So we invited Sergey and Chad Hurley over for dinner. I wanna keep up with what the young kids are doing, and to be honest, I don’t really get this Web 2.0 stuff. So I figure they can explain it to me. Plus, I had a blast with Sergey on our Asian weekend. Anyhoo. They go, Sure, we’d love to come over, can we bring dates? I’m like, Yeah, of course, that’s great. See you then. Well it hadn’t occurred to me to wonder what kind of cars these dudes would drive, but I guess if I’d given it any thought I’d have guessed a Porsche or maybe a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, the typical nouveau riche look-at-me-I-just-made-my-first-billion kinda stuff. Either that or they’d be all poser-y and drive some beat-up old Toyota shitbox that they’ve had since grad school; or worse yet, a friggin Prius. But no. Wrong on all counts. These mofos roll up in a friggin armored friggin tank, with a huge motorhome type bus following behind (you can just barely see it in the photo, that tiny blue spot down the road). Sergey and Chad leap out of the front truck. Sergey tells me they’re a matched set, created by some crazy Russians to race in the Paris-Dakar rally. Sergey paid $20 million for the lead truck and the supply bus, and then spent another $30 million pimping them out. “Steve,” he says, “what did you expect from the world’s richest Russian? Good taste? Restraint? A fucking Jaguar? Or a Lexus? Ha! I bought half a dozen of those for my Uncle Fetya. He’s at my house right now sitting in a bathtub of Beluga caviar geting his nails done by a pair of Vietnamese prostitutes! So step inside the party bus, dude! You won’t believe the interiors! It’s like if Steve Wynn and Liberace had a love child, and he became an interior designer. I hired the fucker who does all of Donald Trump’s personal residences, and made him work with Bobby Trendy, just to piss him off! Damn it is fucking great being rich, isn’t it?”