BREAKING: Retired Americans Finally Strike It Rich — By Protesting!
Move over, Wall Street! Step aside, Silicon Valley! It turns out the real money — the REAL gravy train — is in… protesting.
Yes, according to the certified geniuses who comment on every news article with an American flag emoji and a complete misunderstanding of the First Amendment, we seasoned citizens aren’t out there marching and rallying because we actually care about the country. Oh no.
We’re doing it for the cold, hard cash.
Apparently, protesting is the new “get-rich-quick” scheme for people over 60. Forget pensions, forget investments, and definitely forget Social Security (which they’re gutting anyway). We’re out here making bank by waving signs, chanting slogans, and getting sunburned in America’s crumbling downtowns. Who knew?
Every time we haul our aching knees to a rally, it’s not because democracy is on life support — it’s because we’re chasing those sweet, sweet protest paychecks. That’s right: somewhere out there, there’s a magical Payroll Office for Protesters (probably located between Hogwarts and Narnia), and they’re just dying to cut checks to every Medicare cardholder holding a handmade sign.
It’s all very official, you see. After a long day of yelling, getting ignored by lawmakers, and possibly getting pushed by someone in a red hat, we simply line up at the Soros ATM, swipe our “Professional Agitator” cards, and collect our filthy liberal money. Direct deposit is also available, but only if you remember your password — which, let’s be honest, half of us wrote on a sticky note and promptly lost.
And what exactly are we doing with all these piles of cash, you ask?
Well, first, we’re investing heavily in orthopedic shoes, Advil, and extra-large bottles of sunscreen because standing outside for six hours in the blazing sun isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. Some of us are splurging on new Sharpies for our protest signs. Others are blowing their “riot bonuses” on things like organic kale and NPR tote bags. A few big spenders are saving up for the ultimate flex: a titanium hip replacement engraved with “Thanks, George Soros.”
And let’s talk about the benefits package. Oh baby, you’ve never seen perks like these. Chronic back pain, knees that click like castanets, and a steady diet of granola bars eaten in the shade of a poorly assembled protest tent. Sure, there’s no dental, but you might get a free sticker that says “I Marched” — which you can slap on your walker with pride.
But the best part? The deep, profound respect we get from random Facebook trolls who think shouting “GET A JOB” at a group of retirees is some kind of moral victory. Yes, Steve, we did have jobs. That’s why we’re able to afford the luxury of standing here wasting our golden years begging for basic human rights instead of golfing in Boca Raton.
Make no mistake: this is the dream they don’t tell you about in high school career counseling. “When I grow up,” little Timmy said, “I want to be a Professional Paid Protester, walking 2.3 miles a day for the price of exactly zero dollars and the privilege of being called a ‘crisis actor’ by a guy who thinks Benghazi is a type of pasta.”
So next time you see an older protester out there — sweaty, determined, hoisting a “Democracy is Worth Saving” sign with hands that once held grandchildren — just remember:
They’re not fueled by heartbreak.
They’re not moved by duty.
They’re just mercenary sellouts, laughing all the way to the (completely imaginary) bank.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a protest to attend and a gigantic imaginary paycheck to cash. And maybe, if I’m lucky, a commemorative protest t-shirt that says:
“I Fought for Democracy and All I Got Was This Lousy Nonexistent Paycheck.”
#SeniorSellouts #ProtestForPennies #WhereIsMyProtestCheck
Julie Bolejack, MBA
