The Subscription Economy: Feeding the Machine of Greed

The world is no longer ours to own. Every corner of our lives, from music and movies to software and even heated car seats, has been transformed into a rented existence. Subscriptions, they call them. A gentle word for a system that bleeds the common person dry while lining the pockets of corporations with steady, unyielding streams of cash.

It wasn’t always like this. Once, you could buy a CD and listen to it forever. You could purchase software and use it until your computer finally gave up the ghost. Ownership meant freedom—control over what was yours. But that freedom has been sold off in tiny increments, replaced by “convenience.” Pay a little now, they said. A small monthly fee instead of one large purchase. Who wouldn’t prefer that?

But those small fees add up. They quietly multiply until, one day, you look at your bank account and realize hundreds of dollars are being siphoned off every month. Streaming services, cloud storage, fitness apps, food delivery memberships—it never ends. Each subscription is a chain, light enough not to notice at first, but together, they weigh you down.

This is not convenience. This is control.

Corporations have perfected the art of dependency. The tools you need to work—software, cloud services—are locked behind subscriptions. The entertainment that helps you unwind? Another subscription. Even the physical goods you own are incomplete without monthly payments. Car manufacturers now charge fees to unlock features already installed in your vehicle, as if selling you the car wasn’t enough.

This isn’t innovation; it’s exploitation. And it’s deliberate.

They know we don’t track these costs. Subscriptions are designed to be invisible, hidden in plain sight on our credit card statements. Auto-renewal ensures we keep paying, often without realizing it. Canceling is a maze of obscure menus and guilt-inducing prompts. They don’t want us to stop. Why would they, when we’re feeding their insatiable hunger for profit?

But this goes deeper than money. The subscription model represents a fundamental shift in power. When we no longer own what we use, we are at the mercy of those who do. Need access? Pay up. Fall behind? Lose it all. This dependency erodes autonomy, reducing us to perpetual renters in a world designed for corporate landlords.

The establishment feeds on this system, growing fatter while we grow poorer. It thrives on the myth that subscriptions are about choice and convenience, when in truth, they are about control and greed. It’s a slow, insidious process, one that preys on the common person’s trust and financial ignorance.

And yet, the tide is turning. People are beginning to wake up, to see the chains for what they are. Subscription fatigue is setting in, as individuals cancel services and demand alternatives. Open-source software, pay-as-you-go models, and outright ownership are becoming acts of rebellion against the establishment’s relentless grip.

This is not just about cutting costs. It’s about reclaiming what is ours—our money, our time, our freedom. It’s about resisting a system that sees us as nothing more than revenue streams. And it’s about holding corporations accountable for their role in perpetuating inequality and dependence.

The subscription economy is not sustainable, not for us and not for the world. It’s a model built on exploitation, and it’s time we tore it down. Because the only thing more dangerous than realizing you’ve been trapped is deciding to stay there.

We deserve better. We deserve freedom. And it starts by unsubscribing—from their services, from their lies, and from the system itself.

The Handsome Avenger: Why No One’s Talking to the Cops About UnitedHealth CEO Killer

Brian Thompson, CEO of UnitedHealthcare, gunned down outside a Manhattan hotel. A tragic end? Maybe. A wake-up call? Absolutely. The real shock here isn’t the crime itself—it’s the roaring silence that followed. Witnesses, surveillance footage, and a masked shooter caught with his face exposed, but nobody’s talking. Why? Because for once, people feel like someone sent a message loud enough to shake the foundations of a system that has ignored their suffering for too long.

A Modern Robin Hood Without the Cash

The masked man who pulled the trigger isn’t stealing from the rich to give to the poor. He’s not refunding your wasted premiums or resurrecting loved ones denied treatment because of preexisting conditions. No, his actions won’t fix the ruined lives or the unpayable bills. But to the angry masses, that’s not the point.

This isn’t about getting their money back. It’s about making a statement—a brutal, unignorable message aimed at a system that has bled them dry while execs like Thompson raked in millions. The DOJ investigation into Thompson’s $15 million stock dump is just the latest chapter in a story people already know too well: profits before people, every damn time. And now, someone decided to write an ending that the public couldn’t ignore.

