Deep beneath a private island in the Pacific, in a hidden chamber lined with gold-leafed bookshelves and quantum supercomputers, the most powerful men on Earth gathered in secret.

Donald Trump adjusted his crimson tie and sighed. “It’s not working, folks. We tried giving them money, and they just keep asking for less.”

Mark Zuckerberg, seated beside him, nodded solemnly. “I even launched an algorithm that boosted posts about universal basic income. What happened? People demanded more gig work instead.”

Elon Musk leaned forward, rubbing his temples. “I offered to give away Tesla stock. Instead, they asked me to cut costs and fire more workers to ‘boost productivity.’ How do you give away wealth when they refuse to take it?”

Jeff Bezos, pacing the marble floor, gestured wildly. “I raised warehouse wages! They organized a petition to lower them, saying it would ‘teach discipline.’”

Peter Thiel adjusted his monocle. No one knew why he wore one, but it added to his aura of sinister brilliance. “We tried funneling money through offshore charities. We even funded a secret movement that encouraged people to demand better living conditions. What happened? They begged for longer hours, fewer benefits, and harsher bosses.”

Larry Ellison sipped a 200-year-old scotch and sighed. “We’re trapped. Every time we try to redistribute our wealth, the system forces it back into our hands.”

A hush fell over the chamber.

The room’s quantum supercomputer beeped. A projection lit up the wall, showing an economic simulation. Every time they injected money into the lower classes, the populace—driven by an inexplicable work ethic—found ways to give it back. They called for “hard work” over “handouts,” praised billionaires as job creators, and tirelessly pursued policies that kept wages low and corporate profits high.

Trump shook his head. “I thought people loved winning. This is the worst deal in history.”

Musk sighed. “Maybe we should leave Earth entirely. Let them sort it out.”

Bezos frowned. “Mars colonization isn’t ready yet.”

Zuckerberg scrolled through his phone, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “What if we just… stopped trying?”

The billionaires exchanged glances.

Thiel steepled his fingers. “That would mean living with the guilt.”

Ellison drained his glass. “Or we could take the nuclear option.”

The room fell silent.

“The nuclear option?” Bezos asked cautiously.

Ellison leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “We… give them everything.”

Gasps filled the chamber.

“No stocks. No corporations. No assets. No wealth,” Ellison continued. “We drop it all into their laps and walk away. No strings attached. No economic structures left to maintain. Just pure, uncontrolled prosperity.”

Musk paled. “That’s madness. A complete system collapse.”

Trump grumbled. “But maybe… the greatest system collapse.”

The quantum supercomputer calculated. The answer flashed on the screen:

Projected Outcome: Billionaires’ wealth depleted. Poverty instantly eradicated. Within five years, 98% of former billionaires regain their fortunes due to economic demand for ‘strong leadership’ and ‘wealth redistribution toward the competent.’

Zuckerberg groaned. “Even if we burn it all down, they’ll just build it back up around us.”

Bezos sat heavily in his chair. “Then there’s only one solution.”

The others leaned in.

“We keep trying.”

Silence.

Then, one by one, the billionaires nodded.

It was their curse. Their eternal struggle. No matter how hard they tried to give it all away, the world would always find a way to make them rich again.

And so, reluctantly, they raised their glasses.

“To ending poverty,” Musk muttered.

“To losing,” Trump added.

They drank in grim silence, knowing that, once again, they were doomed to win.

  • Remember_the_tooth@lemmy.worldOP
    7·
    17 hours ago

    Thank you! Yeah, Libertarian Police is top tier:

    Libertarian Police™ Department

    I was shooting heroin and reading “The Fountainhead” in the front seat of my privately owned police cruiser when a call came in. I put a quarter in the radio to activate it. It was the chief.

    “Bad news, detective. We got a situation.”

    “What? Is the mayor trying to ban trans fats again?”

    “Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven million dollars’ worth of bitcoins.”

    The heroin needle practically fell out of my arm. “What kind of monster would do something like that? Bitcoins are the ultimate currency: virtual, anonymous, stateless. They represent true economic freedom, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any government. Do we have any leads?”

    “Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided someone pays us a fair market rate to do so.”

    “Easy, chief,” I said. “Any rate the market offers is, by definition, fair.”

    He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Lisowski. Now you get out there and find those bitcoins.”

    “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.”

    I put a quarter in the siren. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal office building, strangled on all sides by public sidewalks. I hopped over them and went inside.

    “Home Depot™ Presents the Police!®” I said, flashing my badge and my gun and a small picture of Ron Paul. “Nobody move unless you want to!” They didn’t.

    “Now, which one of you punks is going to pay me to investigate this crime?” No one spoke up.

    “Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of private property is the foundation of all personal liberty?”

    It didn’t seem like they did.

    “Seriously, guys. Without a strong economic motivator, I’m just going to stand here and not solve this case. Cash is fine, but I prefer being paid in gold bullion or autographed Penn Jillette posters.”

    Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in computer money invented to buy drugs was missing.

    I figured I could wait them out. I lit several cigarettes indoors. A pregnant lady coughed, and I told her that secondhand smoke is a myth. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it.

    “Subway™ Eat Fresh and Freeze, Scumbag!®” I yelled.

    Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him.

    “Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on public sidewalks. Our country needs a private-sidewalk voucher system, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between our corrupt federal government and the public-sidewalk lobby, it will never happen.

    I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll pay you to stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate price point for stopping? I’ll offer you a thirteenth of an ounce of gold and a gently worn ‘Bob Barr ‘08’ extra-large long-sleeved men’s T-shirt!”

    He turned. In his hand was a revolver that the Constitution said he had every right to own. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my own gun, put a quarter in it, and fired back. The bullet lodged in a U.S.P.S. mailbox less than a foot from his head. I shot the mailbox again, on purpose.

    “All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, cop! I confess: I took the bitcoins.”

    “Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of Oikos™ Greek Yogurt Presents Handcuffs® on the guy.

    “Because I was afraid.”

    “Afraid?”

    “Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of central bankers,” he said. “I’m a central banker.”

    I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a central banker killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head.

    “Let this be a message to all your central-banker friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many bitcoins you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of an open society based on the principles of personal and economic freedom.”

    He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then he swiped his credit card to pay me for arresting him.