Procreation isn’t a sacred act anymore. It’s a recruitment strategy. Capitalism needs fresh labor. Empires need more bodies to throw at wars and wage gaps. And the ruling class needs you too busy and broke raising kids to organize.

It’s a pyramid scheme, but instead of protein powder or crypto, the product is existence itself. And just like any good scheme, those at the top get richer while the suckers at the bottom hold the bag–and in this case–the diaper.

They’ll tell you it’s “selfish” not to have kids. As if sacrificing your sanity, finances, and future for a planet on fire is selfless. As if love can only be proven through reproduction. As if creating another sentient being without consent isn’t the actual selfish act.

I don’t just hate kids. I hate the system that demands them. The system that hands them a crumbling world, then blames them when they can’t fix it fast enough.

So no, I won’t be “giving my parents grandkids.” I won’t be “building a legacy.” I’ll be here—fighting for a world where people are valued for more than what they produce or reproduce. Opting out isn’t nihilism. It’s resistance. It’s one less body for the machine to chew on. And besides, why bring someone else into this absurd mess when you can throw rocks at the throne instead?

I didn’t drop the boulder. I just stopped pretending it mattered.

The myth goes that Sisyphus was condemned to an eternity of pushing a rock up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, over and over. Camus dared us to imagine Sisyphus happy. But what if, instead, Sisyphus shrugged?

What if he looked at the boulder–the job, the bills, the rent, the empty promises of “progress,” the demands to smile and reproduce under capitalism–and said, “Nah.”

Because here’s the truth no one wants to admit: the system is absurd. The wealthy are absurd. The idea of building a family on a dying planet is absurd. Apartheid Clyde tweeting like he’s the Oracle of Mars while workers piss in bottles? Absurd. Trump resurrecting fascism in a McDonald’s wrapper? Absurd.

We’re living in a pyramid scheme where life is the product, and the only way to win is not to play. They tell us to dream of owning homes we’ll never afford, to hustle in jobs that don’t care if we live or die, and to have children just to hand them the same existential debt.

But absurdism isn’t despair. It’s clarity. It’s rebellion.

To shrug like Sisyphus is not to give up–it’s to opt out, it’s to refuse the assigned meaning and create our own. It’s saying no to the wealthy, no baby cults, no to the grind–and yes to solidarity, sabotage, and stolen joy.

I’ve been doing more reading on revolutionaries such as Vladimir Lenin and Che Guevara. Most of Americans were taught that these people were mass murderers and nothing else. If that’s the case then I argue that America’s Founding Fathers were too.

If we’re judging historical figures by the same moral yardstick, especially one centered around violence, authoritarianism, or the cost of revolution, then the Founding Fathers don’t get a free pass.

George Washington led brutal campaigns against Indigenous people.

Thomas Jefferson owned hundreds of slaves and upheld a system of racialized violence.

The American Revolution was steeped in bloodshed, repression of loyalists, and economic exploitation.

The American Founding Fathers launched a war that killed tens of thousands, built a country on the backs of enslaved Africans, and expanded westward by slaughtering Indigenous people and stealing their land. They violently crushed uprisings like the Whiskey Rebellion and created a political system designed to protect the wealthy elite.

Lenin and Che? They were revolutionaries in the truest sense–men who took up arms against brutal empires, fought for the poor, and tried to uproot centuries of aristocratic exploitation. Their revolutions weren’t clean or perfect–no revolution is–but they were aimed at liberation, not profit.

Yet we’re taught to worship the Founding Fathers as freedom fighters and condemn Lenin and Che as tyrants. That’s not a moral judgment, it’s a political one. The Founders fought for capitalism. Che and Lenin fought to destroy it.

Violence in the name of empire gets a statue. Violence in the name of emancipation gets called terrorism.

If we’re calling one side murderers, then let’s be honest: the blood is on every set of hands.

The presidency, in all its grandeur and symbolic weight, often serves as the crown jewel of a system that feeds on hierarchy, spectacle, and obedience. We’re taught to look up to presidents, to CEOs, to gods of the free market. But real power should flow horizontally, not vertically.

Still, within a capitalist nation-state, presidents remain a functional necessity: someone to sign laws, to direct agencies, to act as a figurehead for national policy. But this necessity is not noble. It’s a byproduct of a broke structure, a structure that props up inequality, rewards charisma over justice, and reduces collective agency to a once-every-four-years ritual.

Libertarian socialism doesn’t just critique the office of the president, it critiques the entire system that makes such concentrated power seem normal. The goal isn’t to replace one “better” president with another. It’s to build a world where we no longer need one.