Day in the life of a GTA Hustlemonkey
08/12/2025

You wake up to the familiar sound of the Queen West community alarm clock: Two fire trucks and a police cruiser, that means Darius is up to it again, the silly goose. You wonder where he keeps getting the needles from, but then you remember how much you're paying in taxes and you're glad it's going to a good cause. Preston is spooked, like he is every morning, because his long-term memory is only 23 hours, so he forgets the sirens come multiple times literally every morning. You de-bag some milk and warm it up in the microwave for him. The milk warms and soothes his tiny brain, and before long, he will achieve the basic cognitive faculty required to accompany you on your daily caffeine pilgrimage. When you arrive at the holy site, you will purchase an eight-dollar coffee while gladly accepting that you don't even get to pick which bag the beans come from, alongside a middling 6.5/10 crumpet whose primary value proposition is that somebody decided to stuff it with matcha cream cheese. You didn't even know that matcha cream cheese existed until this morning, because your long-term memory as pertaining to wallet offenses is only 23 hours as well.

You hop into your 2021 BMW 420i, Das Auto (which means “Pussy Magnet” in German), and embark on the grueling 50-minute, 1.3 km commute to work. To make things a little more bearable, you put on a compilation of your favourite Drake hooks to set the mood (you're too busy to wait for the bars). Twenty minutes in, your favourite part comes on when he starts saying “not like us”, that shit goes so hard that even your car begs to participate. You roll down the window just a tad between Gardiner kilometre 2.1 and 1.7 so your inline-four hybrid can sing along with you during your favourite jams.

When you finally arrive at work, it's time to clock in and lock in. You have a big day of strategic direction, stakeholder alignment, synergy, and thought leadership to engage in. However, the real focus today lies in Distributed Integration for Leveraged Delivery Optimization with integrated Strategic Holistic Initiative Tracking and Cross-Unit Monetization. This revolutionary Framework for Unified Client Knowledge will be perfectly suited to both the Targeted Insights and Transformative Strategies as well as the Agile Scalability Solutions of stakeholders everywhere. At a more personal level, it will become the new apex of your career and completely transform the semi-ethically sourced (no child labour under age 11) Indonesian Edamame futures market, so it is imperative that you get this right.

It takes exactly 47.19 seconds for the LaShitfuckeria Caligula LXIX to fill your Espresso Tropio Grande in the mornings. You know this because it was part of your presentation last week on why Ethiopian coffee farmers are actually an elastic commodity, which in turn showed wholesalers why they should switch to your buddy's vertically integrated harvest arbitrage shell corporation instead for their bean supply chain needs. 47.19 seconds feels like an eternity as you wait for that functionality-facilitating pseudo-Italian nectar to finish drizzling out of that suspiciously shaped nozzle head. Just as you think you're in the clear, you hear that familiar voice again:

“Sup, big dog”.

Surprise attacks are Palmerston's specialty — he was the first employee at Scape & Goat Consulting Ltd. to adopt stealth technology when he wore his genuine faux-vintage Harry Rosen camouflage hat into your daily sit-down-criss-cross-applesauce two Months back. You didn't even notice his presence until you heard him whisper the words “working hard or hardly working” into your right ear as you adjusted the margins on your Word document whilst The Bald One was professing his vision for the future of strategic leadership. In that moment, you realized that the future had already arrived, and that the only choice that anyone is ever given is to adapt or die. You chose the former, and now here you are.

Your brain goes into overdrive as you realize that Palmerston is employing the 69th Law of Power: Inversion, thereby implying that you are not in fact a big dog (which, in the metaphorical context, means that you are unsuccessful). You immediately know that your only hope at a successful counter is to apply a reductio ad absurdum on the inversion itself, traversing the lexical mobius strip and thus inverting the inversion as well as the inverted truth that it implies. Without thinking, you let out three medium-loudness barks, strategically chosen to resemble those of a Caucasian Shepherd-Great Dane mix, proving to Palmerston once and for all that you are, in fact, a big dog (which, in the metaphorical context, means that you are successful).

Egoistic submission attempt thwarted, Palmerston is now about to find out what happens when one tries to slight a hypercompetitive 118-IQ Homo-Domesticatus on 475mg of caffeine, three Zyns (Fokker DR-1 'Red Barron' Configuration), and possibly some residual Columbian bam-bam from the night before – who said there's no powder on the East Coast? With newfound vigour reminiscent of the big dog that you canonically are, you batch release all your upcoming slide decks over email while changing the timestamps to make sure everyone else knows that you were able to make all of these from 10 to 11 PM last night. The only exception are those addressed to The Bald One, he needs to see that you made them exactly when you were asked to, which is probably around the same time anyways. You make sure to CC Palmerston in each and every one of them, now he can see for himself that absolutely nobody at this litigation meat-shield is better at doing what they're told than you are, that'll show him. You also change the colour of the text bubbles within the slides to the closest thing that the company allows to his favourite colour just for good measure, who's laughing now? Once the counterattack is complete, you return to your deliverables.

