I just won the lottery! I’m so excited that I can barely make the proper phone calls I need… I just won the lottery! I’m so excited that I can barely make the proper phone calls I need to make and sign the forms I need to sign. Oh, there’s just so much to do now.

Time to buy up everything I’ve ever wanted: a diamond-encrusted ball pit, a swing set made of platinum with gold chains, a great big marble slide, an onyx fort and a private helicopter — landing pad and batteries included. Of course, I’ll have to invite over and befriend some wealthy bigwigs like Mark Zuckerberg and Jay Rockefeller, and I’ll need a full staff of maids to bring us lemonade on the more sultry days. But first thing’s first: I need to register as a Libertarian.

Now that I’ve made this hard-earned money, I finally understand the Libertarian’s frustrations with the completely overbearing government under which we live. I had to give away millions in taxes from my jackpot sum. That’s millions that could have been spent more righteously on an emerald-studded fence around my playground or an assortment of cute cashmere sweaters and silk trousers for my new Chihuahua. I’ve heard the argument from these whining liberals a million times: Taxes are fair. Really, they’re like a forced charity. Well, I don’t see any of the benefits from them. When will I get something for my share of input?

And what about all this nonsense on banks being bought up by the government? Am I the only one who sees where this is going? President Barack Obama and his socialist schemes are moving this country straight into Dante’s proverbial Marxist ring of hell! As frightened as I am of the violent hammer-and-sickle revolution that seems closer than the nose of my yacht, I am identifying myself publicly as a Libertarian now so all can know how brave and dutiful I was to society. Perhaps society owes me a plaque.

Here’s a recent situation that captures my real governmental gripe: A friend of mine called me up the other day and asked for a couple million dollars to buy his new mansion. He is a hardworking professional geranium farmer who boasts a window box about 1 foot long. He had no trouble purchasing it because of the generous loans of two banks and was preparing to move in when the government stepped in and said, ‘No!’

No? Since when does the government have the power to tell my friend what houses he can and cannot buy? They told him it was because the loan he was given — at 57.8 percent APY — was ‘unrealistic.’

This issue only gets worse. Apparently, my children have to attend school. I was arguing with a truancy officer about it. ‘Why do my kids need to go to school?’ I asked him, standing at the charming, pearly gates of my three-mile cobblestone driveway. ‘

So your kids can move up in the world — learn, grow, you know, just send ’em,’ he retorted. Move up in the world? The things I’ve been told by the government ever since I obtained my wealth have been more and more ludicrous. This communist ‘democracy’ has clearly fallen out of touch with its wealthiest, most loyal citizens who hold this country up as the prosperous superpower that it is. My children are already on top of the world. They don’t need to contribute to society. And what does the public have to offer them but headaches on public buses and herpes on public toilets?

Just when I thought it deemed itself Big Brother of everything else in my private life, the government took another huge step inside my Swarovski, crystal-knobbed, oak French doors. They told me the wage I was paying my lemonade-bearing servants wasn’t enough! Honestly, I feel like just handing my checkbook over to the government and throwing my hands up in the air. They decide how much of my money goes to my workers, how much of it goes to the U.S. charity and which houses my friend can put his money toward. They even recently determined that a sum of my money has to go toward planting trees and opening solar plants — as if having to pay to clean up Jay’s oil spill wasn’t enough paternalism for the day!

Well, after that rant I feel like some of my ‘less fortunate’ — aka not as hard-working — peers might be a little hot under the blue collar. I’ll have you know I just wrote a $1 million check to cancer research — that’s $1 million’ that wouldn’t have gone there if the government had taken it from me. Oh my, I’m almost late for my 14-hour massage.

Margaret, more ice in this lemonade, please. William, you can stop typing my column now.

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