Q REPORT: ARREST THOSE RICH PEOPLE!

This document originates from a time report recovered from an eventuality where satire was briefly enforceable law, before being repealed due to excessive and ongoing danger. In that timeline, Q did not wake up one morning and choose violence, but rather chose paperwork, which is far more terrifying to the modern oligarchic mammal. The arrests described herein are ceremonial, allegorical, conducted with blade hands(not jazz), and are grounded in the emotional truth that fraud, waste, and abuse suck dirty butts. That said, we intentionally avoid the lurid, the salacious, and the already-weaponized horrors of the age, because the real crime of the 21st century was not secret evil but open extraction with a TED Talk voice. This is comedy, yes, but also a filing cabinet violently tipped over in the middle of history, spilling out dirty receipts like distressed streamers.

The targets of this whimsy are referred to only as Elon, Jeff, and Bill, not to obscure identity, but to elevate them into archetypes: The Horny Visionary, The Suffering Warehouse, and The Benevolent/Malevolent Spreadsheet. Together, their combined fictionalized worth in this timeline exceeded one bazillion dollars, a number so large it ceases to function as money and instead behaves like a weather phenomenon, causing downstream effects such as droughts of empathy and flash floods of success. Q’s plucky band of swashbucklers was composed primarily of auditors, public librarians, and Neo-Satanists. When they ran the numbers, they discovered that a 90% top-end wealth tax did not “destroy innovation” but instead inverted the national deficit so hard it briefly became a surplus with a conscience. In this universe, the debt did not merely vanish; it apologized, returned several stolen decades, and asked how it could help. This math was discovered not as a threat, but as a magic trick performed so slowly that everyone could see where the card went.

Elon, the most kinetic of the trio, was not charged with villainy but with reckless breeding velocity, a condition in which one outruns consequence so quickly that the consequences begin filing claims in advance. In the sub-reports, Elon is pursued not by police but by child-support warrants issued by every continent he has emotionally outpaced, including research stations, regulatory bodies, and the general concept of follow-through. Antarctica appears in the record not as a place of accusation but as a punchline about the absurd reach of power when it believes geography is merely a suggestion. The arrest itself required no handcuffs, only the sudden removal of his phone, at which point Elon became quickly, tragically mortal. Sentencing was restorative and weird: prior to deportation Elon was compelled to construct a moon base for Time Control Research. A project that, due to ironclad ethical constraints, benefited average people exactly as much as everything else already does: imperfectly, but somewhat.

Jeff was apprehended mid-sermon, having filed as an indigent member of the clergy for so many consecutive fabricated tax years that the cheap Amazon robes had fused to his skin. The charge was not tax evasion per se, but the transubstantiation of labor into logistics, whereby human effort was alchemized into next-day delivery and the surplus of humanity was marked “out of stock.” When confronted with the math, Jeff attempted to offer free shipping as restitution, which was politely declined. Instead, in a moment of genuine attrition, Jeff agreed to fund a permanent increase of the federal minimum wage to $20 an hour, indexed not to inflation but to the cost of pretending everything is fine. The applause that followed was not rapturous, but relieved, like a room exhaling after realizing it can afford groceries and medicine in the same week.

Bill, the calmest and most dangerous archetype, was charged with optimistic overreach, a uniquely modern offense wherein the best of intentions are paired with the loosest of safeguards and are released into the world (Africa) as Super Malaria (Plasmodium Maximus). In the report, Bill’s great “biological whoopsie” is treated not as malice but as a satire of technocratic hubris, the belief that spreadsheets can outpace ecosystems if everyone just clicks “agree.” Restitution to Africa (allegorical, symbolic, and intentionally enormous) was calculated to save 300 million lives, primarily by funding treatments, infrastructure, and autonomy that should never have required charity in the first place. Everyone could now potentially afford their Super Malaria medicine, needed by those infected for basic daily physical function. When the figure was announced, the room fell silent, not because it was unbelievable, but because everyone knew it was plausible. Bill nodded solemnly and asked if the lives could be measured quarterly, and someone gently took the laser pointer away.

The capture of the trio was less Ocean’s Eleven and more Monty Python Meets the International Criminal Court, involving color-coded lanyards, surprise subpoenas, and a conga line of compliance officers chanting “fraud, waste, abuse” like a sacred mantra. Authorities accepted the surrender not with sirens but with binders (the true symbol of state power) and the entire process was livestreamed with closed captions for the kids in the back. No one was harmed, except the idea that infinite accumulation is morally neutral. The swashbucklers disbanded back to their shadow lives afterward, returning to the day jobs they hated, waiting once again for the call to activation.

The 21st century is remembered not just for the atrocities, but for how casually they were normalized with memes and talking points. We were told division was inevitable, that sharing was naïve, that love did not scale, and that compassion was a rounding error. This report argues otherwise, loudly, joyfully, and with final comments, insisting that only renegade acts of love, compassion, and sharing can cut through terminal division, like a hot knife through pudding. Laughing at power is not enough, but it is a start. A crack in the armor where the light gets in and darkness begin to worry.

Amen.

Q