Now, it’s not unusual that hovels get put up for sale—that happens damn-near every day—but this particular one caught my eye because it belongs to some sportsball-playing person named Tom Brady. I understand that a great many of you know of and care about this person.
Haha! Look at this hovel. Five bedrooms, five full bathrooms, 12,112 square feet on 5.24 acres of land. How puny! Is this really how people live? My god.
The shack is located in Massachusetts (a place that is attributed to having the first colonists to fight in the American Revolutionary War, thus leading the country to the false idea that it is a democracy. Sure, whatever keeps the peasants from uprising) because Brady used to play for a sportsball team called the New England Patriots. He no longer does and had listed the property for sale a few weeks prior to the announcement, according to the Los Angeles Times.
Perhaps this Brady person was not very good at the sportsball, because his shack is really quite derelict. It’s being listed for $33.9 million, which honestly triggered a rare flicker of pity from me. (I doused it with a gin martini as quickly as I could; pity makes you weak and also poor.) If time is money (it is) can you imagine devoting 20 years to a team and only being paid enough to afford a starter shack such as this?
Like, look at this pool. Look at how tiny it is! What is anyone supposed to do with a pool this small? Flick the last of your dimes into it and wish for a bigger pool? A proper pool is one so big you can barely see the other end and you actually get notices from the local municipality about hoarding public resources when you go to fill it. Notices that you’ll completely disregard and put out your cigarettes on instead.
And this driveway. Where is one supposed to park the tanks, the trench diggers, the APCs? I’d like to see you pull off a turn in that narrow-ass driveway without flattening any of the landscaping. Then that’s even more trouble for the landscapers since I personally enforce rules for them to perform all my yard work with nothing more than their hands and teeth.
Stairs? Stairs? Sure, as long as you have someone to take you up those stairs on their back. Otherwise, the only reason for stairs is to slow down invaders.
Why am I able to see the ceiling in this photo? That means it’s too low. You need at least 40-foot ceilings before I’m interested. If I must be confined indoors, then I require the soaring ceilings of a cathedral. They built them that way to invoke a sense of awe. As there is no god, only money, I see no reason why we can’t do this for ourselves in the privacy of our homes.
That’s slightly better.
While I am all for wellness (I myself require two foot rubs every six hours and my signature rosewater soak every morning), this room is all wrong. I suppose it’s not really the house’s fault, being located in New England and all, but as anyone of taste, status, and class will tell you (see also: me), a wellness room must open onto a white sandy beach. There’s nothing more rejuvenating than the knowledge that you own waterfront property. I can’t believe the number of people that still need this explained to them.
How many servants are you expected to house in that little lean-to!? Four, maybe five? At most of my properties, I have at least twice that many manning the kitchen alone. Some really have fallen on hard times, haven’t they?
Ugh. I pity the person who eventually purchases this place. There’s so much work that needs to be done. It’s sitting on over five acres of land—use it! Expand!
Here’s that video tour I mentioned. Take a look. Feel the pity well up inside you for the impoverished Brady family like it did me. Just don’t catch the poor when you do. Kidding! That’s you already, duh.