We’re ushered from the front foyer of the home down a gilded hallway and into a huge, stunning ballroom. A ballroom. I mean, I didn’t exactly grow up poor, and my brothers are killing it, but this?

This is next-level. It also feels utterly ridiculous to be putting this much effort into “celebrating” what is clearly a steaming pile of bullshit. Between the string quartet and waiters passing around trays of champagne to what must be over two hundred guests, it feels like I just walked ...