I would buy a brand new cement mixer truck. Fill it with frozen margaritas. Then I would mass text everyone in my phone (including Burp breath Brandy — no clue who she is or what that means, but she’s invited) and cordially invite everyone to come over — with the caveat that I’m throwing a bring your own drinking vessel bash of sorts and you will be judged. I’d also rent those huge spotlights that fancy folks used to point towards the sky for big premieres and events. The event would take place, concurrently with the World Record for most simultaneous brain freezes. The next day I would pose for pictures with the afore-mentioned cement mixer truck (which, by that point in time, had been nicknamed Marge - a - Rita and/or Large - a - Rita, obviously) for the local media, hire a company to completely clean the mean machine, donate it to a local construction company of my choice, but only if they agreed to let some kindergarten class paint it however they see fit.

And then I’d go back to reading the funnies and doing the daily crossword puzzle and yelling at people who can’t drive correctly along with folks who leave their grocery carts in the middle of the parking lot.

Pretty simple, really.

As you were, ladies and gents.