Sitting here doing my taxes like are you fucking kidding me. They tax my employer on earnings which they use to pay me, which they tax heavily again. I then fucking buy food with that same post-tax money which is then taxed again, or I want to buy a home so I have to pay the government off so I can tell myself private property akshuly exists.

All the while, the central bank is shoveling my post-tax dollar value into the furnace to put to great use sending drones to go kill Russian teenagers or thousands of government entitlement programs for God knows what or to make sure boomers’ five vacation homes remain expensive so young people with families can’t buy them, so when you’re out to dinner with them in the suburbs, they can cheerfully explain, “What do you mean young people are struggling? You’ll have 50-year mortgages here soon!” followed by, “These young bums just can’t live without their Uber Eats!”

You reply sheepishly, “I mean, maybe at the fringes, but—”

“Have you tried the crab rangoons?!” they interject.

You leave dinner thinking that was mildly enjoyable but feeling inexplicably hollow. Regardless, you cant wait to be in their shoes one day! You just have to work really, really hard! You call up your financial advisor for more details. She tells you, congratulations, at your current pace you can retire at 93! Yahoo! Just takes a little more elbow grease, you say, smirking to yourself. Then you wake up in the morning and head into the city to make good on your serf duties, scale mountains of trash and snow and try to enter the subway station but a colorful herd of cows are mooing about, blocking your entry to the station. You see them milling about often but today it looks like they’re protesting the suspension of SNAP benefits because lord knows they don’t have anywhere to be. You quickly make yourself a little frumpier to blend in and escape the wrath of the herd. You succeed, thinking “mission accomplished” as you daydream about your superhero abilities and superior sense of self awareness.

Snap out of it, your boss is calling.

“Where are you??? Get to the office now, boy.”

You need to spend 80 hours away from your family again this week so these migrants that you pay for can play a little PlayStation before they try to rob you on your way home from work this evening.

Then you start thinking, damn, a lot of people I know have been attacked by migrants… kinda seems like a bad idea. Mainstream media and girls who support the latest thing on social media tell you this isn’t happening though. They’re probably right but you call up your local government reps anyway. Surely they’ll put your mind at ease. They open the call by reading the list of thought crimes you committed this past week. It’s like, a lot — they tell you the NSA finds your internal monologue entertaining yet seriously concerning. You might be Hitler, they surmise, but keep bringing that tax money in babyyyy and the gulag can wait. You smile a little to yourself … because your mayor just wants two percent more from your income, for the collective good of course :)~

You wanted to take a nice family vacation this year?! Sorryyyyyy :( Mr. Mayor wants his extra $12k and he’s gonna take it right from ya as he looks you in the face and lectures you about the dangers of whiteness and encourages you to take moral inspiration from Muhammad. “There will be a brief four-minute survey after this call please stick around byeeeee.” You begrudgingly take the survey because you’re a nice person while wondering if he was talking about Muhammad the pedophile or Muhammad the mass murderer.

Fast-forward and it’s only 11 p.m. but you can’t do it anymore — you decide to give up on the day and head home early. As you get home and sit on the couch, you scroll TikTok only to find that Clavicular was framemogged by an ASU frat star.

Your eyes slowly drift from the screen to your newborn baby girl. Tears in your eyes you whisper to her, “if only you knew the true horrors of this world.” You set down your phone and you feel a little better and, after a few hours, things might even not be so bad. A little perspective is all you needed and hey, things could be worse. Life is truly a miracle, you think to yourself. “At least the world isn’t run by satanic pedophiles,” you whisper as you drift into a deep sleep.

—Anonymous Investment Banker, New York City