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HEY, MIKE TYSON!
Very tough week for you, I'll bet. I mean, you were probably just sitting there at breakfast one day in your hand-rubbed Kobe-leather slippers, munching fresh condor eggs, reading the morning paper under your dwarf-blown Italian crystal chandelier, when some little accountant in Florsheims walked in trembling and said, "Uh, Mr. Tyson? I have some bad news."
Fresh-squeezed guava juice spewed from your mouth. Tiffany silver slid off the butler's tray to the floor. The pet white tiger spit out his morning poodle.
Well, not quite broke. But it was reported last week that you, a man who made somewhere around $140 million in fight purses in the last 27 months, are down to your last $150,000 in cash. You're just about busted. Tapioca. Upside down.
You say you're fine, but you're in denial. You need me. I'm your new financial planner. If we just come in on the ol' eelskin belt a few notches, use a little common household budgeting, we can get your empire straightened up in a hurry.
Now, first thing most guys will tell you is, "Lose 10,000-watt Hair Boy." But I don't care if Don King is lighting his Cohibas with your $100 bills, you have to have the financial acumen of Spam to blow $140 million in 27 months. Not to be rude, Mike, but do you realize that's roughly twice the gross domestic product of Palau?
First off, we have to let the Visa cool down a little. Before the first Evander Holyfield fight in Las Vegas, you supposedly dropped $70,000 in one hour at the Versace store in Caesars Palace. Not long ago you bought a $123,000 Mercedes over the phone, to set alongside your four $320,000 Bentley Azures. Might not seem like much, but a few hundred grand here and a few hundred grand there, and pretty soon we're talking real money.