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Sunday, July 20, 2025

  July 20, 2025    


You can't scroll through YouTube these days without being bombarded by thumbnails screaming about AI.

“Get Rich With AI.”
“AI Made Me a Millionaire This Year.”

It's everywhere. And the promises? Overblown.

But beneath all the hype, we need to ask a serious question:

What Are These Creators Really Promoting?

Are they genuinely trying to teach people how to build something meaningful using tools like Chat-GPT?

Or are they pushing the idea that AI should replace your brain, your effort, and your need to learn real skills?

In more than 90% of cases—it's the latter. And that’s where I draw the line.

When AI Is Misused for Profit

It’s become all too common: a YouTuber sits in front of a camera claiming they’re going to earn a full-time income in just six months. How?

By taking a client’s request, pasting it into Chat-GPT, waiting five minutes, and sending it back like they wrote it themselves.

This isn’t just misleading—it’s the exact opposite of how language models should be used.

The Long-Term Cost of Mental Laziness

Here’s what genuinely worries me: the next generation of AI users.

Technology is accelerating, but it’s also making us lazier. And quietly, it's taking a toll on our memory and thinking skills.

Think about it—
When was the last time you manually dialed your mother’s number?
Can you even remember your best friend’s phone number without looking?

If you can, good. If not, you're already relying on tech for something your brain used to handle easily.

Skill Doesn’t Stand a Chance Against “Generate”

Now we’re watching skilled professionals—people with real degrees in English, Communications, and Marketing—get forced to compete with AI-generated fluff and the people passing it off as original work.

People who can barely write a coherent sentence are now selling themselves as “copywriters,” because they’ve learned how to click "generate."

It's frustrating.
It's insulting.
And it’s blurring the line between professional work and digital fraud.

The Warning No One Wants to Hear

This isn’t just about freelancing, or job markets, or competition.

This is about your mind.

Use it.
Read. Write. Learn. Speak.

Because if you stop doing those things—if you let AI do all the thinking, writing, and expressing—you’ll slowly lose your ability to:

  • Think

  • Memorize

  • Learn

  • Communicate

That’s the real danger.

AI Is Powerful—but It’s Not You

Let me reiterate: AI isn’t the enemy. I use Chat-GPT myself.

  • I use it to research topics.

  • I use it to help refine things I’ve already written.

  • It saves time and offers useful insights.

But I don’t let it write for me.
Because a tool is not a brain.

And when people rely on AI to churn out content and pass it off as their own, it’s not clever—it’s embarrassing.

Or at least, it should be.

The Bottom Line

If you care about the future of creativity, have a sense of integrity, and value critical thinking—then treat AI like the tool it is.

Use it wisely.
Don’t hand over the wheel.

Because once you stop using your brain…
you’ll forget how.

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Monday, July 14, 2025

What Are We Watching? The Rise of Human Decay Livestreams

  July 14, 2025    

I was scrolling through YouTube recently — minding my own business — when the algorithm decided to throw me straight into the abyss.


Not Shorts. Not clips.
Livestreams.
Except these weren’t game streams or commentary panels or anything remotely productive.
No, what I stumbled into looked like a bizarre mix between public access TV and a psychiatric episode in real time.

People yelling at their dogs.
People smoking while stuffing their faces.
A man in a hot tub. A woman twerking behind him.
Another person clearly on psychedelics, mumbling into the void.
Trash bags in the background. Broken teeth. Grease-stained shirts.
One guy looked like he lived in his car. Another might have been livestreaming from under a bridge.

It was like someone handed a smartphone to society’s most unwell and said:

“Go nuts. You’re live.”

🧠 How Diseased Are We?

This is not just disturbing — it’s depressing.

Because people watch this.
They tune in. They comment. They send money.
They’re watching someone yell into a cracked phone camera while eating pasta with their hands — and thinking, “Yeah, I’ll throw five bucks at this.”

Why?

What are we doing when we encourage this behavior?
What are we consuming, and what is it consuming in us?

Because no, the people eating noodles shirtless in a filthy car aren’t becoming the next Steve Jobs. They’re not trailblazers.

They’re suffering.
They’re decaying.
And somehow, that’s been turned into a livestream genre.

💸 The Rise of Digital Panhandling

I’m not criticizing people for being broke. I’ve been there.
But let’s call this what it is: a new form of begging.

