The Great Wake 41: Municipal Outlaws

 

Grab the barstool and lift it high, that place is getting smashed.  It's no spot for a person like me, insults and whines, insecurity and woe, the lame of it all.  There is no path forward, we are pioneering, we are chopping the wood, clearing the trees, vines, and thorns.  We built this city, we'll build another.  Tunnels and paths, completely complete, municipal outlaws.

The best way is transparent, proof of work, cut out the fluffy floozies, rut out the huffy who's whoosies.  Make it snappy, the crimes of next century await.  Information as an angle, as bullshit, as a tool, as bullshit.  Believe none of it, you hypnotic nods.  Proof of truth, slash the money chumps, cash the honey humps.

No longer are we down.  Full stop.  Red.  No green in sight, caution, caution.  Yellow.