This is simultaneously obscene and one of the most impressive architectural things ever.

Do…do you get an in-house chef? What if you just want to live there alone? What if you just want to cook plain-ass spaghetti every night and then eat it in your underwear while watching Riverdale?

(Not that I do that ever.)

Can the chef watch Riverdale with you?

And it comes furnished, right? What if you want to use your own furniture? How hard is it to get all of that out of there and replace it with your Walmart spatulas and La-Z-Boy chair?

Excess like this is weird to me. Like, on one hand: why? But on the other hand: why not?

But also also: living in the most expensive house in the world is not something I’d ever want to be able to say. Think of all the other things you could do with that money.

But also also also: it is art, to an extent.

You still get bird poop on your windows, though. Money can’t buy poopless birds.

And that’s probably one of the weirdest sentences I’ve ever written.