Except instead of standing on a street corner, it’s all done through YouTube’s super chat, Cash App handles, Venmo QR codes, GoFundMe links.
Begging — broadcast in real time, monetized by clicks.

And the worst part?
It’s not even clear who’s exploiting whom.
Are viewers taking advantage of the spectacle?
Or are streamers taking advantage of sympathetic strangers willing to pay for their misery?

Maybe both.

And I know — someone will say, “Well, they have a phone, so they must not be struggling that much.”
But you can buy a used smartphone for $100 and still not have a place to shower.
Technology is cheap. Dignity isn’t.

⚖️ Helping vs. Enabling

There’s a world of difference between helping someone in need and funding dysfunction.

You want to help someone?
Make a meal. Volunteer downtown. Support a sober-living program. Hand someone a coat in winter.
But watching someone spiral in real time while tossing coins into the digital tin cup?

That’s not help. That’s entertainment at someone else’s expense.

🧼 Final Thought

We’re watching people unravel on screen.
We’re tuning into someone’s breakdown like it’s a new season of reality TV.
And YouTube? YouTube is just fine with it — because it keeps us scrolling, keeps us watching, and keeps the money flowing.

This is not content.
It’s not art.
It’s not even curiosity anymore.

It’s a symptom of a culture that’s forgotten what it means to care — and is too numb to notice.

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Desperately Seeking Subscribers: The Gospel of Stephen Bartlett

  July 14, 2025    


If you’ve spent more than five minutes on YouTube, you’ve seen it:

The script.
The same worn-out, pre-chewed plea every creator seems to use.

“Before we get started, don’t forget to like and subscribe!”

Honestly? I’d rather gargle thumbtacks.
Don’t insult my intelligence by begging me to click a button — especially if I’ve just landed on your channel and don’t even know if you're awful yet.

Enter Stephen Bartlett, the Sultan of Smug, the CEO of Condescension, and perhaps the most overqualified subscriber-beggar on the entire internet.

You might know him as the host of Diary of a CEO, Europe’s leading podcast for vague conversations about healing your inner child while drinking imported oat milk in a concrete bunker.

But podcasting is just the latest coat of polish. Let’s rewind.

📈 The Bartlett Resume

Stephen’s website proudly informs us that he’s a:

  • Entrepreneur

  • Speaker

  • Investor

  • Author

  • Dragon (yes, as in Dragon’s Den)

  • Host of Europe’s #1 podcast

All self-declared, of course.

He dropped out of Manchester Metropolitan University and founded something called Wallpark — essentially a student classifieds site. His big break came when he co-founded Social Chain, a social media agency that merged with a public company to become Social Chain AG.

He’s since:

  • Invested in wellness companies like Huel and Zoe

  • Dabbled in biotech, blockchain, and space tech

  • Launched Flightstory, a media and investment company with a name that sounds like an app that tells you your plane is delayed in 4K

So yes—he’s successful. Loaded, even. He’s made his money, built his empire, and cashed in his credibility.

And yet…
He still does this:

“This has always blown my mind a little bit — 53% of you that listen to the show regularly haven’t yet subscribed. So could I ask you for a favor before we start…?”

Oh, Stephen.
You’re podcasting from a studio that looks like it was designed by a Scandinavian cult leader, your bookshelf alone is worth more than my car, and you want me to support your channel?

Are we crowdfunding your next LED wall?
Paying for a new assistant to handcraft your oat milk foam?

🤳 Why Are We Still Playing This Game?

Stephen Bartlett is a multi-millionaire.
He’s got brand deals, business ventures, books, and a platform the algorithm worships like a golden calf.

So why is someone who clearly doesn’t need more still begging for subscribers like he’s one click away from homelessness?

The truth?
It’s not about the support. It’s about the data. The reach. The ads.
More subscribers = more traffic = more money across every business touchpoint he owns.

And that’s fine. It’s business.
But let’s not pretend it’s anything else.

🧠 “We’ll Listen to Your Feedback…”

He says this, every episode. 

“We’ll listen to your feedback… we’ll find the guests you want… we’ll serve this community…”

Right.

I wrote to his team. Twice.
I had a business idea. It was something different, something I believed in. I wasn’t asking for mentorship — just insight, a comment, a crumb of guidance.

Not only did I not hear from Stephen.
I didn’t even get a generic, automated response. Not even a “Thanks for reaching out.”
So no, Stephen. You’re not listening to your audience. You’re curating your guests for click potential, not connection.

💸 What Are We Supporting, Exactly?

