Tag: “return on investment (ROI)

Tijuana Donkey Show

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The internet, for all its bluster about connection, is a land of empty signifiers – a million flashing neon signs advertising a product you don’t need and an experience you can never truly have.

The internet’s a goddamn circus of flickering signs, a kaleidoscope of data vomit that paints a picture as real as a three-dollar’s MAGA diamond. It bombards you with words, sure, but words ain’t experience, they’re the flimsy paper cuts on your soul after wrestling with the real. You can chase “comfy orbital habitats” all damn day online, curated realities that soothe your fragmented ego, but that’s just like snorting sugar and calling it breakfast. It’s a dopamine drip-feed, a curated reality show playing on loop in your frontal lobe.

Books, bless their dusty spines, offer a more focused fix, a chance to delve into someone else’s trip, but they’re still stuck in the muck of the Symbolic Order, that fancy academic term for the prison of language itself. They can’t capture the raw, animal howl of experience, the stuff that makes your hair stand on end and your gut clench. You can stack ’em high, these cathedrals of words, but they’ll never reach the jagged peak of the Real.

This endless pursuit of “MOAR words” online or some pre-packaged narrative in a book – and let’s be honest, books are just another capitalist hustle, a prettier way to sell you someone else’s trip – it’s all a distraction, a smoke screen to avoid the fundamental truth: language itself is fractured, a cracked mirror reflecting a shattered world. Maybe that yearning for wholeness, for some lost unity, is a primal scream against the very act of trying to pin experience down with words.

The real innovation, the goddamn Holy Grail we should be chasing, lies in confronting these limitations head-on. We gotta find ways to express the unsymbolizable, the stuff that language can only dance around like a drunk at a wedding. Music, film, art – these are the bastard children of language, the ones that break free from the chains of grammar and logic. They speak in tongues, in colors, in rhythms that bypass the intellect and resonate straight with the soul. That’s where the true journey lies, in the messy, beautiful chaos beyond the tyranny of words.

Stopping advertising to save money is like stopping your watch to save time

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This is a famous quote attributed to American author Henry Ford. The quote suggests that stopping advertising in order to save money is a counterproductive strategy because advertising is a critical component of a successful business strategy.

Advertising helps businesses to build brand awareness, reach new customers, and communicate the benefits of their products or services. By stopping advertising, a business could potentially lose out on valuable opportunities to reach its target audience, which could lead to decreased sales and revenue in the long run.

The comparison to stopping your watch to save time is a metaphorical way of emphasizing the point that stopping advertising would not actually save money in the long run, just as stopping your watch would not actually make time go slower. Both actions would be futile and counterproductive.

Only one product can maintain value as everything else is devalued refers to the idea that in a market economy where goods and services are constantly being produced and consumed, the value of most products tends to decrease over time. However, advertising is the one product that can maintain its value because it has the ability to shape consumer behavior and create demand for products.

In other words, while physical products may lose value as they become outdated or are replaced by newer models, advertising has the power to influence consumer perception and convince them that a product is still valuable and relevant.

For example, consider a smartphone that is released today. Over time, as newer and more advanced models are released, the value of this phone will decrease as it becomes outdated. However, if the company invests in advertising that highlights the phone’s unique features and benefits, it may be able to maintain or even increase its value in the eyes of consumers.

Similarly, think of a fast-food chain that introduces a new menu item. Initially, the item may be popular and in demand, but over time, as customers try it and move on to other options, the value of the item may decrease. However, through effective advertising campaigns that emphasize the item’s taste, quality, and affordability, the chain can maintain interest and demand for the product.

In essence, advertising has the power to create perceived value in the eyes of consumers, even when the intrinsic value of the product itself may be decreasing. As a result, advertising can be a valuable and effective tool for businesses looking to maintain or increase the value of their products over time.

Rules of the Game

There’s a sickness in the air. It smells like Axe body spray, fear, and poorly structured hedge funds. The streets of Wall Street are crawling with a new breed of mark: the finance bro. You know the type—high-and-tight haircut, teeth like polished marble, and a face that screams, Dad says I’m a winner. These goons are the last gasping breath of a culture that once knew how to play the long con.

Because let’s be honest—finance is the longest-running con game in American history. The goal isn’t to make money; it’s to convince people you know what to do with theirs. And once upon a time, the old money bastards of Goldman Sachs had the recipe: button-down collars, frayed at the edges, signaling generational wealth so deep it might as well have been carved into the granite of Bar Harbor. These guys didn’t sell stability—they were stability. Or at least, they played the part so well that nobody questioned it.

But today? The recipe’s gone. Dead. Burned at the altar of Instagram clout and “Disruptor Energy.” The new rich don’t know a long game from a TikTok trend. Their shirts are ironed within an inch of their lives, their watches scream I’m one bonus away from debt, and they roll up to meetings in Teslas that smell like synthetic leather and desperation.

