We’ve officially reached peak commercial absurdity. If you need evidence, look no further than the Christmas card “from the bump.” Yes, apparently, unborn children are now penning heartfelt missives to family members. Just to clarify: the bump hasn’t even taken its first breath, let alone learned to write. Yet here it is, apparently sipping on amniotic fluid and waxing lyrical about how it can’t wait to “meet Grandma and Grandad this Christmas.” Honestly, what’s next? Valentine’s cards from your houseplants? “Dear Owner, I photosynthesise better when you’re around. Love, Fern xoxo.” The Evolution of Ridiculous Cards Once upon a time, greetings cards served a simple, noble purpose. Birthdays. Weddings. “Sorry for your loss.” Boom. Done. But the card industry, fuelled by a monstrous cocktail of capitalism and an overactive imagination, decided to up the ante. Now, you can buy cards for every conceivable occasion, non-occasion, and existential crisis. There are cards from pets (“Happy Birthday from Woofy!”), cards for divorces (“Congrats on getting rid of that loser!”), and even sympathy cards for breakups (“Sorry about your ex—he was a bit of a knob.”). And now, cards from bumps. What’s the intended emotional payoff here? Are we supposed to tear up at the thought of foetal sentimentality? Is Grandma meant to hug her card and whisper, “Thank you, little zygote”? Other Industries Losing the Plot It’s not just the card world that’s gone bananas. Commercialism is infiltrating every corner of our lives, and there seems to be no limit to the nonsense we’ll slap a price tag on. 1. Pet-Specific Products The pet industry is in a league of its own. Dog ice cream? Cat yoga mats? Don’t get me wrong, I love animals, but does Fluffy the cat really need an organic, gluten-free advent calendar? And don’t even get me started on pet weddings. It’s bad enough I have to RSVP to Brenda’s third marriage, let alone her chihuahua’s. 2. Luxury Water Water used to be simple. Tap or bottled, end of story. But now, we’ve got “raw water” (basically pond water for rich people) and “black water” that looks like someone poured their cold brew down the wrong sink. Oh, and don’t forget the brands that insist their water has been “lovingly harvested from ancient Arctic glaciers.” Sounds refreshing—until you remember it costs £20 a bottle and the planet’s melting. 3. Subscription Services for Literally Anything The subscription box industry has also run amok. Cheese-of-the-month? Cool, fine. But then there’s “airplane mode snacks” and “artisan twigs for your fireplace.” At what point do we admit we’ve gone too far? Somewhere out there, someone is paying £30 a month for a box of ethically sourced moss. Who Is Actually Buying These Things? I’m convinced the people buying “from the bump” cards and artisanal pet hoodies are the same folks who make us all feel inadequate on Instagram. You know, the ones with perfectly curated lives, who “just can’t” without their personalised dog champagne flutes. But for the rest of us, it’s baffling. Do I buy my mum a card “from the bump” to prove I’m an attentive child myself? Do I send my goldfish a Valentine’s card because “Gary’s been there for me through thick and thin”? Is this how society crumbles? Not with a bang, but with a Hallmark card for every molecule in the universe? The Endgame of Commercialism The truth is, capitalism thrives on inventing problems we didn’t even know we had. The card industry isn’t selling sentiment; it’s selling guilt. Because if you don’t buy “Merry Christmas from your neighbour’s goldfish”, are you even festive? And if you’re not festive, are you even human? It’s not about the product; it’s about the message. Not the one in the card, but the one the card sends about you. “Look how thoughtful I am! I bought you a card from my unborn child, proving I’m not just a good parent-to-be—I’m the best.” A Modest Proposal Here’s my suggestion: let’s take this commercial madness to its logical conclusion. Cards from inanimate objects. “Merry Christmas from the toaster: I’ll keep your mornings warm.” Or how about “Happy Valentine’s Day from the microwave: You make my heart beep”? Let’s embrace the ridiculousness, lean into it, and bankrupt the system with its own nonsense. Maybe then, when the dust settles, we can go back to the days when a Christmas card from a person—just one single, thoughtful person—meant something. Until then, I’ll be here, waiting for a card from my umbrella telling me to “stay dry this rainy season.”

Ah, Apple. The darling of tech enthusiasts who wear their devices like fashion statements. The brand that turned “Think Different” into “Think Expensive” and somehow convinced an entire generation that carrying a charger for your laptop and your dongle collection is peak sophistication. Let me be clear: Apple makes brilliant products – for people who value simplicity, aesthetics, and being part of a high-tech country club. For me? Apple is about as appealing as a soggy biscuit. Let’s break it down logically…

In a timeline that seems more like speculative fiction than reality, Elon Musk has gone from tech titan to social media overlord to potential government official under a Trump-led administration. Yes, you read that right. Musk, who purchased Twitter (now rebranded as “X”) for a casual $44 billion, has transformed the platform into an ideological echo chamber and is now positioning himself for a job in the next Republican government. For anyone paying attention, it’s both a chilling and fascinating development—one that raises unsettling questions about the future of Twitter, the United States, and the very nature of democracy in the digital age.

It’s finally happening: X is shedding users faster than a reality show loses relevance after its finale. Post-election, a virtual mass migration has begun, with waves of weary souls leaving the once-beloved bird app behind and flocking to BlueSky. Why? Because X—formerly known as Twitter, but currently known as a 24/7 circus of bots, propaganda, and rage—has officially gone full dystopia. And when a place like BlueSky exists, where the air’s clearer and the conversations less…deranged, the choice seems obvious.

Ah, Christmas. A time for love, family, and orchestrating a performance so grand it could sweep the Oscars for Best Avoidance of Domestic Duties. This year, I found myself starring in an unscripted production I like to call “The Strategic Art of Weaponised Incompetence: A Christmas Kitchen Survival Story.” The goal? Escape from the culinary trenches without being labelled a complete scrooge.