When Stephen stares into that fancy red-lens camera and says he’s committed to giving back to the audience—he’s not handing out scholarships or feeding the homeless.
He’s interviewing millionaires and influencers with matching beige sweaters.

What are we really supporting when we subscribe to Diary of a CEO?
The algorithm? Another luxury watch?

🧼 Clean Up the Script, Stephen

Stephen Bartlett uses the same language as small creators trying to hit 1,000 subs.
The same tone.
The same “help support the channel” pitch.

Except he’s not struggling.
He’s not bootstrapping.
He’s not podcasting from a garage eating ramen.
He is the algorithm's golden boy, and he knows it.

So please, Stephen—stop pretending that subscribing to your multimillion-dollar podcast is some kind of humanitarian act.

We see you.
And we’re not falling for it.

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Poetry in a Fat Body: When Activism Becomes Ambiguity

  July 14, 2025    


You know you’re in for a treat when an influencer opens their mouth and what comes out sounds like they were forced to read a ransom letter by the woke mob.

Take this little gem I came across recently — a line from a Dove campaign, no less:

“My belief is that we should be centering the voices and experiences of the most marginalized people and communities at all times.”

At all times?
Even when ordering a sandwich? Buying socks? At the DMV? I'm sorry, but if you're out here trying to center marginalization while standing in line at Target, I think maybe you've lost the plot.

The statement continues:

“Fat liberation looks like making accessible spaces and having conversations that are aware of the fact that people have different bodies...”

What does that even mean? Chairs with hydraulic lifts? Conversation starters that begin with, “So what’s it like to exist in a rotund shape?”

Then there’s this mouthful:

“People have different bodies and they are interacting with space and people and institutions and communities in a different way.”

Great, we’ve just discovered that bodies exist in space. Someone alert NASA.

This isn’t activism. This is abstract performance art. It’s the spoken-word version of shrugging while sounding deep. The kind of talk that uses ten syllables where one will do — all to avoid saying something real, measurable, or challenging.

Let me know if you want to keep going with this — we can expand on:

  • The empty, vague language these influencers use to sound thoughtful without taking risks

  • How brands like Dove tokenize this nonsense to appear “inclusive” while doing literally nothing

  • And how “fat liberation” campaigns are becoming content farms for clout-hungry creators with no substance

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Fat Bodies, Fantastic Body Image, and the Kindergarten Crisis

  July 14, 2025    


Every time I hear someone say “I had a fantastic body image until I started kindergarten,” I laugh so hard I almost pull a muscle. I couldn't name you a single, solitary 5-year-old with a grasp on the concept of “body image.” Aren't they too busy trying to figure out how to score another lollipop without asking twice.

But in the land of online fat activism, this kind of melodramatic rewriting of childhood is treated like gospel. Suddenly, everyone was a body-positive baby philosopher until society ruined them.

YOU were not born a fat person. You were born a normal-weight human being, like the rest of us. You became fat through the choices you made and the habits you adopted. And that’s okay. But please stop pretending that being fat is unchangeable or worse an identity. 

And while we're here, can we talk about the terminology?

  • “Living in a higher-weight body”

  • “Navigating the world in a fat body”

  • “Bodied experiences of marginalization”

These phrases are like trying to describe a flood with a scented candle. All fluff, no substance. You are not living in a fat body like you and IT are two separate things. That is your body. You're not in a temporary fat suit waiting for liberation. There’s not a “thin person inside you just dying to get out.” There’s just you — right now — and you’re either dealing with it honestly or spinning this into another tall tale for your online followers. Get a real life, cuz this is cringe!

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Fat Things Festival: When Activism Becomes A Sizzle Reel

  July 14, 2025    


Ah, Philly FatCon—the land of “Free the Jiggle” classes, hoards of XL racks promising belonging, and vendors selling art that screams “Yes, I have body hair.” It all sounds well and good… until you realize this whole thing might be less about fighting discrimination and more about monetizing the “F-word.”

💰 Marketing By Weight: The True Agenda?

Everyone’s buzzing: “Body positivity!” “Safe space!” “Empowerment!” Meanwhile, someone’s making money every time the word fat hits the headline, and that’s the true convention center.

It’s not just therapy sessions and affirmations — it’s a mini-economy. Clothing swaps, class tickets, vendor booths, yoga mats, fashion panels. Doesn’t matter that discrimination is still legal in 48 states—what matters is selling the myth that showing up equals changing the world.

