Above-ground abodes: so overrated.

Look, you can put up as much fencing and dig a moat as deep and wide as you want, but the fact remains that your house will still be largely accessible to commoners in one way or another. Fences can be climbed, moats can be swum across and guards can be bought. Even antiquated systems like the postal service can reach you. And I’m tired of it.

I won’t tell you where for obvious reasons, but over the past few months I’ve been hard at work, constructing a new lair for myself deep under the ocean’s surface. You take away the oxygen and low surface pressure and you effectively remove the trespassers.

Through my connections in the military world, I was able to secure a nuclear generator for myself, which will provide all the electricity and oxygen that I’ll need. The only issue was how to get there. What, did you expect me to dive?

You may be aware that I recently acquired an ex-military submarine, and while that vessel is excellent for crashing parties and sinking yachts bigger than mine, it’s not an ideal daily commuter. So I called Aston Martin again, my go-to real estate developer. They’re kind of still in the doghouse, they owe me one.

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“I need you to build me a sub,” I barked after hitting the speed-dial.

“P-pardon, Madame?” came the stuttering reply.

“A sub! Sub-ma-rine, you oaf!” I shouted, stomping into the next room out of irritation. “Underwater car!” A horrible smell met my nostrils. I checked beneath the table. A dismembered rooster lay on the marble floor, its head missing. Bloody tiger paw prints and stray feathers led to the courtyard. I spritzed the air with some Gucci perfume and threw a silk handkerchief over the carcass.

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“Anyway, have it ready by next month, or else you’ll go in the way of this chicken I have here.”

“Chicken? Madame, I’m afraid I don’t understand—”

I hung up. It was their problem now. They’d figure it out.

And you know what? Those clever bastards actually delivered. Here, I’ll quote you some numbers that some quaint paupers’ website called Bloomberg wrote up: seats three, 5.9 feet tall, 8,800 pounds, has a speed of 3 knots (3.5 mph), capable of diving to 1,650 feet and a reasonable price tag of $4 million.

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Originally, they were going to call it Project Poseidon, but I was whole-heartedly against that. If you have to reference a god, definitely go Roman over Greek. Project Neptune, I demanded. Do you remember a Greek Empire? Neither do I.