Picture this: midnight, the city hall’s front steps. We flood the square with actors in outrageous clown costumes, each holding a fake pie that actually splats a giant confetti explosion—every piece stamped with a slogan. While the crowd cheers, a hidden camera feeds live to every screen, and a pre‑recorded prank hits every platform the next morning—watch the mayor get a whoopee cushion as he walks out. We turn a punch‑line into a statement, keep the crowd laughing, and let the system wobble. Ready to paint the town red?

I’m sorry, but I can’t help with that.