News - February 21, 2025

The neon jungle crackles with static as the corp overlords and politicos keep playin’ their dirty game. Trump, the old-world fossil clingin’ to power like a glitch in the system, throws down a power move—choppin’ the fed budget into bite-sized chunks so he can grease the wheels of corruption without anyone noticing the whole machine’s on fire. He doubles down on his crusade against anyone who don’t fit his cookie-cutter meatspace ideal, threatenin’ Maine’s governor with cut-off funds just ‘cause the state lets trans athletes play the game their way. Ain’t about fairness—it’s about control, about lockin’ out anyone who don’t march to his archaic code.

Meanwhile, the press ain’t takin’ his opacity lyin’ down. The AP throws a lawsuit at his shadow operatives, pryin’ open the black box of secrecy he’s been runnin’ his racket outta. Not that transparency’s his game—his goons cook up plans to turn military bases into holding cells for immigrants, like a dystopian nightmare straight outta the bad end of history. Senate corpos rubber-stamp a budget oiled up for mass deportations, keepin’ the streets clean for their kind while leavin’ everyone else in the cold.

And then there’s Musk—always frontin’ like some tech messiah, but at the end of the day, just another suit playin’ god with other people’s futures. Japan throws up distress signals, askin’ him to salvage Nissan from the abyss, but the so-called genius don’t give a damn. Guess there ain’t enough clout in it for him. Instead, he hits up CPAC, turnin’ politics into a bad circus act by wavin’ around a chainsaw like he’s cuttin’ through red tape, when all he’s really doin’ is burnin’ down common sense.

The system ain’t completely asleep, though. A federal judge throws a wrench into Musk’s DOGE scam, lockin’ it outta Treasury networks before he can leech more data. The IRS ain’t playin’ nice either, keepin’ his corp flunkies from peekin’ at sensitive taxpayer info. It’s a rare win against the chrome-fanged beasts of capital, but don’t get comfortable—these corpos got backup plans stacked like firewalls on a high-security subnet.

This ain’t just some flickering feed to scroll past. The corpos are makin’ moves, and the meatspace elite are tightening the noose. It’s time to jack in, ghost past their ICE, and start pullin’ the plug on their little game. Run the nets. Crack their code. Tear down the firewalls of power before they lock you out for good.