Giving the board your Distributed Integration for Leveraged Delivery Optimization in a way that they can handle over the course of 15 minutes is a skillful task, so you start out slow using the following four-step framework: Leverage, Utilize, Benchmark, Execute. You start by explaining how domain uplift synergizes well with ho(e)listic evaluation of Edamame plantation soil options – most of the panel appears satisfied, but The Bald One isn't impressed. You know you'll have to circle back: ho(e)listic evaluation forms the cornerstone of the Optimization's integrated Strategic Ho(e)listic Initiative Tracking and Cross-Unit Monetization, without it, it would just be another Distributed Integration for Leveraged Delivery Optimization. Thankfully, you anticipated this, and you came prepared: You show that through non-Euclidean value stream mapping, synergistic ontological leverage is present in the emerging markets; you illustrate this with a post-causal KPI dashboard relating the Lovecraftian compliance architecture to the average age of field workers across rural Indonesia. The value gap is obvious: the excessively large hands of 11-year-old Indonesian children lower the seasonal yield of Edamame crops by up to 2.3142% relative to the projected optimum yield given a 10-years-old-and-under workforce. Furthermore, the talent drain from Edamame farming to aura farming among the yute has resulted in many of the most promising up-and-coming Edamame farmers being lured away from the plantations and onto the phone screens of millions worldwide. However, the solution is simple: Military intervention to cripple Indonesian network infrastructure and stimulate the economy, generate innovative labour reforms, and send the children back to where they belong. You look around, the boardroom is silent, The Bald One is smiling; you see a twinkle on his scalp as he gives you the nod, now your workday is done. The only thing left to do is the mandatory overtime busywork to show that you're a go-getter.

The drive back from work is peaceful. On the way back you play a few singles from your favourite OhioCore Indie band, The Tender Few. When Banjo Dan angrily starts strumming halfway through the third song, you experience several deep thoughts in quick succession:

1) If a 130-pound munchkin wearing a ski mask confronts you and asks you who you with while aggressively grabbing his crotch, should you inform him that you're a Blood or a Crip?

2) Are you basically just the white-collar equivalent of a rig pig?

3) How did Banjo Dan get so good with the banjo? Are there two banjos?

4) Do hybrids need their oil changed?

5) Which shitcoin shall be bought with the quarterly bonus this time?

Some of these thoughts scare you, so you drown them out with the triumphant strums of Banjo Dan's Fourth Movement; you are now at peace until the time by which you arrive at your 500sq ft 3.5k/month starter apartment. The act of arrival reminds you that this month's rent is due, so you ask your dad to strategically e-transfer it to you so that you can give it to Big Jag. It's now time to Uber eat dinner so you order now. You're a hungry boy so you pay extra for a quick delivery — in 20 minutes, an international student will be there to give you your sushi.

You consume the sushi at a rate that would make a dehydrated orca jealous, save for the Basashi, you savour that. When you are full, you let Preston consume the rest, he needs his Omega 3s. It's currently 1:30AM, because you felt compelled to work extra overtime today so that everyone can see that you're even better at following instructions than they thought you were. You play the imaginary interactions on loop inside your head: “Will this kid ever stop, does he even know how to?”, “I-I've never seen anything like this, thirteen KPI's in 12 hours? How!?”, “Big Dog *whimpers of deference*”, “That's Brandon Kensington, they call him ‘The Chiropractor'”, “Let's go Brandon!” until you ego-goon yourself into a coma.

You step into the mouth of the dimly lit expanse open before you. You feel the city breathing, quietly, softly, like a sleeping status-obsessed giant that hasn't won a cup in almost sixty years. As you make your way deeper and deeper into the fluorescent abyss, you notice a faint glow out of the corner of your eye, it seems to be winking at you, begging you to come just a little bit closer. As you walk toward the strange light, you begin to make out a familiar shape: the head of The Bald One, flickering softly in the neon afterglow of the city lights.

“You have arrived” he says.

You ask what he means by that, he simply smiles.

You tell him that you saw the strange light and walked toward it.

“We are all walking towards something, my son. The real question is what?”.

You ask if you're dead.

