Here’s a dystopian prediction that might interest you :
The Days of Rage are coming, when “the Mob”, the disenfranchised prolitariate, see the truth, as the penny drops, though not in their pocket, and they realise that they have been deliberately disenfranchised, with no opportunity to earn a living wage, no jobs, with hyper-inflation, a disintegrated middle class, and where, with no options left, in desperation they swarm onto the streets to vent their frustration by attacking the first symbol of the oppressor they see.
In the ghettos and townships of Africa, the Mob may initially see their abusers as the government who once promised them houses and facilities and when, after years of voting for their favourite liberation party, nothing trickles down to them, not even drinking water or sewerage piping, they simply vent their anger at that cheating and corrupt government by burning any symbol of that government that they see, even if it is their own municipal library. Imagine how desperate a people must be when they are willing to take the one small facility they have been given – like a library, clinic or bus – and burn it to the ground, just to get noticed in their desperation for a greater piece of the pie that they see being gorged on by their leaders.
Elsewhere in the more “civilized” or sophisticated cities or urban neighbourhoods, the faceless Mob, the disenfranchised 99%, may even be educated and informed, yet still drowning in student debt, unable to find a commensurate job, with that albatross of a university degree, and thus enslaved to a rentier class of landlords who squeeze every last penny from their nostrils, they finally come to the logical conclusion that the system is rigged, is morally broken, and so they take to the streets and in righteous indignation, take out their anger and frustration on the nearest symbol of the oppressor – the soft top of a BMW or MG sports car, ripping it to sheds in seconds.
Mark my words, the Plutonian Mob has awoken and the Days of Rage are coming soon to a neighbourhood near you. So sell that flashy model, bury that bit of bing, and thank history that the guillotine no longer exists, although even that may be better than choking on the toxic rubber fumes of a burning tyre necklacing our white collar, as we get caught coming out of our cushy corporate capitalist cubicle as the faceless Mob raises its head once more.