I would like an entourage.
Just for a little while, I would like to have people flock to me and attempt to weasel into my lifestyle, but not for being a rock star or a movie star or anything, just because I’m Billy.
It would be awesome to have nubile groupies frolicking in the aisles of Safeway as I go shopping for eggs and hamburger, a collection of sycophants agreeing with my every word and opinion while I pick out a movie at the video store, fanboys rushing to find old Nintendo systems so they could play The Legend Of Zelda in imitation. I think it would be tremendous for my ego to have a flunky show up at work and offer me grapes or paprika flavored Pringles while I’m taking telephone calls from disgruntled customers.
But ultimately I think the thrill is held for me in the chance to scream out, “leave me alone you leaches, you vultures!”
I have that sort of volatile relationship with my posse.
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