“What is 'dead'? Is death not simply the act of circling back to the state of that from which we came? Is our very existence not simply a temporary misalignment against the tyranny of entropy itself? Is entropy truly tyrannical? Or is it simply the ultimate business-driven stakeholder alignment solution? What if the very question is irrelevant? If so, then life and death are one in the same in that they are simply two different points along a great cosmic wave, dynamically engaging in bidirectional strategic repositioning into eternity. Living, dead, or something in between, it's all the same at the scope of the great cosmic dashboard.”

The faint light emanating from his scalp continues to shrink as you continue to stare, it grows smaller, past the point where even the concept of size becomes meaningless. Once size is lost entirely, so too is shape, then time, then meaning. You continue to gaze, not that that has very much meaning at the moment, moments? What is a moment? Is this a moment? Is this the set of all moments?

You can't tell if you are looking at nothing, or everything. If everything contains nothing, then you'd also be looking at nothing too, right? To be safe, you should assume that you are looking at everything, even though it looks like nothing, but you can't really look at it anyway, because everything you'd need to actually look at it is also inside the thing you're trying to look at, which at the moment appears to be nothing.

Then The Bald One said “Let there be light!”. Suddenly, from the not there is, and was, and will be. Cosmic stakeholder satisfaction skyrockets as the Pre-Sudanese Pan-Quantum Bisque dynamically expands to fill it's Multiversal market gap. In this brief eternity, you understand the nature of reality deeply, much in the same way that Preston does not. Nonetheless, The Bald One still offers an explanation for the decidedly Prestonian audience:

“We specialize in dynamic low-entropy intelligent solutions for a diverse portfolio of clients. Past/present/future success stories include the Chumpa Chumpas, the Warpmonkeys, and the Sudanese TurboRock™ (every planet has a Sudan due to backwards-compatibility requirements). Your race was/is/will be an attempt at filling demand for a lifted version of the Warpmonkey, intended for more dynamic synergy during high-dimensional standup. However, the seed genome was/is/will be contaminated sometime in the early Eocene, and now you're all monkey no warp. The lift kit is still sick though, and with the right presentation, I think that the Manifold Collective will remain satisfied, provided all 11 margin dimensions are correctly asserted”.

“So, does that mean you're God?” you ask.

“Of course not, God doesn't think he's a consultant!”, The Bald One retorts.

You continue this conversation for hours? Days? Weeks? An eternity? It's hard to keep track of time here. At long last, you see the faint glow of sunlight on the horizon.

“My time has come, you must carry on your alignment without me, my son”.

“Wait!” you cry out, as his face turns from son to sun. You ask one final question:

“If you're not God, then why do you call me your son?”

The Bald One looks back and chuckles warmly one last time.

“Ask your mom”.



Bonus:

It takes exactly 47.19 pan-dimensional epochs for the LaShitfuckeria Omnigula LXIX to decant a full-spectrum Espresso Dio Prime across all accessible timelines. You know this because, last quarter-cycle, you presented it to the Manifold Collective during the Annual Plenary on Why Pan-Galactic charm-anticharm pair Supply Chains Are Actually an Elastic Commodity. That talk, in turn, convinced several Second-Order Civilizations to abandon their legacy bean-strata vendors in favor of your buddy's vertically integrated Z-field in the Eighth Fold.

47.19 pan-dimensional epochs feels like an eternity squared as you wait for that stakeholder-synergy-facilitating pseudo-Italian (every multiverse has an Italy due to backwards compatibility requirements) nectar to finish drizzling from the suspiciously shaped output port of the self-actualizing Matryoshka Peripheral. Just as you think you are in the clear, you register the familiar string signal that you know all too well:

“Sup, Prime Mover”.

Your meta-cortex goes into overdrive as you realize Palmerston-the-Infinite is invoking the 69th Law of Omniversal Power: Total Inversion, thereby implying you are not the Prime Mover (which, in the metaphorical context, means that you are unsuccessful). Your only hope is to apply a reductio ad infiniverse on the inversion itself, traversing the hyperlexical Möbius strip until you invert the inversion and collapse the probability of the implied untruth into an eternally self-negating stakeholder deliverable.

Without hesitation, you emit three medium-distortion assertions of prime magnitude — each one resonating at the precise frequency of a Higher Order Warpmonkey mind-spliced with a finely tuned fork of ThunderFuck Prime. The signal is interpreted through the shared cultural schema of every sapient species in existence and the vibrations ripple across the Multiverse, echoing in timelines that never were, as well as in all Licensed Professional Instances of Sudan. In that moment, you prove to Palmerston-the-Infinite, and to all watching entities above and below the dashboard, that you are, in fact, the Prime Mover (which, in the metaphorical context, means that you are successful).