Why the Silence?

It’s not apathy—it’s protest. Why should anyone help the police when the system they represent is part of the problem? To many, Thompson wasn’t a victim—he was a symbol of everything wrong with healthcare in America. Over the past three years, he turned claim denials into a science and customer frustration into a business model. Meanwhile, patients who paid their premiums in good faith were left dying on hold with customer service.

So when the Handsome Avenger allegedly pulled the trigger, it wasn’t just an act of violence—it was a primal scream from a public that has been ignored, exploited, and betrayed. And let’s be real: the NYPD could offer front-row Yankees tickets, and no one would step up to name him. Not because people condone murder, but because they see this for what it is—a system finally being held accountable, in the only way anyone seems to notice anymore.

Profits Before People: A Legacy of Greed

Thompson’s reign at UnitedHealthcare was a masterclass in corporate cold-bloodedness. Claim denial rates skyrocketed. Algorithms were weaponized to reject care with surgical precision. Lives were destroyed—not metaphorically, but literally—all so Thompson could present glowing quarterly earnings to investors. His mantra? Screw the customers. Satisfy the shareholders.

When the DOJ launched its probe into insider trading, no one was surprised. Of course, he was selling millions in stock while his company faced federal scrutiny. That’s the playbook: bleed the system dry, take the money, and run. It wasn’t just greed—it was hubris, daring the world to catch him. But in the end, it wasn’t the law that stopped him; it was something far more primal: rage.

The Wake-Up Call America Didn’t Want But Needed

This wasn’t just about Thompson. It wasn’t even about UnitedHealthcare. It was about a broken healthcare system that has left people so angry, so desperate, that they’re ready to cheer on a vigilante with a gun. The Handsome Avenger doesn’t have to save anyone—he just has to remind the system that people are watching, and they’re done being ignored.

Think about it. How bad does it have to get for the public to rally behind a masked gunman? For people to refuse to cooperate with the police, not out of fear, but out of sheer defiance? The silence isn’t just deafening—it’s damning. It’s a message that no amount of PR spin or police investigations can drown out.

The tragedy here isn’t just the loss of a life—it’s the loss of faith. Faith that the system works. Faith that justice exists. Faith that the monthly premiums people scrape together will actually protect them when they need it most. That’s what’s been killed here, over decades of greed and indifference.

Brian Thompson didn’t just die; he became the face of a reckoning. And while the Handsome Avenger may not be a hero in the traditional sense, to the angry, grieving, and betrayed masses, he’s the only one who made the system listen. And that, more than anything, is why no one is talking.

TikTok: How to Ruin Lives in 60 Seconds or Less

 TikTok isn’t just a harmless time-suck filled with bad dance moves and avocado toast tutorials anymore. Nope, it’s officially evolved (or devolved?) into a cesspool of criminal masterminds disguised as "influencers," handing out step-by-step guides to wrecking other people’s lives. This isn’t innovation; it’s legalized chaos dressed up in quirky hashtags. And the platform? Oh, they love it. Viral videos equal ad dollars, and morality be damned.

Deadbeat Tenants: TikTok’s Rising Stars

Enter TikTok’s latest trend: the "How to Screw Your Landlord" movement. These freeloaders aren't just skipping rent—they’re making it a performance art. They're not stopping with the usual excuses like a lost job or bad credit; no, these keyboard anarchists are diving deep into the legal code to find every loophole possible to avoid paying. And they’ve got TikTok tutorials to guide them every step of the way.

And who’s their target? Evil corporate landlords? Fat cats twirling their mustaches while evicting orphans? Nope. It’s the little guys—retired couples renting out a spare property, single parents trying to make ends meet. These TikTok-inspired scumbags don’t care. They’ll squat for months, cost these families thousands, and then share a smug #RentFree post as if they’ve outsmarted the system rather than robbed someone blind.

