I’ll still do things at the last minute.

I will finance any script that features a character slowly croutching behind something and then immediately popping back up in a different outfit. Because that bit gets me every time.

I will take two days off a week. I’ll never tell my staff what days. It won’t be the weekend.

I’ll say I have a napolian complex and when people ask how that’s possible when I’m 6′2″ I’ll call in a large group of 8 foot tall men I’ve hired for just such an occasion.

I will pay my enormously huge taxes entirely in pennies.

I’ll start “Mistakes Were Made.” The magazine for fiction with a lot of typos. Most of it will be by me.

I will open a franchise called Festivity Multiverse. My tagline will be “Let’s see you top this rival party supply companies.”

All my dinner parties will have a narator who announces the dark undercurrent of various statements during the evening. This undercurrent will be made up… most of the time.

I will have two secretaries. One who only ever tells the truth and one who only ever tells lies.

I will pick one underling I dislike and insist when they say “Mr. Daw” that they must “call me Ishmael.”

Publicly I will look at them strangely when they do it, but privately I will insist that I am deadly serious about this.