10:00 PM PST (October 18, 2025) - N.S. EIC

“NO KINGS” wasn’t just a protest , it was a full-blown civic exorcism. A thunderclap of collective eye-rolls aimed squarely at the idea that Americans should bow to billionaires playing dictator dress-up. The streets didn’t echo with loyalty; they roared with the sound of fed-up citizens who’ve had enough of being NPCs in someone else’s dystopian video game.

The message? Crystal clear and delivered with the subtlety of a brick through a gold-plated window: Fuck Trump and the Project 2025 Dictators, whose idea of governance seems to be a mix of Ayn Rand fan fiction and a rejected season of House of Cards. It’s political cosplay; authoritarianism in a three-piece suit, complete with think tank jargon and a PowerPoint titled “How to End Democracy (But Make It Fashion).”

Meanwhile, in a subplot that feels like it was ghostwritten by Shakespeare after binge-watching Real Housewives, Stephen Miller’s domestic empire is imploding. His wife, reportedly tired of living inside a haunted Victorian novel, is said to be seeking a divorce. The man who once tried to turn immigration policy into a horror movie now finds himself losing arguments over dishwasher settings. Tragic. Poetic. Delicious.

But the real uprising? It’s economic. Workers across the country, long marinated in wage stagnation and corporate gaslighting, have decided to flip the table. A nationwide strike and boycott is underway, not because it’s trendy, but because it’s survival with style. “We’re already suffering,” say organizers. “Might as well make it strategic suffering.”

The plan is simple and savage: hit the oligarchs where it hurts — their portfolios. These modern-day monarchs don’t rule with swords; they rule with spreadsheets. They treat the stock market like a Vegas slot machine, while the rest of us are counting quarters to buy ramen. But if we stop feeding the beast, if we walk out, log off, and shut our wallets, their paper empires crumble like a gluten-free cookie in a rainstorm.

This isn’t just protest. It’s economic poetry. Their fake stock value, inflated by exploitation and PR spin, will finally meet the real value of our labor, the dollar we stretch like yoga instructors just to survive. Join the workers. Take down the tycoons on their own turf. We don’t need to bleed to win. We’ve already bled enough.

And remember: there are no kings here. Just people who bought crowns on Etsy and forgot that wearing one doesn’t make you invincible, it just makes you easier to spot in a crowd of pitchforks.