Fuck the ID Cards: Own Your Life, Own Your Money

Walk into a government office and what do you see? Grey walls, grey faces, grey energy. Bent backs, slow shuffles, ID cards clipped to belts like shackles. That’s not freedom — that’s surrender.

Now look at the self-employed. No boss, no swipe-card, no uniform. Just people who’ve said: fuck this system — I’ll run my own life. They’re not waiting for permission to live. They’re building, hustling, stacking, laughing.

Work Your Way

You set the hours. Early mornings, late nights, or none at all. No clock-in, no clock-out. Just the work you choose, on the terms you write.

Dress How You Like

Jeans, boots, pyjamas. Sharp suit one day, hoodie the next. Your appearance isn’t dictated by a handbook — it’s your choice.

Place of Work

Forget grey corridors. Your “office” is a café, a workshop, the cab of your van, or your kitchen table. Your work goes where you go.

Your Money, Not Theirs

Cash in your pocket. Gold sovereigns in a tin. Savings where you can see them. Not tied up in a pension scheme designed by bureaucrats, but directed by you. The government doesn’t get to own your future — you do.

And here’s the kicker: the tax system? Use it, don’t fear it.

• Run your car, van, or lorry through the books. Mileage, fuel, servicing — claim it.

• Write down every bit of kit. Phone, laptop, tools, printer — if you use it for work, it knocks your tax bill.

• Pension on your terms. Pay into one if you want, skip if you don’t. It’s a lever, not a leash.

• Claim the running costs. Insurance, parking, tolls, repairs. If it keeps the wheels turning, it’s deductible.

The rules are there, so bend them until they work for you. Keep receipts, log the miles, and make the taxman your unwilling business partner.

Identity Without Permission

Here’s the truth: you’re not an employee number, not an ID card, not a cog in the system. You’re your own boss. You own your hours, your kit, your money, your fucking future.

Final Word

Life’s too short to shuffle grey corridors with a badge on your belt and misery in your eyes. Fuck the ID cards. Fuck the bent-back grind. Run your own show, claim your own tax breaks, stash your gold, stack your cash, and laugh while you do it.

Because freedom isn’t given. Freedom is taken.