Airbnb: Host Your Own Nightmare

Airbnb hosts are no safer from TikTok’s tidal wave of entitlement. “Just DM your host to ‘save on fees,’” they say. “Stay longer than planned and refuse to leave,” they advise. Oh, and don’t forget: “Cry discrimination if anyone challenges you!” TikTok influencers are handing out cheat codes to hijack people's homes like it's a game of Monopoly—but the stakes are real, and the victims are everyday people who dared to trust strangers.

Imagine investing your savings in a dream property, thinking you'll meet respectful travelers, only to end up battling a TikTok-educated squatter who turns your investment into their rent-free flop house. Good luck evicting them; by the time you’re done, your wallet will be as empty as their sense of decency.

Theft: Rebranded as “Life Hacks”

Let’s call this what it is: theft. These are not "life hacks." They’re not clever, they’re not inspiring, and they’re definitely not harmless. They’re the digital equivalent of smashing a car window and claiming the stereo because, "It wasn’t locked properly." The real kicker? TikTok isn’t just tolerating this; it’s rewarding it. The more outrageous the scam, the more the algorithm promotes it.

TikTok has made exploitation trendy. Destroy someone’s livelihood, but do it with a cute filter and catchy music, and you’re a hero to millions. Steal. Exploit. Manipulate. And don’t forget to tag your video with #SavvyNotSorry.

TikTok: The Chaos Cheerleader

TikTok loves to pretend it’s just the middleman, a neutral platform connecting people. Spoiler alert: TikTok is the arsonist handing out matches at a fireworks factory. They don’t just enable this madness; they thrive on it. Controversy equals clicks, clicks equal cash, and TikTok laughs all the way to the bank while landlords, Airbnb hosts, and regular people are left cleaning up the mess.

Enough is Enough

This needs to stop. TikTok’s influencers aren’t quirky creators; they’re modern-day parasites feeding off the good faith of others. And TikTok itself? It’s the ringleader of this circus of scumbaggery. At some point, we have to ask: When does a platform stop being a place for free expression and start being an accomplice to theft, fraud, and ruin?

It’s time to stop pretending TikTok is just a harmless app. It’s a monster in disguise, and the people promoting these schemes deserve every ounce of ridicule, legal action, and public shaming we can throw at them.

A Trojan Horse in Disguise

Let’s not mince words: TikTok, a Chinese-owned platform, isn’t just fumbling into chaos—it’s manufacturing it. Under the guise of a harmless social media app, TikTok is purposefully amplifying divisive content, encouraging lawlessness, and eroding trust within our society. It’s not just about videos; it’s about destabilizing a nation from the inside out. And we’re letting it happen, one “life hack” at a time.

Limitless? Redefining Genius Beyond the Myths of Hawking, Sagan, and AI

This all started, as most of my deep dives into existential rabbit holes do, with a movie. I was watching Limitless again—the one where Bradley Cooper takes a magic pill and suddenly becomes the smartest guy in the room, the world, maybe the universe. It’s a thrilling concept, watching someone unlock the full potential of their brain. I always find it inspiring, this idea that the answers to everything—success, brilliance, solving the unsolvable—are just sitting there, waiting for the right push.

But then I started thinking: What does it really mean to be limitless? To be a genius? 

Genius, if we're going to keep throwing that word around, should be more than just a flash of brilliance or a knack for solving one type of puzzle. It should be the whole package: problem-solving, innovation, and creating something tangible. And now, here comes AI and its legion of algorithms, posing as the modern Prometheus, claiming to unlock the secrets of the universe and revolutionize everything. But let’s cut through the hype—shouldn't AI be the ultimate genius, capable of solving the world’s problems by now?

Here’s the thing. AI isn’t genius; it’s just a giant filing cabinet. Sure, it can cross-reference a billion pieces of information faster than you can microwave popcorn, but it doesn’t know anything. It doesn’t intuit. It doesn’t innovate. It connects dots already drawn by humans, like a hyperactive librarian pulling books off shelves and stacking them into neat piles. Impressive? Sure. Genius? Hardly.

