No, you can’t be a governor

No, you can’t be a governor. Do you know why? You’re too young. You didn’t go to SNU. You know that. They don’t care about your ideas. No one’s got time to listen to your grand plan to revolutionize the country. When they’re inside the voting booth, they all ask the same question: “Which one of these assholes will increase the price of my apartment?”

Money and power. Money and power, my friend.

You still want to run? Okay. I see you’ve got passion. I get it—you’re angry. But think for a moment. Your opponents will destroy your life. They’ll dig into your past and bribe your friends and family to see if any of them hates you. Once they find your weakness—and they will—they’ll publish twenty articles questioning your eligibility to serve. They’ll make you look like trash. You’ll be crucified, both on- and offline. Thousands of bots will flood the comments, saying things like, “This devil must be arrested immediately.” You won’t be able to stop the tsunami of hate. You don’t have powerful connections or fat envelopes stuffed with $100 bills.

I care about you. Don’t let your family suffer for your decision. They’ll lose jobs, friends, and reputation—all because of your foolish dream to play the hero.

Let’s say God helps you get elected. Then what? You’ll be expected to scrub the system smeared with horseshit. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can stay as a revolutionary once you’re settled in the governor’s office? You’ll fly business. You’ll eat omakase at the fanciest hotel in the city. Everything will be complimentary. You’ll become an emperor in a palace built by taxpayers. These perks will seduce you. They’ll turn you into an addict. You’ll end up being one of them.

So, don’t even try to be a governor.