There was news this week. Big news. Monstrous news. World-changing news: Steve Jobs’ stinky old sandals sold for $218,750.
The sale of this footwear is remarkable for a few reasons. Firstly, it means we have a new term for the sort of bootlickers who think Elon Musk can do no wrong: sandal sniffers.
Secondly, their purchase has opened up a whole new revenue stream for tech CEOs.
Let’s face it, this year has been trying for the hyper wealthy. Whether it’s Zuckerberg’s $100 billion wealth drop, Musk’s $44 billion splurge on Twitter, or the fact that Bezos’ Amazon became the first company to lose a trillion in market value, times are tough for the sort of people who could decapitate someone on live TV and avoid a prison stint.
These billionaires shouldn’t worry though. Everything will be okay. Because I’m here. And, following the success of Steve’s sloppy sandals, I’ve got an idea how to save these tech leaders’ finances: sell off some of their famed items.
Hell, I’ve even selected what each of them should auction off to save them some time. Yes, I will accept early canonisation for this act of altruism.
Elon Musk’s childhood emerald
Little Elon had a normal childhood. He was a normal child. His childhood was incredibly normal, the most normal of childhoods… ever. The normalest childhood. A regular, regular, regular childhood just spent doing regular childhood things, you know, like yachting and flying planes and having a family emerald mine.
Oh, how little Elon would frolic, flinging those precious gems around his grounds, just being the regular, normal, self-made child he was, and remains to this day.
Anyway, if old Elon is a bit strapped for cash, I’m certain some of his reply-guy sandal sniffers would pay a pretty penny to own an emerald he used as a pacifier.
Maybe he can use his profit to hire some more employees for Twitter.
A lock of Bezos’ hair
If I can find one positive thing to say about Bezos, it's that he had the chutzpah to go fully bald.
Unlike some other people we can name.
To me, Bezos must operate like some sort of reverse Samson. When he had a full head of hair, no one cared about him. But since he exposed that golden dome? The cash keeps rolling in.
In fact, as time goes on, he seems to have only gotten more powerful. I mean, how else can we explain his current shift into a low-level, Floridian coke dealer aesthetic?
If he’s kept some of his old barnet locked away somewhere it will be worth a fortune. Imagine giving your enemy a lock of Bezos’ hair. They think it’s a gift, but you know the truth: it’s a curse.
By gifting them some of Bezos’ hair, they’ll be cursed with eternal poverty and irrelevance.
That’s gotta be worth something.
Jack Dorsey’s meals
When you undertake a fasting regime where you only eat 7 meals a week, that means one thing: lots of spare food.
Now, you could say, “hey, Callum, that doesn’t make any sense, why would Jack Dorsey buy extra meals when he’s fasting?”
In response to this, I put a soft finger on your lips. It’s okay. Shh. Don’t worry about it. This is all imaginary anyway.
Steve Ballmer’s sweat-soaked shirt and dancing shoes
None of us can forget the pure, unbridled energy of prime Steve Ballmer. The man leapt and howled on stage in a way that’s both iconic and troubling.
And let us never forget the way he strutted around like a lager-loving Mick Jagger at the launch of Windows 95:
Look, of everyone on this list, Ballmer is probably the soundest. I don’t want him to have to sell his dancing shoes or sweat-stained clothes to make ends meet. Why would I want anyone else but him to be imbued with the power of a thousand awkward suns?
But… if he has to? All I’m saying is that if he’s selling, I’m buying.
Zuckerberg’s bookcase
Honestly, there are a lot of things that Zuckerberg can sell to make back some of those lost billions.
There’s his world famous avatar:
His suncream and paddle-board combo:
The exact dimensions of his haircut:
But, really, there’s only one thing Zuckerberg needs to sell — the bookcase from his infamous metaverse announcement video:
He could auction it off as an art piece, a physical representation of when his company jumped the shark, solving all his money woes.
Trust me, one day, this will be in the Guggenheim.