Originally Posted by PostScript

Wake to the sound of the ocean, having camped out on the beach overnight.

Climb over Claire Forlani and a young Cindy Crawford who are both still exhausted from the night before’s threesome.

Cook a steak and eggs breakfast on a portable BBQ for myself, and serve the girls their own breakfast in bed. Talk about what inspires us.

Meditate on the sound of the waves with the crisp sea air in my face.

Hit the gym, weights work only, I hate cardio.

Read for an hour whilst enjoying a tomato and buffalo mozzarella salad with a crisp, cold beer.

Go play golf at Pebble Beach with Tiger Woods, Henry Kissinger, and Louis CK…break the course record by two.

Walk through the Louvre, naked.

Make someone laugh so hard they have to go lie down to recover.

Lose a fight and not care.

Really help someone who really needs it.

Play fetch with my childhood Golden Retriever.

Pick up the girls again and take them to the Opera. Shag in our private balcony throughout the entire performance, with the oblivious audience below.

Attend a Gordon Ramsey restaurant, complain about the food and flee without paying the bill.

Escape the resultant police chase by deploying Italian Job style driving skills in my newly acquired 1954 Mercedes SL Gullwing.

Return to the beach, trip over an ancient stone tablet in the sand describing the secret to life and the path to enlightenment, suddenly it all becomes so clear.

Huddle up on the beach under a blanket that is slightly too small for the 3 of us, fall asleep looking up at the stars, listening to the waves crash and pretending that I don’t have to go to fucking work in the fucking morning.

PS