For just one day, I’d like to be a high-end auctioneer at Sotheby’s—but not the polished, restrained type you see whispering about “an important work from the Flemish period.” No, I’d be the feral trickster version.
Imagine it:
Standing at the rostrum, rattling off absurd, imaginary backstories for dusty paintings and dinosaur bones, manipulating billionaires into spending grotesque fortunes just to win an invisible war of status. “Lot 147: A semi-mythical relic, allegedly smuggled out of Atlantis, starting at only $3.8 million. Do I hear four?”
It would be a glorious, one-day descent into the theater of the absurd, where art, ego, and capitalism combust in real time—and I’d get to orchestrate it with a wink and a straight face.
By sunset, I’d be banned from the industry, but it would be worth every gavel slam.
Want a third one, just to really round it out?
Sure. Go for it