True genius isn’t just rearranging information; it’s creating something completely new, often with nothing but raw materials and a bit of ingenuity. It’s the farmer who turns scrap into machinery that keeps their livelihood alive. It’s the mechanic who builds an engine from spare parts. It’s the musician who doesn’t need to read music because their fingers already know the story the piano keys are trying to tell. AI doesn’t have that spark. It can mimic creativity, but it doesn’t live it.

And this whole idea that AI should solve world hunger or climate change? It sounds nice, but let’s be real—AI isn’t going to step into a boardroom and negotiate with world leaders. It isn’t going to stand up to corrupt systems or navigate the tangled web of politics and greed that keeps solutions out of reach. It can model scenarios and predict outcomes, but it doesn’t have skin in the game. It doesn’t care. Genius, real genius, often comes with a deep, burning need to fix what’s broken. AI doesn’t burn—it computes.

Even the so-called geniuses of our time, Hawking and Sagan included, didn’t solve problems as much as they expanded the playground of ideas. They weren’t building rockets or fixing engines; they were theorizing, questioning, and inspiring others to take the baton. And that’s valuable, no doubt. But genius isn’t just about dreaming—it’s about doing.

So here’s where it gets messy. If genius isn’t just knowing, but doing, and AI isn’t doing much beyond rearranging human knowledge, then what are we left with? Maybe genius isn’t about being limitless at all. Maybe it’s about being human enough to take risks, to fail, to care about what comes next. AI might be fast, but it’s not fearless. It might be smart, but it’s not soulful. And if it can’t create or care, can we really call it genius?

Jaguar Iconic Design Has Been Declawed

I’ve owned several iconic Jaguars over the years, and I loved every single one of them. My favorite was a 1990 XJ12 Vanden Plas—a true classic. Sure, it had its quirks (what Jaguar doesn’t?), but that just added to its charm. Once, the steering column broke, leaving me able to make only left-hand turns. If I dared to turn right, all the power steering fluid would leak out. Navigating the city became an adventure of left-hand detours and U-turns. I kept a stash of power steering fluid in the trunk, topping it off as needed until I finally took it to a shop.

When they fixed it, they conveniently forgot to reinstall the engine block pads. Every bump in the road turned into a clattering symphony, making it feel like the entire frame was shaking loose from the body. But I didn’t care. I adored that black cat with its oatmeal interior, burl wood dash, and fold-down trays in the back—an echo of an era when luxury wasn’t just a tagline. It reminded me of those old Grey Poupon commercials—not that they ever featured Jaguars, just Rolls-Royces or Bentleys. Still, it felt like it belonged.

Then there was my XJ6 convertible, a sleek ragtop beauty that purred perfectly for years. I eventually sold it to trade up for an even more impractical vintage Mercedes G-Class. What can I say? I have a weakness for timeless, quirky machines.

But for me, Jaguars were never about the ads or the gimmicks. (Though let’s be honest, that fusion of a Benetton “United Colors” vibe and Apple’s Orwellian hammer-throw commercial with its "Think Different" ethos was something else.) For me, it was always about the design—those iconic curves, the elegance, the unmistakable character of a Jaguar.

That’s why the upcoming 2026 Jaguar, set to be unveiled on December 2nd, leaves me utterly heartbroken. From the teasers, it looks like a soulless remix—a clunky hybrid of a 1990s Bentley and the angular harshness of a Cybertruck. It’s as if someone tried to design a Jag by committee, stripping away all the passion in favor of hard lines and focus groups. And to market it at Bentley-level pricing? I fear it might be the final nail in the coffin for Jaguar enthusiasts like me.

I only wish they had bowed out gracefully—like the sleek, regal cats they used to be. Instead, this feels like a tired, declawed exit.

P.S. Let’s not even get started on the logo—it looks like the clasp on a bargain-bin Michael Kors handbag.

Getting into my Blogger Account is like Breaking into Fort Knox

 Google wants every bit of information about you. They can't let you have your little diary unless it is attached to everything you are. And we are worried about TikTok?

