A Joke About Retirement

 The Reprobate's Lament

Ah, "reprobate," a word that dances on our tongues,
A secret love we harbor, where mischief belongs.
Facts and opinions? Mere trifles, we scoff,
In the pursuit of riches, we'll gladly doff.

A worthy adversary, at the odds of more dough?
"No problem, sir," we chuckle, "the cash will flow!"
Money, a printable illusion, we declare,
Gutting the innocent, with nary a care.

Bribed governments, debts unpaid, conscience denied,
Guilt's a mere whisper, as the world's fate we've tied.
Yet another choice beckons, oh, what a delight,
Video games all day, bathed in neon light.

Retired with riches, a hypersane dream,
Reason so absolute, it's a comical scheme.
Misinterpretation? Impossible, you see,
For the reprobate's logic is pure lunacy!