You know those people—the ones who try to destroy you and fail spectacularly?
So they go for Round 2: destroy your reputation. But again, oops… epic fail.
And when you finally call them out? Oh, the performance! “Oh dear, it was all just a misunderstanding. We actually think you’re amazing. Truly.”
(Yes, Susan, sure you do. Totally believable.)
But don’t get too cozy—give them your back and they hit replay like a toddler with a broken remote.
Because hey, maybe this time you’ll finally break and wave the white flag.
Then comes the fun part. They hack your devices like they’re interns in a Black Mirror episode, poking into your private life like it’s free-to-air reality TV. No invitation needed, thanks.
So naturally, you report it to the police. Who then enter their meditation phase and go silent for months.
Is this what they call bureaucracy? Or did the cops decide that cybercrime is a choose-your-own-adventure book?
Eventually, the masterminds offer you money—yes, glorious compensation!
But spoiler alert: it never shows up. Then they promise it again—“We really mean it this time”—and again, nada.
Then comes the ultimate catch:
“You’ll get the money… if you do exactly what we say.”
Because nothing screams “freedom” like conditional bribery with fake checks.
But you, being you, know better.
You know losing yourself is worse than losing their Monopoly money.
So you respond:
“If the money comes with a leash, keep it. But give me back my damn privacy.”
Crickets. As if privacy is some outdated concept from the pre-WiFi era.
Apparently, your life is now an open-source Netflix series that anyone can binge.
They’re outraged! How dare you not comply!
They’re used to people bowing at the first whisper. But you? You talked back.
You chose principles over petty power plays.
You picked dignity over their Dollar Store throne.
And now they’re mad.
Because every time you say no, it’s like holding up a mirror—and trust me, they hate the view.
So they scream louder, hoping to fog up the reflection.
And then the threats begin:
- “Oh, you’re unemployed? We might help you stay that way.”
- “Enjoying our country? We’ll see about that.”
- “Need money? LOL. Try God.”
And now you’re left sitting there, wondering:
Is this how Mickey Mouse runs a country?
Because if so, this theme park is starting to feel more like a circus.
