With his money, his pocket change could buy him a perfectly good jetliner and turn it into a flying party palace, full of booze and hookers for ministerin’ to him with the layin’ on of the hands and all that happy crap. Also plenty of cargo hold room for ‘donations’ and such. Some people—got it made, yet never happy...
“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”
What fool follows this shyster?