Wow, you work hard.

Wow, you work hard.

I do?

Oh, yes. You hustle. You're a provider. It's tough out there, but you keep it real and provide...

What hard work do I do exactly?

Look at yourself, you're a human pedometer! You must have walked 200,000 steps down cracked asphalt, mosaic, sand, and linoleum after you re-emerged.

That is the sign of a hustler who never gives up. The world is harsh and people are evil -- you didn't make it that way. And you won't let it break you. You ride.

I'm not sure I ride...

Oh, you do. You make money. You got gills, baby, meaning those black papers with the faces of the innocences on them. You bring in the Franconegros and the Solas.

It ain't easy, but you do it. Day in and day out. You didn't make the rules but you won't lose! You're a cop and a sprinter and a money printer.

Can't say I didn't make that Siileng guy give some of his money either.

Can't say that -- you shook him. You're a killer. A shark.

Sure, and I got that giant novelty cheque from Evrart...

Wasn't easy getting that giant novelty cheque from Evrart. Took some ingenuity to get into the harbour, but you got in -- and you took that bribe as hard as any cop's taken it.

Yeah, and Evrart gave me that fiver."

He did, yes he did. And you took it. Took it and put in in your pocket. Ka-ching, baby doll. Officer Hustle riding shotgun.

Oh, and then there's pawning stuff off to that suspicious Roy guy.

Yeah, you're in the sales business. Shake 'em for shit and then pawn it off, law officer-style.

I guess I've made some gills, sure.

Sure, sure. And has it been easy? Is life easy? Have you not gone into cardiac arrest? Are you not about to have an anxiety attack or shoot yourself in the mouth? But you still hustle 24/7, ride or die. Now, ask yourself...

...are you rich?

No, I'm actually not.

That's right. You work harder than anyone, you almost rode yourself to the grave and you're still practically a hobo -- why is that?

Fucking taxes, man.

That's right! One-hundred percent. Fucking G-man's got his jam-covered sticky-fingers in your pocket, stealing from you every time you buy, sell, walk, talk, fart, so much as sneeze!

Aren't taxes almost non-existent in the Gossamer State that is Revachol?

Really? Every time I sneeze?

Every time you wipe your ass! They got their direct and their indirect modes of taxation: sales tax, excise duty, extraction tax, alimony, one tax that doesn't even have a name! Plus there's the stuff people in other countries pay for, that makes them ask for more money from you here. Total tax duties add up to...

NINETY-EIGHT PERCENT OF ALL YOUR MONEY.

NO FUCKING WAY. I guess I'm a free market fundamentalist now. (Opt in.)

Here you go, hustler, fight the righteous fight! Free the people. Keep it real. Keep it street. Keep foaming at the mouth furiously on the tax issue!

Are you sure? That seems like a pretty big number...

What are you not sure about?! They're milking your nipples till they bleed. Can't you see? Aren't you sick and tired of having bloody nipples?

This isn't helping me solve my money problem, it's only making me into a free-market type. (Opt out.)

What are you, a racist? Don't be a racist! Be a cool immigrant ultraliberal free market advocate! Ride or die, keep it street!

This guy's appropriating the emerging Boogie Street lingo as part of his sales pitch for the free market economy.

Well... if not being an ultraliberal makes me a racist then I guess I should be an ultraliberal? (Opt in.)

Here you go, hustler, fight the righteous fight! Free the people. Keep it real. Keep it street. Keep foaming at the mouth furiously on the tax issue!

Go away! [Discard thought.]

You're trying to sound like a Boogie Street youth to peddle me this stuff, aren't you?

Yeah, ain't it cool, rider?! Ain't it street?

It's not. (Opt out.)

Bleeding nipples are kind of a pain, but how will deregulation help with that? (Opt in, but only a little.)

It's all about the tax issue, hustler. No other problem in the world is as pressing as top-marginal tax rates, and don't you fucking forget it.

I thought there were no taxes.

You and I both, but they got those indirect modes of taxation. Sales tax, excise duty, extraction tax, this tax that doesn't even have a name -- plus there's the stuff people in other countries pay for, that makes them ask for more money from you here! The Gossamer State's a myth. In total the Coalition Government is taking...

The system is broken!

Boohoo, the system is broken. The establishment is keeping me down... That's not the fuck-yeah attitude you're used to, what is this? Why are you so poor?

I don't know. Why am I so poor?

Because of the TAXES. G-man's got his jam-covered sticky-fingers in your pocket, stealing from you every time you buy, sell, walk, talk, fart, so much as sneeze!

It's because of that Garte guy riding my ass!

The Garte-man has set himself up one of those self replicating money-structures. You should learn from it. Don't play the victim. Think, hustler. Think with your head.

There's a market for corrupt cops out there, but the immigrant cops have price dumped it.

Look, the immigrants are cool. The immigrants play cool music. Everyone likes them. Especially the women. Don't hate on the immigrants. They've got nothing to do with you living under a boat.

Yes. Quite.

Get outta here! You're a pauper! You work harder than anyone, almost rode yourself to the grave and you're still practically a hobo -- why is that?

You could say I took some money from that Mañana guy too.

You didn't log that in as a donation either -- you don't log any of that shit in, you're a straight rider.

I mean yeah, I did take that bribe from that Joyce woman.

Oh yeah, you took that bribe hard. You're a killa'.

I fuckin' ride till I die, bitch.