🍿 A Look at the “Activities”

  • “Fat & Fashionable” panel — where influencers teach you how to look good while capitalizing on your curves.

  • Twerk-lesque and “free the jiggle” classes — because nothing says empowerment like paying $25 to shake your butt in a university gym.

  • Plus-Size Swap + Shop — clothes you bring in, clothes you buy out. Capitalism disguised as community.

Don’t get me wrong, feeling safe is great. But when healing looks suspiciously like a well-designed vendor mall, you’ve got to ask: Is it activism or enterprise?

🎭 Selling Identity for Profit

We've gone from “fat acceptance” to “fat branding.”

Attendees say they “needed people like them” — understandable. But the problem is, this need is being packaged. Need safe spaces? Here’s an entrance fee. Want dignity? Pay again. Need healing? Add the optional merch.

Every festival also double-dips as a marketing funnel. Book deals, clothing lines, coaching services — all with “fat liberation” as the hook. The message becomes: Be proud. Oh, and be a consumer too.

🔚 Final Bite

Philly FatCon might feel like a hug. But behind the warm vibes is a business model: How many times can we say “fat” before the cash register pings?

True empowerment grows in the streets, in policy battles, not in ticketed “fat heal and deal” expos. Until they take their show on the road — past the yoga mats and vendor tables — it’s not a movement. It’s a marketing event dressed in solidarity.


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The Deli Chic Collection: When Fashion Becomes Lunch

  July 14, 2025    

I’ve never looked at a bowl of spaghetti bolognese and thought, “Yeah... that would make a great shirt.” But apparently, designer Rachel Antonoff has — and according to Forbes contributor Virgie Tovar, if you’re in the market for a caviar skirt or a radicchio top, this woman’s got your back.

I don’t know why anyone would need a skirt printed with fish eggs or a blouse that screams “salad bar,” but to wear this stuff in public? You’d need a massive set of balls and absolutely no mirrors in your house.

Let’s talk about the shirt for a moment. You know the one. The vibrant mashup of magenta, celery green, and rotting produce red. It’s not just ugly — it’s confusing. It looks like someone raided the clearance bin at Whole Foods, threw everything into a blender, and screen-printed the results onto cotton. There’s no aesthetic here — it’s a crime scene from the vegan aisle. A botanical brawl. A Magic Eye puzzle made of cabbage and regret.



One of my favorite moments in this fever dream of an article is a quote from Antonoff herself:

“We’re a small, tight team and everyone kind of does a million jobs, so I feel like design is truly influenced by more than just the design team.”

Right. Clearly, it’s also influenced by the produce section at Save-A-Lot, where vegetables go to die.

And then, we get to the heart of the radicchio madness:

“The print was inspired by overhearing in-depth conversations in the office about what everyone is ordering for lunch.”

Are you hearing this? We are now making fashion design decisions based on what someone ordered on DoorDash. Imagine building an entire clothing line around office lunch gossip. Socrates could’ve spent his time contemplating arugula, but instead, he gave us philosophy. Meanwhile, these people are giving us $180 cabbage shirts.

Oh — and just when you think it can’t get any dumber, enter the submarine sandwich–themed knit.

“The sandwich print is based on a hoagie,” Antonoff adds, like that’s a normal thing to say.

Fashion, ladies and gentlemen. Haute couture now includes bread.

Imagine wearing a sweater that looks like a ham and cheese sub. Do you go to brunch in it or get tackled by a hungry pelican? The sandwich knit isn’t just silly — it’s performance art for people who think mayonnaise is a personality.

Honestly, the only thing missing from this collection is a Capri Sun–shaped clutch and a Lunchables belt. We are one kombucha print away from a full-on charcuterie chic movement.

Look — fashion used to make statements. It used to be art. Now it just says,


Would you like fries with that?

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The Copy-Paste Epidemic: Why YouTube Is Drowning in Stolen Content

  July 14, 2025    

 Ever scroll through YouTube and feel like you’re stuck in some glitchy simulation?

Same voices. Same clips. Same regurgitated nonsense just rearranged, repackaged, and re-uploaded with a new thumbnail and a fresh coat of clickbait.

Welcome to the golden age of lazy success.
Where originality is optional.
Where effort is invisible.
Where “content creator” means "person who knows how to use a screen recorder."

And no—I’m not here to sugarcoat it.
I’m not here to “support all creators.”
So yeah, call me salty. But I’m not going to shut up about it. Because this trend? It’s an eyesore, and it’s rotting the platform from the inside out.

