Author: Scott Adamson

I want a Batmobile and, according to Moneysupermarket.com, it’s going to cost $18 million to get it.

I’m not asking you to give me the money … I’m merely asking that you believe with me that I’ll get it. And I believe the best way for that to happen is for you provide it.

Sound familiar?

It kinda is.

Recently, prosperity preacher Jesse Duplantis garnered plenty of attention when he said the Lord told him he needed a $54 million airplane to spread the good word.

And he makes a point of telling his flock he isn’t asking them for money (wink, wink), he’s just asking them to believe he’ll somehow come up with the necessary cash.

And he probably will, because ol’ Jesse has already got a pretty good gig going thanks to his pay-for-pray business.

The Cajun-spiced pastor lives in a 25-room house with a pair of two-car garages and has already had three jets at his disposal while running his lucrative “ministry.”

I guess while it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God, Jesse figures if his plane is fast enough it can just strap the camel to the roof and blow right on through.

The sad part – aside from this guy being a shameless con – is that so many people are willing to be conned. I won’t be surprised at all if he gets enough money to score his cool jet, allowing him to stretch the reach of his gospel while stretching his legs and enjoying a cocktail in his spacious cabin.

And he’ll tell you that by helping him enrich his life, it’ll enrich yours.

(Spoiler alert: It won’t).

Still, I have to give Brother Duplantis a bit of credit for inspiring me to chase my dream, which brings me back to the Batmobile.

While there have been many rides for the Caped Crusader over the years – all outstanding in their own way – the one I want is the Tumbler. This is the sweet vehicle which was introduced in the movie “Batman Begins.”

It’s a prototype armored military tank designed as a bridging vehicle. It has state-of-the art weaponry and the ability to boost into a rampless jump.

Why do I need it?

I don’t.

But I want it because as much as I enjoy tooling around town in my 2013 Honda Accord, nothing would be as cool as commandeering the Tumbler.

Now, before you get nervous, I have no plans to use its weapons. There’s a slight chance I could fire off a short-range missile if the car in front of me refuses to immediately move forward when the light turns green, but beyond that, those features would go unused.

Also, I would not utilize the rampless jump; that would be showing off.

And I’ll be honest … me getting a Batmobile probably won’t benefit you at all. It’s a two-seater, so my wife would be the primary passenger and, most likely, only human rider besides me.

Other times I’d use the extra seat to transport my critters to the vet, or to store groceries.

See, while it’s important for Jesse to be able to fly nonstop from New Orleans to New Guinea, it’s important for me to be Batman.

I’ve come to accept the fact that I’m much closer to the Dork Knight than the Dark Knight, but having a Tumbler would make YOU think I’m Batman and, really, that’s all that matters.

So how can you help this happen?

Probably the easiest routes to take are 18 million of you sending me a dollar, or one of you sending me 18 million dollars. Doesn’t matter to me either way … work it out among yourselves.

However, those are hardly the only ways to put me in the Tumbler.

The makers of the vehicle could read this and send me one as thanks for all the great publicity I have given their product.*

* Dear Tumbler makers, if you decide to do that, please include the deluxe Sirius XM package.

Legendary Pictures, makers of Christopher Nolan’s Batman movie trilogy, could do the same. *

* Dear Legendary Pictures, if you decide to do that, please include the deluxe Sirius XM package as well as the butt-warming feature on the driver’s side.

Nolan himself, a man of great means and talent, could buy the Tumbler for me.*

* Dear Chris, if you decide to do that, please include the deluxe Sirius XM package, the butt-warming feature on the driver’s side, and a written explanation of how Bruce Wayne was able to escape The Pit and make it back to Gotham in The Dark Knight Rises.

I’m anxiously waiting to see how all this plays out. And if you decide to help me out, send a DM via Twitter and we can work out a payment schedule.

Then again, maybe I should just ask Jesse.

He seems to know how to get the most bang out of someone else’s buck.

