Shitty low-wage end game

When you're 18 years old and you have a shitty low-wage job with no benefits, you figure it's your responsibility to get a better one. When you're 28 years old and you have a shitty low-wage job with no benefits, it's time to start a revolution... because there no way that's your fault. When you're 38 with a shitty low-wage job with no benefits, you're too ashamed to even talk about it, but you will gladly vote for whatever welfare-state-ism promises some relief. And when you retire from that shitty low-wage job with no benefits, the government will go belly up and leave you sitting on a bench in Florida with all your possessions in a shopping cart. 

So by all means, let's waste whatever time we have left focusing on an the rhetoric dribbling from the lips of politicians. At the end of the day, that mad troupe of acrobats and circus clowns won't be around to help any of us. They never did and they never could. Utopian dreams exist in the eternal present to distract us from what lies ahead. Politicians and smart-money cash in daily, while we imagine a future paradise underwritten by the absent father figure who passes us on his way to the bank, with our futures in his pockets. Dream on.