Spencer Wants Me To Come Hunting With Him In London, Where I Will "Learn What My Role Is" And Possibly Benefit From His Father's Sale Of A $500 Million Company
I woke up to a slew of DMs from Spencer. The guy is a straight shooter, and he's going to London very soon.
Very soon.
What do you think the unfortunate ramifications are of his father's sale of a $500 million company? Years ago, my father sold his company for far less, but the ramifications of that sale have plagued me for years. Where before, I was a starving comedian forced to tutor privileged shitheads to earn my keep, that sale immediately slackened the wind from my sails and set me on a course of auto-piloted career indifference. On a human level, my empathy for the poor hardened into a ball of contempt that had me busting up bread loaves and sprinkling the bits around homeless shanties so their worthless inhabitants would awake to tarp roofs and cardboard walls covered in pigeon shit.
These small nighttime excursions kept me balanced, humorous, and decompressed; far better to allow such harmless amusements than to let them build steam and manifest in more… uncontrolled fits. At least that's how I figured it. Now when I walk by a flock of those sickly birds, I can't help but wonder whether a few of their ranks fell prey to the gnashing, rotting jaws of those very homeless I once set them upon. From what I hear, it's quite in vogue these days for the poor to eat animals.
Where was I? Ah yes, Spencer. Inconsistent as the day is long, I fear. He states that his father owns a $500 million company, only to immediately contradict that by saying he sold it. Well, which is it Spencer? Does he own it or did he sell it? If he sold it, is there an earnout? Was he compensated in deferred stock or cash, or a combination, and if it's cash, how much? The current lifetime gift tax exemption allows for $13.61 million to pass from parent to child, and that can come from EACH parent. But word on the street is that number will come down to $6 million at the end of 2025, so for the sake of having our ducks in a row, I say we sort that out before we head to London. I'm happy to walk your parents through it.
I just think we'd both be happier hitting Harrods with a firm sense of our budget. But ultimately, it's your family's decision. Just know I'm here if you need me.
On to the hunt, then! What are we hunting, my new friend? If it's quail or partridge, I'll need to purchase the proper tweed coat and galoshes first. Hunting birds in the English countryside is a debonair pursuit—as portrayed by the royal family in Netflix's brilliant show The Crown. Based on your father's financial success and your so-called "ramifications," I'll assume we'll each be assigned a boy to hold and load our spare guns as we fire at flocks taking flight. I ask only for a seasoned boy. I want my boy to be swift and surehanded; no fumbling with fresh rounds, no uncertain handoffs as we swap weapons. Give me your best boy, if you don't mind. One with a fresh face and cheeks that flush with the thrill of winged death crashing to the heather below. The right boy is paramount.
I'm deadly curious as to what my role will be. So much so, in fact, that I fully intend to see this through. Come Watson, the game's afoot! To London with Spencer, not a moment to lose.