I'm a big tech boss living on the sunny side. I've got ideas about the way things should be. I like campuses overflowing manicured lawns and buildings shaped like dicks. I like airships and steampunk hats. I've got a plan for this town.
I'm socially liberal and economically conservative and I have no idea what that means. I'm getting government out of the way. I'm investing in charter schools and online universities. My account is verified. I'm on every network and you can ask me anything about the product I am currently excited about.
I like hip hop and not rap. Jay-Z not Pusha T. I like classic rock and not country. I respect women, because everyone has a mother, and I disrespect women, because they like my bad boy attitude.
I am an incurable fuckboy. I love ladies. I'm a full service powerbottom twink. I'm a transhumanist and an ally. I'm a MILF hunting hot mess. I'm the girl who gives you a fake phone number at the club. I'm putting stank on this chair. I'm on tinder and grindr and barkour. That's the parkour app for dogs. I bought it from the guy who invented it.
I'm net enabled. I buy shirts and shoes and eyeglasses online. I'm eating all my meals out of a bag. Yes, I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast. I'm disrupting the economy with my big ideas. I'm going to deliver a cold wonton to the wrong office at 12:46 and you can track me on the app.
John Galt is preparing your pizza. John Galt is baking your pizza. John Galt is ideating your pizza. John Galt is reifying your pizza. John Galt is taking your pizza and chucking it in the fucking garbage, because you don't deserve his pizzas.
I'm gentrifying the neighborhood. I'm adding special bus service for my employees. I've figured out a way for white people to make money from taxi cabs again. I'm replacing your favorite restaurant with a reptile park. I'm driving Filipino fusion food trucks on your kid's basketball court. I got next and I'm taking all the vowels out of this shithole.
I'm opening a bar called Galt's where you use your phone to buy other people drinks and there are no bartenders. I'm buying a shitload of saltwater aquariums and I'm never going to check the pH on those tanks. I want to talk to you about Israel. Sit down, close the door, let's talk about Israel really close and intensely.
I'm surmounting. I'm rearranging. I'm verbing right after hot yoga. I mean it. I'm going to deliver pod casts to your cats by quadcopter. I have a mug that will email you the temperature of your coffee so you don't burn yourself. Not that I care. I hope you do burn yourself. You're ugly.
It's time we divide this state into eleven smaller states with Galt's Gulch consisting of this city and the various gate communities to the north. If you don't like it you can just move to one of the other states like Hoboland and whatever we call the desert where we force all the cholos to drive their low riders.
Trust me. I know what I'm doing. I have venture capital and angel investors. I have lines of credit from three different banks and I'm working on a viral video campaign for our new mop. It has a clear handle. I need one more eight digit bridge loan to make this mop happen.
Ah, my sharks all died because I forgot to look at them for three weeks. That's okay. I'm John Galt.
I'm sure I'll innovate something.
it's hard to shake the feeling that I've always got five stars in this Grand Theft Auto known as life.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
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