All I wanted to do was sign in and talk about the dead bird!

Here it is!

There is nothing quite like the searing, personal rage of scooping a dead baby bird out of your fireplace, knowing full well that it suffered—and I did nothing. Why? Because I listened to a bunch of self-righteous, know-it-all online clowns who insisted, “Leave it! The parents will come back!” Oh really? Will they? Are they magic ghost parents? Did they have an express route through the chimney I wasn’t aware of? Or maybe they were just too busy being hypothetical to show the hell up.

I sat there, helpless, behind my fireplace door, listening to that baby bird chirp and scream for days—DAYS—until its tiny body gave out. And now, I’m the one who has to live with that sound burned into my brain, knowing that while it suffered, I stood there doing nothing because a gaggle of keyboard ornithologists decided to play God.

And you know what makes it worse? These smug do-nothings act like trying to save it would have been some unspeakable crime. “Oh, it’s too hard to care for a chimney swift. You’ll just make it worse!” Really? Worse than starving to death, cold and alone, in a dark fireplace while it screamed for help no one gave? Tell me, oh wise internet bird sages, how exactly trying to save it could have been worse than that.

But no. I trusted them. I believed them when they said, “The parents will feed it!” and “You’ll do more harm than good!” And now, I’m left scooping out its lifeless body, its tiny feathers sticking to my hand, knowing it could’ve been different if I’d just had the courage to ignore their bullshit.

You people sit on your high horses, spouting off about “letting nature take its course,” but let me tell you something: you don’t get to feel good about your advice when it ends in needless suffering. You weren’t here. You didn’t hear it chirping for its life. You didn’t have to pick up its broken little body. I did. And now I have to live with the fact that I listened to you instead of trusting my gut and trying to save it.

So here’s the deal: next time, I’m ignoring all of you. If it’s hard, fine. If it’s messy, fine. But at least I’ll know I did something. Because doing nothing, standing by while something suffers, and calling it “the right thing” is a lie I’ll never believe again.

Feud Capote vs the Swans, and Society

 I don’t think of these women as swans. I see them as sad, ugly ducklings who hid in expensive clothes and knew they were less than the public perceived.

Truman just shed light on how little they really were. Money can buy many things but it can’t buy someone an authentic life. these so called swans had so little thought in their brain that the only thing they chased was the admiration of a small clique who would sell them out and leave them in the cold at the drop of a hat just to keep their silly little reputation in tact.

So much I want to talk about and we will get to that in a later post but for now…

I am stunned that with all the money Ann Woodward had, that she just did not try to reinvent herself somewhere else. Why did this small little piece of society mean so much to her?

Why did Truman go after her in such a fervor?

This Blonde would have sold everything and moved with the children to Hollywood where acceptance would be accessible.

Was Truman a giant twat?  Or perhaps, he was just tired of being the token gay in a party where he was only the side show for amusement. 

I believe he secretly hated these women and the love he thought he had was misguided by the upbringing of his narcissistic mother. He was a severely wounded child that grew up as someone able to sling sticks and stones with hard typed black ink on white paper. And ultimately published to scream out his hurt to the rest of the world.

Honestly a bit funny if you think about it, he was cancelled.

Cancelled by a very silly, sad, insignificant, white privileged clique of North East Coast U.S.A that did nothing exceptional and only true gift to society was to flaunt their wealth and wear couture.

I will pick this up later, I have a first edition to “Answered Prayers”, that I need to get through and comment in Blonde sarcasm when done.

"And Just Like That", Jessica forget her suicide pack in "If Lucy Fell"

 Hold onto your eye rolls, folks, because we're about to peel back the layers of selective memory in the world of the rich and famous and dissect the glamorous strut of Carrie Bradshaw in "Sex and the City." 

Guess who found an oldie but a goodie:

The cringeworthy gem that the wise old internet seems to have misplaced, "If Lucy Fell." Oh, you can search high and low on IMDb or Wikipedia, but you won't find it there. A standing ovation for Ms. Parker's masterclass in blatant hypocrisy, anyone?

