When All Else Fails

“The level of wealth that Mr. Musk has reached requires human exploitation, wage theft, wage suppression, anti-competitive markets, monopolistic control, price collusion, inadequate tax systems, and corruption.”

Elon Musk’s net worth surged past $1 trillion on Friday as SpaceX—the rocket company he founded and controls—made its debut on the public market, prompting global revulsion and calls for an aggressive wealth tax to rein in out-of-control inequality.

And, to everyone's utter astonishment, it kind of works. Because he's stupid. Because someone points out something that's not working—there's a park on Fortieth Street that got closed down because of broken glass, for example—and instead of understanding the system, which mostly says, "So sad, but we can't do anything about that," he starts talking about it.

"We should clean that up and reopen it." Very nice thought, Mayor Wayne, but the budget isn't there. "Well, we subtract money from here and move it over here." That's the police department, Mayor Wayne, we can't do that. "It's just a little bit, they'll never miss it, and anyway, if teens have somewhere to shoot hoops—do kids say that these days, shoot hoops?—they won't break anyone's windows and the police will have less trouble anyway." Mayor Wayne, that's just one stop from the Narrows, the young men in question are more likely shooting rival gangs, and anyway, cars coming by will throw glass there anyway.

For a bare moment, Mayor Wayne suddenly seems—sharp. Knife sharp. "Kids."

"What?" the city council member says, startled.

"If they are fifteen and sixteen and seventeen, they are children."

"I think the police that they take shots at would disagree, sir."

"We'll look at that next."

It really shouldn't seem like a threat, and yet.

Back to vacuous. "We can build a fence," Brucie Wayne says, "to make it harder to throw bottles into the park. Not too big, we don't want it to be forbidding, but just enough to stop it from looking like a target. And put more trash cans in, recycle too—there weren't trash cans to start with? Well, there's your problem!" He beams, as if he's solved something. "We can put together a community initiative to keep it cleaned, maybe have the Parks people bring some snacks or things for everyone who participates. Make a party out of it! And if we're transferring more money, which we'll have to, we might as well renovate it too. New paint on the things that are still within code, new equipment with new materials for the stuff that isn't, and we might as well put some things for the older kids—we can hire someone to draw up a proposal, I don't know what kids do these days but it has to be more than just one basketball hoop with out a net. Tiddlywinks?" For an instant, it looks like his eyes might cross from that lone, bouncing neuron being stuck in a corner, which entirely distracts the council member from the fact that Brucie Wayne is too young for tiddlywinks also. "And some sun protection and trees, that'd be nice too, don't you think. We can do it! This is Gotham, it's the City of Opportunity. John, it's been lovely talking to you, but I had a peek at your calendar and I think you've got something at twelve—unless you can think of more stuff to spend money on?"

John cannot.

Six months later, the local gangs claim that the fucking Bat came out of retirement to tell them that Willow Park (it still doesn't have any willows, but it has saplings that may at least become trees) is neutral territory, on pain of pain. The truce seems to be holding. There is new equipment, new paint, a new cleanup day, and new foliage.

Bruce Wayne's closest confidants are hopeful, but weirded out by the fact that he seems to be smiling—not Brucie smiling, but actual smiling.

lets stay warm with papa!

my bosmer gwen'agoth who hunts down his deadbeat werewolf dad and skins and eats him!

all he got was a cool pelt and an invitation to the dark brotherhood

im literally reading Understanding Comics right now I legally had to do this trend bro

(based on this)