Note from the Editor/Spouse:  Do not, I repeat, do NOT send him money to buy a Batmobile.  He already possesses tiny replicas of said vehicle, which much to my chagrin, are displayed throughout our home.

 

 

 

 

I try not to feel old, but I’ve reached a point in my life where I can’t help it anymore.

I’m 57 and a half, which is a really high number (especially when you add the fraction).

And having lived this long, I now have to make a choice about how I want to spend my remaining years.

Do I exercise and watch what I eat, or do I cease to give a rat’s arse and simply enjoy myself?

Four years ago I went for my annual physical and was told that my cholesterol levels were too high. If I couldn’t bring them down naturally, I’d need to take medication.

I wasn’t crazy about that plan.

I’m not much of a pill-popper, and I’d forget to take them, anyway.

So, the option was to “eat healthier,” and I was starting to think I needed to do that anyway because I had put on a lot of excess weight.

The weight gain bothered my not because of the spare tire around my stomach; I’m not a body snob. People come in all shapes and sizes and if you’re happy with how you look, that’s all that should matter.

However, my face couldn’t handle the expanded flesh. It’s cartoonishly round, and any extra weight alters my appearance dramatically.

In the early stages of weight gain I resemble a squirrel storing nuts, which is kinda cute in a Hanna-Barbera way.

But I knew I had to make a change when Mary and I went to a Yankees-Braves game and were accosted by one of those ambush photographers who takes your photo the minute to walk into the stadium.

When I saw my face in the picture, I looked like Elvis Presley.

And I’m not talking about the young, cool, handsome Elvis who took Natalie Wood on motorcycle rides and wowed her with his quivering lip, but the old, sweaty Elvis sitting on the Jungle Room john at Graceland.

Thus, I was inspired.

Not only did I start walking several miles each day, I ate the “right” foods. There was no bread, no cheese, no chocolate and no sweets, and since I was a vegetarian, meats were already out of the rotation.

By the time I went for my physical a year later, I had dropped nearly 40 pounds and my cholesterol was at a healthy level.

But …

I had taken things too far.

True, I didn’t look like “Last Call Elvis” anymore, but instead I looked like an underfed Steve Buscemi, with slightly better teeth.

I was painfully thin, which caused my neck to wrinkle and make me appear much older than I actually was.

So, I decided maybe it was time to relax my diet a bit.

I started eating biscuits again and, damn, I had forgotten how good biscuits were.

And then instead of steering clear of the bakery at the local supermarket, I started spending some quality time there – at first, just sniffing.

But then I noticed that strawberry cake slices were there for the taking, as was sourdough bread.

And cinnamon rolls?

Yep … I dove into them like Jabba The Hut (assuming Jabba The Hut ate cinnamon rolls. If he didn’t, he was a dumbass).

I also discovered something called lemon squares. Other than lemons and graham crackers, I’m not entirely sure what they’re made of, but whatever it is, it’s sexy good.

Next thing you know I’ve put 20 pounds back on, and I like it because my face is somewhere between Elvis Presley and Steve Buscemi. I call it the Elvis Buscemi face, and I’m damn proud of it.

Sadly, though, my cholesterol has once again started to rise, which means if I want to avoid pills I have to start controlling my diet again.

And that leads me back to the beginning of this column.

At 57 and a half and happily married, I no longer have to go on dates or seek out mates, so perhaps I shouldn’t be overly concerned with my appearance.

And as for staying in tip-top shape, is there any real point anymore?

I’m pretty sure if a professional soccer team was interested in signing me, they’d have done so by now.

Hell, if I choose to sit on the futon all day and snack on Twinkies dipped in pure grain alcohol, I should get a pass, right?

On the other hand I do want to have quality of life in my “golden years,” so hopefully there’s a way I can make this Elvis Buscemi thing work.

To that end, I’ll now sign off, put on my walking shoes and try to put in at least three miles this morning.

But I’m not going to promise that later on I won’t eat a biscuit.

Or a cinnamon roll.

Or a lemon square.

Maybe just the lemon square.