Join the new world

This article is a satire, which means that it is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Or something like that

^{"Told by an idiot" it turns out is not a marketable slogan, but I still think it's better than the Washington Post's}

Earlier this week there was a spirited debate in Congress over whether Congress should throw the President a pittance to pay for executive programs and contests and as to whether it's a good idea for a budget line item to be called a "bribe." Congress decided against both. As someone with very little money whose retirement plan was to sneak bribes into the Congressional budget, this led me to a personal crisis. How will I afford a good retirement home after alienating everyone through my biting journalistic integrity and winning personality?


^{Official portrait of eUS president Custer addressing Congress}

The answer, it turns out, is begging. Luckily, I have a keyboard and a strong desire to avoid using my time productively. Hence, I will be entering in Wilker's writing contest with the goal of striking it rich. I will then use my earnings to invest in eRepublik's crypto currency, and to pay someone to explain to me what that is. This is foolproof I tell you.

So without further adieu, here is an article that is not about politics or mechanics. I'd say it's about: action, romance, melodrama, and the friends we made along the way.



Unique Fundraising Ideas in the Age of TikTok

What makes a good article? Is a good article entertaining? Sure, it should be. But let's not get a big head here, I'm well aware that a bemused chuckle is probably the best we can aim for. So what else can a good article do? Well serve the public interest of course! And in light of President Custer's failure to garner funding from Congress, we at Goodbye Blue Monday will be offering our own expert suggestions as to how our President can raise money on his own. And, I can assure you, as a former collegiate Model United Nations head delegate, I have apt experience in asking people to fund something they absolutely do not care about.

Idea Number 1: Bake Sale

A classic. People love baked goods. You love money. Cha ching. Still, there are some common pitfalls to avoid. For example, baking is hard. I tried it once and my landlord still hasn't gotten over one teensy tiny fire.

Also, ingredients are expensive. They say you can't make money without spending money but to that I say: bah humbug! All you have to do is steal. I recommend stealing from Girl Scouts. Everyone likes Girl Scout Cookies, and children are small and thus less likely to fight back.


^{The outcome you need to avoid}

The way I see it, Girl Scouts have had it too good for too long. Steal a few Tag-A-Longs, and you'll be well on your way to infinite profits.

Idea Number 2: Only Fans

Here me out, it's 2023 and traditional ideas aren't good enough. Bake Sales? Garbage idea. Anyone who suggests that should be shot. So what is there to do?

Get with the times! To be a good President these days, opening training wars is not enough, you have to show some ankle.


^{Just look at that mustache....then pay up!}

Idea Number 3: Go Whale Hunting!

I once heard that the way to get things done in eRepublik is by finding a whale. Now I'm realizing I didn't fully understand the metaphor at the time, but still this small excerpt might help:

<sup>Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time tozz get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.


Artist illustration of the last known sighting of Oblige

Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster— tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?

But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues,— north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?

...to read more send Paul Proteus 100 gold in traveler's checks</sup>


Idea Number 4: Go Viral

So you're not hot enough for Only Fans, the White Whale merely bit your leg off, and the Girl Scouts are threatening to finish the job. Fear not, we here at Goodbye Blue Monday have a plethora of ideas. One more in fact.

Have you tried going viral? I've heard that's how people get big these days. Be an internet celebrity! Now how to go viral? It's probably easy right? I mean if Logan Paul can do it, so can you.

I suggest doing ~*~content~*~ with a Taylor Swift theme. People love that shit. Here's one idea:

Who said it: Taylor Swift or Cromstar?

1. "Every aspect of my job as a singer has affected the way that I am as a director"

That's Tay Tay of course! The pop musician flexing her triple threat abilities as an award winning short film director. Slay.

2. "Paul, please stop calling me"

You guess it, that's Cromstar! The octogenarian answered his phone with typical joie de vivre!

3. "And I’m making more albums at a more rapid pace than I ever did before, because I think the more art you create, hopefully the less pressure you put on yourself."

Right again, that's Taylor talking about her recent burst of creativity. Can't wait to see what she does next!!!!

4. You said you wanted to talk about Watchmen, is this for another one of your dumb articles? I'm hanging up

...well f*** you too Cromstar.




A Riddle (with a prize!)

You've read this much, so, as a treat, here's a riddle.

Send me the answer by private message and if you get it right, I'll send you 50k USD. Wait, wasn't this article supposed to make me money? God dammit I need better accountants.

Anyway here is the riddle! (And if you recognize it from an old eNPR, shut up, no you don't):

On an island in the middle of the ocean, there live 100 Sneetches who are perfect logicians. However, they are unable to talk to each other. They are forbidden from speaking in fact, or writing messages of any kind, else they be struck by lightning by the God of riddles.

Of the 100 Sneetches, 50 have stars on their bellies, and 50 do not. However, no individual knows whether they have a star on their belly (they are unable to look down, and there are no reflective surfaces anywhere on the island). They can each see the 99 other Sneetches and whether they have a star on their belly, but any given individual does not know if his or her own belly has a star.

Each night, Sylvester McMonkey McBean shows up, and the Sneetches have a chance to leave the barren and terrible island they are on. If a Sneetch correctly tells the Sylvester whether he has a star or not, they may board the ship and leave. If they get it wrong, they will be shot dead.

Now, a visitor, named Dr. Seuss (who always tells the truth), has come to the island. He looks around at the Sneetches around him and declares:

I see a sneetch with a star upon thars.

Who leaves the island? And when do they leave?


^{The beautiful capitalist system working in everyone's interests!}

Alright that's it.

Good luck!



If this doesn't go top 5, I'm stealing your lawn flamingo, so you better vote and comment~

With love,
Paul Proteus