THE RULES OF THE GAME

You want to con the new rich? It’s easy—because they want to be conned. They’re just begging for it, sitting in glass-walled offices, hoping someone will come along and whisper, You belong. Here’s how you do it:

1. THE BUTTON-DOWN COLLAR IS A WEAPON

The old Goldman geezers knew this. The button-down isn’t just a shirt—it’s a statement: I am not like you. A frayed collar says you summer in Nantucket, your great-grandfather was an admiral, and your family’s trust fund could buy and sell the entire population of Silicon Valley. But here’s the trick: you don’t say any of that. You let the shirt do the talking. If it looks too clean, too new, you might as well tattoo NEW MONEY on your forehead.

2. DRESS LIKE YOU DON’T CARE

This is crucial. The real players don’t wear tailored suits—they wear suits that look tailored by accident. Your shoes should be old enough to have a story but polished enough to keep the peasants guessing. Think shabby, but in a way that costs more than the average finance bro’s monthly rent.

3. NEVER OUTSHINE THE MARK

The old Goldman sharks understood this. The client—some juiced-up tech guy with a soft spot for crypto—doesn’t want to feel like you’re richer than him, even if you are. Your job is to make him think he’s the one with vision, while you quietly pocket the fees. Compliment his Rolex, but act like you don’t recognize the brand. This will drive him insane.

4. SPEAK IN CODE

Don’t say returns; say stability. Don’t say investment; say legacy. Use words like provenance and endowment. These are terms that make the new rich feel like they’ve wandered into an exclusive club where everyone speaks a dead language. They’ll pay anything to stay.

5. LOOK BORED

The rich are allergic to enthusiasm. Nothing terrifies them more than someone who seems like they need the job. Your demeanor should suggest that managing their money is a mildly annoying favor you’re doing because your father once played squash with their uncle.

THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CON

Rich people—especially the new rich—are deeply insecure. They don’t want your money advice; they want your approval. The old-money types had this figured out decades ago. They understood that wealth is as much about optics as it is about numbers. A frayed collar, a half-smile, a well-placed anecdote about the family summer house in Maine—that’s all it took.

But the finance bros? They’ve traded all that for LinkedIn posts about “grind culture” and suits that look like rejected Fast & Furious costumes. These guys don’t just lose money—they lose the plot. And they’re sitting ducks for anyone who knows how to play the game.

So pour yourself a stiff drink, dust off an old Brooks Brothers button-down, and start practicing your dead-eyed stare. The rich are still as gullible as ever—they’ve just forgotten the rules. Time to remind them.

Now listen, you probably don’t want anything to do with this racket—because you’re probably not rich, or even knew rich. That’s fine. Good for you. Rich people are their own punishment. They’re like megafauna, lumbering across the earth, oblivious to the world they crush beneath their gold-plated hooves. You can admire their size, sure—but keep your distance. They’re dangerous, and they have no idea you exist.

Still, it’s good to know this stuff. File it under Interesting Things About stuff. Because while you might not want to cozy up to a rhinoceros, it’s useful to know how to dodge one—or, if you’re feeling bold, how to sabotage it.

But if you’re smart, you’ll stay clear of the megafauna altogether. Watch them from the safety of the tree line, take notes, and maybe—just maybe—save a few sticks of dynamite for later.

Because in the world that is coming things are going to get real weird, real soon. The megafauna are already teetering on the brink, crashing into transcendence like a once-proud dinosaur unable to handle the weight of its own hubris. And when the dust settles, it’ll be the small, scrappy creatures—the ones who know how to hide in the cracks, nibble around the edges, and adapt on the fly—that will carry on. The world belongs to the rats, the cockroaches, the survivors.

Just make sure to stay out of the way when their transcendence does not materialize, and they realize that they’re stuck in this planet full of rats like you.

Exactly. When their transcendence doesn’t materialize, when they realize they’re stuck on this cracked, decaying planet with nothing but the rats left—that’s when the real show begins. The megafauna will wake up to the fact that they’ve hitched their wagon to a broken system, and no amount of golden handshakes or tech bro dreams will pull them out of the hole they’ve dug for themselves.

And you, the rat, will be in the corner, sipping a drink, watching the chaos unfold. You’ll be the one who knows how to thrive in the wreckage, adapting and slipping through cracks they never even saw coming. The rats will rule because they know how to survive when the world as they knew it collapses.

So yeah, stay out of their way. Let them stew in their own collapse as they try to cling to the illusion of transcendence, while you keep your head down and do what you do best: survive. Because, in the end, when the megafauna fall, the rats are the ones who rebuild.