A COOL MILLION? As big as a Ritz? Is that big, yet? How about a hundred million — that start to be big-enough? Big-enough for what? Buy what? BUY who? Who? No kidding. Who!? I’ll be horn-swoggled. I’ll be goldurn’d. Somebody — gambling kind of a guy — put out how much? One hundred young American million sawbucks & shin-plasters & etc., bottom-line got tot’d & still lacks another nine hundred million to get you to where you had you a middle-aged billion buckies — uh — then you find out there’s 38 more at the home of the golden toilet — we’re talking some major fucking numbers here, folks, what can you buy for a hundred million, how much more with a billion and you still have, left-over, 38 billion stashed. Louie Gohmert’s happy, tell you what, playing what he thinks is Texas hold-em, clueless he ain’t the house, and meanwhile there’s those frisky Koch boyos of oily arroyos and they’re like the metastasizing of the steroidally-enhanced progression of the latest plutocracy, global-style. And? And I don’t mean maybe. All (or part, one can be modest — it is not actively discouraged, at least not yet) of which is to say: you may assume these people are (distinctly) not your friends. Proof? There’s only one, or two, of them, the rest? The rest are you — the rest is us, pal, don’t forget what you forgot: we ARE the bottom-line Americans. “Influence is no government.”