Ah! The American Dream. Get good grades through school. Go to college. Get a degree after four years. Interview and get that job that you’ve studied for. Work in that career for a couple of years, find the love of your life, and you begin a family. Congratulations! You’ve got a child, you’re married. Now it’s time to buy your first home. And it’ll probably be a dump. You’ll have to replace the drywall, tear out the bathroom, kill the mold, and most likely have to put a new roof on it. By now you’ve been working on your career for several years, possibly have two or three employers on your resume. You have another kid. It’s time to move. You need a bigger house. Located in a better neighborhood. With better schools. Maybe you move to the big city, you’ve landed that dream job, slaving away for hours on end, but hey, you’re making six-figures!
Achievement unlocked! You’ve been doing this for fifty years now. Your children have grown, moved out, and have started down their own journey of life. You’ve been left behind. You’re partner is unsatisfying, you’re bitter. You’re body is broken, and riddled with chronic pain from all those years of abuse from working. A medical emergency happens and you’ve lost your entire life savings. You get shoved into an elder-care facility and totally forgotten about, with the exception of Thanksgiving and Christmas (when you’ll be expected to produce gifts and/or money for your children and grandchildren. You become bitter and angry and withdrawn. Perhaps even antisocial. Until one day, you die. You are buried or incinerated, it doesn’t matter. People may visit your grave every once and a while, but after a few decades, only the weeds will pay their respects to you. Congratulations, you’ve been utterly abandoned.
That’s the promise that we’ve all been told, all been promised. The only guarantee in life is death (and probably taxes, but that’s debatable, depending on whom you are.) All we ever ask for is enough food to eat to feel satiated, a warm home to live in, to lay our head down at night, so that we may sleep in a safe and comfortable place. If we’re lucky, we even have a social life, filled with friends who share a hobby or past-time with us. We don’t have an objection to working itself, it’s a necessary evil in a modern day society. But, what I’ve just described, is in fact, too much to ask for.
The United States is the most wealthy nation to have ever existed. More glorious than mighty Rome itself. More expressive than even the ancient Greeks. And more plunderoua than the terrifying Vikings of Old. But if I were to take a look around, the only thing I notice is my peers struggling to make ends meet. The Dream that we’ve cherished in our hearts as children is nothing more than a forgotten reminder of the nightmare that we’re simply surviving. Some of us, are in fact fighting for our very Right to exist! Just ask any person in a marginalized community. There’s so many of them to choose from. All of them, that is, with exception of the Billionaire Class.
Currently, there are approximately 835 billionaires in the United States, and collectively, they wield an amazing approximate six trillion dollars. That’s a six with 12 zeros after it. Put another way (and using ChatGPT to help with the calculations on this, imagine we loaded one dollar bills onto pallets, of equal length, width and height, we’d end up with 4,490,768 pallets. Looking another way, that’s 239,268,125 cubic feet, or a 62-story skyscraper! Furthermore it if you spent one million dollars each day, it would take 16,440 years to spend it all. Let’s divide that by 835 people again? It’ll still take all these greedy-ass Billionaires over 19 years to spend all their money, at a rate of $1,000,000 per day. Yet we have over 60% of the U.S. population living paycheck to paycheck. And people like me, where if I miss three days of work, I’ll find myself homeless.
This is the reality of the American Dream. And because 835+ rich Parasites are insatiable with their lust, greed, and quite frankly laziness, America the entire world is about to become a Dystopian Dumpster Fire and Wasteland of Oblivion, incapable of supporting human life. But fear not. The rich guys have a plan. We’ll all be digitally incarnated and ruled by AI, powered by nuclear fusion or some crap until the sun goes supernova. Probably on Mars. Maybe we’re already living on Mars, trapped inside of a computer program, imagining that we’re working ourselves to death just to benefit these 835 soulless entities that lord over us all? Hell, the world I’m living in, I feel that Mars would be too good for somebody like me. What about Uranus? That’s a weird planet, all knocked on its side, and it’s greenish hue, with its vertical rings. And it might be nice to say, I’m from Uranus! Just say that aloud, with pride in your chest. Good. At least somebody in the room is laughing!
I’m sick. I need help. At least I admit it. I know I’m about to crack.
Now please excuse me, while I go find a giant size 32 pink rabbit outfit and a few carrots. I have some pioneering to do on Uranus.