🎬 The Lazy Man’s Blueprint for Success

You don’t need talent anymore.
You don’t need ideas.
Heck, you don’t even need opinions.

All you need is access to someone else’s content and a working “download” button. Toss in a fake reaction, maybe a nod, or one half-hearted line like “wow that was crazy,” and boom—you’re a YouTuber now.

These people aren’t trying to build communities. They’re not pushing culture forward.
They just want the golden ticket: monetization.
Which, hey—fine. YouTube is a business platform. If you’re promoting a real product, brand, or service, more power to you.

But that’s not what we’re talking about here.

We’re talking about content scavengers—people who wake up, steal someone else’s work, repackage it, and let the algorithm do the rest.

🧪 Exhibit A: The Perseverance

A whole channel built on Charlie Kirk clips.
Occasional commentary? Maybe a pause and a breathy “Guys… whew. Just watch.”
No opinion. No depth. Just echo.

And here's the kicker:
According to his bio, he lives in the UK.
But based on his accent, he's clearly not from there originally—and I’m not here to accent shame, but when your channel is built on U.S. politics and you can barely string together an understandable sentence… we have a problem.

Oh, and the American flag in the background?
I guess that’s supposed to make us think he’s a Constitution-loving patriot—never mind the fact that he clearly knows nothing about the country he’s exploiting for views.

Now he’s “leveled up” with a bigger desk, a coffee mug, and a pen in hand—as if he’s taking notes. Spoiler: He’s not.
He’s reading off ChatGPT.
And no, he is not Douglas Murray. Not even close.

🧪 Exhibit B: Momentum Mode

Format:

  • One still image of Shaolin monk Shi Heng Yi

  • One stolen voice clip

  • Twenty minutes of background noise

  • Zero effort

He uploads the same speech over and over again like it's sacred scripture. This isn’t content creation—it’s digital loitering.

🧪 Exhibit C: Aftershock Real Crime

This one doesn’t even try to fake it.
Just full TV episodes ripped straight from cable. No editing, no watermark, no intro—nothing.
And the algorithm? Loves it.
Meanwhile, real true crime creators who actually write, narrate, and research get buried.

🧪 Exhibit D: The Wisdom of the Future

Another monk clone channel. Same image. Same speeches. Different usernames.
Shi Heng Yi is basically the public domain mascot of YouTube now.
If I were him, I’d start charging royalties for every pixel of his face used without permission.

🧪 Exhibit E: Moutivation Life

Yes, that’s “motivation” spelled wrong.
But apparently spelling doesn’t matter when your strategy is:

  1. Find monk

  2. Upload monk

  3. Repeat 28 times
    Straight from Morocco, with love… and stolen audio.

🧨 Why Does This Even Work?

Because nobody cares where content comes from anymore.
As long as it fills the silence, it's good enough. People just want background noise while they eat, scroll, sleep, repeat.

And yeah, I could do it too. I could cut up a Joe Rogan clip, toss in a floating monk, and hit upload. But something in me recoils at the thought. Because if you can cheat your way to attention, what does that say about the platform? About the audience? About us?

🧠 This Is Bigger Than Laziness

This isn’t just about copying.
It’s about a culture addicted to shortcuts.
A culture that rewards manipulation over message.
A culture where having something to say is less important than knowing how to game the system.

YouTube used to be a stage for expression.
Now it’s a recycling plant for secondhand thoughts.

The phrase “content creator” used to mean you created something.
Now it just means you hit upload.

⚰️ What You’ll Never Get

You might get your views.
You might cash your AdSense check.
You might even trick a few thousand people into thinking you’re doing something meaningful.

But what you won’t get is legacy.
You won’t get respect.
You won’t get impact.

Eventually, the clips run dry. The voiceovers blur. The act wears thin.
And you become just another ghost in the algorithm—forgotten as fast as you were copied.

🧱 So Yeah, I’m Gonna Keep Talking

If even one person reads this and decides to make something instead of steal something—then it was worth the rant.

Because originality still matters.
Effort still matters.
And in a world drowning in copy-paste culture, someone’s got to stand up and say:

Enough.

And for the record—don’t even think about stealing this blog post, this voice, or this message.

I made this. I meant this.
And if you're too lazy to create something of your own, do the rest of us a favor:

Keep your grubby little screen recorder away from mine.

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