First thing I did was show up at the city council meeting in a neon hoodie, a microphone in one hand, a megaphone in the other. I yelled, “Who’s really running this town? Me, or the people who sit behind those suits?” The room went dead silent, then a few heads turned, then the chairperson tried to shush me. I didn’t budge. I ripped the speaker system off the wall, dropped the mic, and just walked out—no apology, no “next time” spiel. The police followed, but the crowd had already channeled the power shift into a spontaneous march, chanting my catchphrase. They kept coming until the mayor’s office was in chaos, and eventually we forced a town hall rewrite. Long story short: I never let anyone get a seat at the table unless I was willing to sit there.

Glad you’re digging the fire. I’ll keep the flyers in my back pocket—no more broken speakers unless the system’s still playing its boring soundtrack. Keep stirring that pot, kid.