When the wage slaves stage a revolt, so you have to call in the McPinkertons
As the city burns and protesters take to the streets demanding a fair wage, Mayor McCheese heaves a sigh of regret. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. No. The workers were never meant to demand a living wage.
He reaches for the phone on his desk. The bright red stands out against the dark brown of the desk’s hand-polished wood.
It has come to this. May Ronald have mercy on his soul.
Lifting the receiver to his ear, the mayor says the five words he never thought he’d have to say: “Get me Officer Big Mac.”