Let's dive into the cinematic treasure chest that is "If Lucy Fell." In this delightful piece of forgotten history, our dear Jessica's character dives headfirst into a pact to off themselves if they don't snag some love action by a certain deadline. But wait for it, drumroll please – she's now back in action, headlining "And Just Like That," the reincarnation of "Sex and the City" that's all about unicorns, rainbows, and sipping cosmos. Did she misplace her suicide pact along with her memory? Or is it just a case of choosing which skeletons to keep hidden?

Oh, the irony! To see someone who once starred in a film where "loveless" apparently meant "lifeless" now basking in the glory of NYC glam and giggles. Did Carrie Bradshaw get hit with a magical memory-erasing wand, or did she just decide to do a selective brain cleanse?

Let's give credit where credit is due – we've all got a laundry list of moments we'd rather not parade around. But oh, Ms. Parker, you've taken it to a whole new level of audacity. It's like she's hoping we're all too busy swooning over her Carrie comeback to notice her previous questionable choices. Hats off, Jessica, you're truly a master of illusion!

So, to all those big shots who believe their past can be buried under piles of fancy designer clothes, take a lesson from Sarah Jessica Parker – the grandmaster of the "Oh, you thought I'd remember that?" school of thought. Own up to your past messes, because guess what? We're not here to play amnesia with you.

Until we gather again to rip apart the glittery facade of Hollywood, remember folks, your past is like a pesky paparazzo – always lurking and ready to flash those unflattering shots. Stay real, stay salty, and keep calling out the hypocrites!

"If Lucy Fell", was fucking awesome. 

And if you have not seen other Eric Schaeffer movies, you would be dick because his poetry is next level!!

7-11 NOW Was Good Until this Pasty White Boy

 I surprised myself that I did not slap the living daylights out of this pasty, white, ginger boy.

His infuriatingly smug look deserved a solid beatdown. All I offered was the harshest review he had ever encountered in his life, unless he left the delivery with a 30 percent tip.

My birthday was just the other day, and I had my current passport with me. It was smart of him to take it, because I had so much going on. This cocky little guy, upon seeing the size of my house, thought he would put a rich person in their place. Unfortunately, I am not the rich one. I am the co-dependent asshole to a narcissistic Mother.

And that aside, fucking where is your judgement 7-11 NOW delivery drivers? Clearly I am over the 21 year old threshold even with an expired license by 3 days.

You are on my ban list and no company has ever gotten off of it!

Se fucking context to why I am so sick of sub-contractors and delivery people thinking I owe them a fucking salary in tips!

This house is an absolute nightmare. My dad passed away five years ago, and my mother refuses to sell this massive 8,000-square-foot house with a pool and two acres of lawn that constantly needs maintenance.

I could be just as heartless as her and let this place go. I could let her move to a nursing home in Texas, where she would likely be mistreated. As much as I want to believe I'm strong enough and cruel enough to abandon the woman who was the bane of my existence and made my life a living hell...

I am not that ugly, only lash out when pushed.

I pay for the upkeep of this house and my sisters who do nothing are just waiting on a quick-sell and check.

They conveniently disappear when it comes to this woman - known as Mother. They know she was a problem and are simply waiting for their cut of the 8 million dollars.

No, it's just me! And why?

Because that wicked woman took everything she could from all of us. I'll be damned if she squanders away this house that my Dad worked hard to build. And quite frankly the bitch does owe us something. She only had us when she thought my Dad wanted to leave her.

Gold-digger bitch 101: children are just there to keep the man and the money.

So, exercise extreme caution if you plan to bring your smug little face to my Mother's house and think you can treat me as poorly as my mother did in the past.

You ignorant, foolish Gen Z 7-11 delivery shit!

Was Mr. Big a Big Mistake? Yes! And Not for the Reasons You Think!

The hate being flung at a damn fictional character is so wild, I'm wondering if the folks binge-watching "And Just Like That" might need to binge-watch their own life choices for a sec.

So, what? You've never had the pleasure of dating someone who sucked more life out of you than your vacuum does crumbs from under the sofa? Congrats on winning at life, champ.

