to call it, “The Throne of Flesh.” King-size bed? Please. That’s for plebeians. This is an emperor bed, thirteen feet vast, custom made from the bones of extinct woodland animals most have actually never ever also come across. Cushion Firm will certainly market you this bad boy just if you have an Amex black card and an individual recommendation from the Illuminati. Over the bed is a mural of me riding a lion into battle against discreetness. It glows at night. Not with electrical energy, but with spiritual pain. Regrettably, it’s too intense for anybody to oversleep here. Still worth it.
Now, let’s step outside to the yard. The landscaping was developed to look like Babylon, pre-fall, naturally, however with more water features and several naked versions I worked with as living statuaries. Please do not feed them.
We set up a full-size Roman aqueduct even though we’re on city water. Just hoarding for hoarding! And of course, that’s a twenty-four-hour weapon fountain defining my name in cursive.
Over there’s the infinity pool, which literally buffoons God by being both limitless and chlorinated.
And finally, the roof features a concrete and soapstone sculpture of me, standing an extremely minor 6 inches taller than that inferior Jesus the Redeemer statuary in Brazil. It’s been struck by lightning twelve times!
Is all of it a bit much? Well, probably. Am I practically breaking forty-seven zoning regulations? Who isn’t? Whatever, I can manage the penalties. However if God wanted me to construct modestly, He wouldn’t have offered me generational wealth and a complete absence of interior regulation.
All I understand for certain is that while this might not be the most structurally audio house around, it’s certainly one of the most extravagant. And no act of God would ever befall it.
Anyhow, many thanks for the housewarming gift. You can simply throw away the edible setup. I throw away so much food.
Please feel free to praise the golden calf bone en route out!