Being a rich guy, you only enjoy stuffy old classical music (aka, "The Rich Man's Ear-Money") and Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusik" is king of the rich people songs. By ordering a string orchestra to play it in your house on an endless loop, you are announcing to the world that they're in the home of a truly rich person who loves rich guy stuff.
Animals? You don't have much use for them, unless they're dead, cut in half, stuffed, mounted on your wall, and extremely endangered. Also you piss on them from time to time. Piss on the dead endangered animals. Why not? Man has proven itself the dominant species; who are you to impede his honourable triumph over nature?
The two most important characteristics in any butler you hire:
1) They're named something as cartoony as "Jeeves" but not literally Jeeves. Something like, "Flapfthsworth"
2) When they get a huge punchbowl or something spilled on them, they remain stoic and say a deadpan quip like "...how refreshing."
Hah! Foolish peasants trying to extol the virtues of provincial pastimes like "adventure books" and "dancing". Waste of time, those! Just a bunch of foolish head-nonsense and moving around randomly. How's that going to bring home the roast? Or turn your eyes into dollar signs and your mouth into a cash register that spits out silver coins? It WON'T. And until you realize that, you'll always be a fool.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have a wonderful announcement to make -- my daughter's fuckstick boyfriend has proposed to her, through me...and I've decided that she has HAPPILY ACCEPTED! Let us raise our glasses to the really obviously mismatched couple!!! Marissa... MARISSA! How DARE you storm out on me, get BACK here! I am the EARL of RICHFORTSHIRE!"
The only non-Taxidermied animals you actually care for (besides the occasional really shitty small puffy dog) are fish, so it's best to decorate your home with a massive, downright un-maintainable wall-sized aquarium full of whales and shit. It's a massive hassle to maintain and and even bigger expense, plus it's clearly illegal, but showing off your preposterous wealth is totally worth employing a full-time SCUBA-diving whale-poo scooper-upper.
Ideally, make a fountain out of ice sculptures. Stick it in front of your front door. The door can't open. Who gives a shit? You're rich and you want a god damned Venetian fountain made out of ice sculptures of angels playing harps.
If you can't find someone to paint a massive haughty portrait of yourself holding your lapels to display prominently, then an easily-ridiculable photograph of you and your rich stuck-up family in horrible matching outfits can suffice.
What is it?? Let's just say it's something VERY SPECIAL that you keep in a secret room away from everything else, but at some point you'll want to bring one guest into that room to show it off. Maybe it's a priceless painting, maybe it's a long-lost magical artifact that proves that the legends were TRUE (egads!), but either way, rest assured the person you show it to is going to elaborately steal it in the very near future, no matter how many visible red lasers you criss-cross in front of it.
All this time you were so obsessed with money, when really, you should've been trying to nail that poor working-class person with the truer appreciation for life. But now they're with another poor person and they're both all happy and in love in the way only poor people can be.
Alleviate your grief by building 5 more fountains out of ice sculptures and feeding them to STOCKS & BONDS, your twin sperm whales. Watch them devour the sculptures just as you've watched money devour your pursuit of happiness. Ehh, actually this is pretty cool. Feel a little better. Have Flapfthsworth prepare you a giant meal that takes up an entire big long table. Start over again from #1 and learn nothing.
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