Abused women get the memo. Hell, they wrote it. They've been with these "prize" men.

Oh, and let's chat about Mr. Big. His fairy tale credential is showing up in a limo? Really? Throw me a tiara and call me Cinderella because I've ridden in an UberX. Does that make my driver my knight in shining armor? Have you even blinked during the entire series?

Aidan was the golden boy; we all freaking knew it. But, of course, Mr. Big had to play the emotional yo-yo, reeling her in and out whenever his lonely ass felt like it. Remember the crap fest he repeatedly dumped on her, then played the "But baby, I need you now" card?

And who's this special snowflake viewer throwing shade at Carrie for the cash Big left her? Was she supposed to be like, "Oh no, dirty money, ew!" She didn't off him. Chill.

And let's be crystal: half these keyboard warriors on social media would wrestle a bear for a nickel. You really think they'd say no to inheritance money from an Aunt or Uncle they wouldn't even send a "Happy Arbor Day" card to?

Ripping into a make-believe character? For the love of sanity, grow the FUCK UP and get a hobby! Maybe knitting? It's very therapeutic.

Truth for the sexually abused with the forever stamp!

 I would like to tell you it ends.

I would like to tell you all those horrible men that touched you, hurt you, left their cum on you and walked away as if you were nothing would go away.

I thought I beat it by not dating anyone. I thought closing the door to dating they would not find me, but they always fucking do.

I bought several sailing yachts thinking that would introduce me to better people but it did not.

At one of the marinas there is a harbor master that invited me out on his boat and I ended up sitting on a boat with naked men for 2 hours with no way of going back because I didn't bring my own tender and was stuck.

Now, I feel my boat is hostage at this one port because I am so disgusted that the stamp is still on my forehead and they saw it and I did nothing like a jerk.

I froze and played along hoping nothing would happen until I  could get back to my yacht.

If you say "why don't you say this or why don't you do that?"...you have never been sexually abused throughout your life and need to shut the fuck up.

Meanwhile my yacht is stuck in a port because I thought I was brave enough to say no and make these people go away but sadly, I am not.

I am moving my yacht because $5k to move it to another marina is less expensive to me than trying to be bold to people who creep me out.

Why can't they see I am not that person any more?!

Illuminating the LED Lie: How China and Amazon's Plastic Empire Overshadow Biden's 'Bright' Idea

 Look, let's get one thing straight here. This isn't some sugar-coated bedtime story about how we're all saving the world, one LED bulb at a time. 

Hell no!

We're standing at the precipice and the Earth is gasping for breath, climate change is kicking in the door, and we're busy patting ourselves on the back for swapping our cozy incandescent for LEDs? This is not just misguided, it's flat-out delusional.

Start holding the real culprits accountable. The Nestlés, the Coca-Colas, the PepsiCos of the world, drowning us in an unending sea of plastic waste, while we're distracted by the shiny new LED bulb.

We're stuck in a ludicrous illusion of progress, told that such half-measures are making a dent. But let's swallow the bitter pill of truth: they're not. And the real villains? The plastic-spewing behemoths like China, coupled with the insatiable consumption by corporations such as Amazon.

It's time to face some cold, hard facts. The grand total of U.S. energy saved by switching all incandescent bulbs to LEDs amounts to about 1% of our annual usage. It's a drop in the ocean.

China is the undisputed heavyweight champion of plastic production. They churn out a mind-boggling amount of plastic, much of which ends up being sold via retail giants like Amazon to "eco-conscious" consumers in the West. A perfect cycle of hypocrisy and destruction.

We can’t simply LED our way out of this mess. It's high time we targeted the real culprits. Swapping bulbs might make us feel better, but it's nothing more than a dim distraction from the glaring crisis. We need to focus on the genuine threats facing our planet: the unchecked plastic production and consumption. Otherwise, we're simply choosing to remain in the dark.

Do you really want to live in cold ice blue lighting every inch of your life's existence?

Do you want warm glow?

or Stark White?