Here's your roast, sharper and with your new lines woven in for maximum impact:
Roast: "Degrees, Dollars, Equations, and the Real Ones"
3 + 2(5-1) ÷ 10 =
…whatever you want it to be, right?
Because these days, it's not about getting the answer right—
It's about who's telling you what the answer should be.
You spend billions researching cancer,
But if Joe Blow from the block says, "I've got the cure!"
You laugh him out of the room—
Because he didn't go to college?
That's cute.
Meanwhile, here I am—
Every job I get, someone finds a way to fire me.
Not because I can't work,
But because I don't fit your perfect little mold.
Stamped "nada with nothin' useful,"
While you hand out diplomas like candy and call it progress.
And let's not forget—
The CIA tracked my every move in New York and California,
But somehow never managed to give me a fair shot.
And don't get it twisted—
It's got nothing to do with NATO's world budget being my untouchable bank account.
That's not my motive, nor is it just that they hired me to clean up the poison they introduced.
My clearance level?
Yeah, it means I could expose every single one of their lies.
You all trust the "rulers" and their rules,
Never mind if it makes sense or not.
If the government says the sky is green,
Suddenly everyone's wearing green-tinted glasses.
Hey, anyone ever think to ask why?
Or is that too much common sense for the "intelligent" crowd?
Maybe if I had a fancy degree,
You'd listen to my answer—
But since I'm just "nada with nothin' useful,"
You'll take whatever answer you're handed and call it genius.
But here's a real equation for you:
Blind trust + no questions = a nation of idiots.
And if you want to know what it's like
To get knocked down, get back up, and keep going—
Come walk a mile in my shoes.
No degree required.