Old Guy Satire

The Day the Visa Fraud Department Called God

The global economy is currently being sustained by underpaid telemarketers terrified that they might accidentally scam the Almighty.

I know this because "Karen" from the Visa Security Center called me at 9:15 this morning. Karen had a booming, unmistakable East Indian accent, a script that claimed my bank account was being liquidated by a phantom Amazon purchase, and the misfortune of dialling a guy who has run completely out of patience for people who prey on the elderly.

I’ve reached the age where I don't just hang up anymore. If you're going to interrupt my morning coffee to try and steal my pension, you’re going to have to work for it.

So, I let her finish her pitch. And then I went to work.

"Karen," I said, dropping my voice into the deepest, most authoritative register I could muster. "I am so glad you finally called. You haven't actually reached a customer. You’ve been rerouted. This is God."

There was a long, static-filled pause on the other end of the line. I could hear the faint hum of a hundred other "Karens" in the background, all trying to rob someone’s grandmother in Ohio, but my Karen had gone completely rigid.

"I’ve been monitoring your file," I continued, letting the quiet weight of eternity settle over the line. "And frankly, I’m deeply concerned about your mortal soul. This path you’re on—lying to seniors, draining the savings of vulnerable people who don't know any better—it doesn't end well for you. We need to talk about where you're going when this shift over."

I didn’t yell. I didn’t swear. I just offered her a very direct, very personalized preview of damnation.

Click.

She hung up. No defensive argument, no automated customer service pivot. Just the sudden, desperate panic of a scammer realizing that eternity might actually be listening to the line.

Look, we all have to make a living. I’ve worked jobs I hated, and I’ve swallowed my pride to put food on the table. But there is a line between surviving and predatory rot. If you're spending your days trying to trick grandmas out of their grocery money, you aren't just working a bad job; you’re actively bankrupting your own humanity.

I don't know if Karen went back to her script after that, or if she took an early lunch to rethink her life choices. But I like to think that somewhere in a crowded call center halfway across the world, there’s a woman looking very nervously at her phone, wondering if the next beep is just a guy from Peoria, or the Creator of the Universe checking in on her metrics.

Anger Management vs. Stupid Management

You know, I’ve spent years—decades even—trying to “manage my anger.” Breathing exercises, counting to ten, imagining a peaceful meadow where nobody talks to me. The whole wellness routine.

But today it hit me like a shopping cart to the ankles:
I’ve been managing the wrong thing.

It’s not my anger that needs managing.
It’s the stupidity of the people who cause the anger in the first place.

All this time I’ve been trying to stay calm while folks do things like:

Stop in the middle of a doorway to have a full‑length conversation about absolutely nothing

Drive like they’re being paid by the brake pedal

Ask questions that Google could answer faster than I can roll my eyes

Offer advice they clearly don’t follow themselves

And my personal favourite: “I didn’t think it would matter.”
(It always matters. Always.)

So from now on, I’m switching programs.
No more Anger Management.
I’m enrolling in Stupid Management.

It’s simple:

If you’re about to say something stupid, I’ll give you one warning look.

If you continue, I’ll redirect you like a malfunctioning Roomba.

If you insist on being proudly, aggressively stupid…
Well, that’s when I practice my deep breathing.
Not for me—
for your safety.

Honestly, I feel liberated.
Turns out I’m not an angry old guy.
I’m just a man surrounded by people who make anger the only reasonable response.

I have a question.

Who invented kissing?

Seriously. At some point in human history, two people looked at each other and thought, “You know what would really show affection? Pressing our food holes together.”

And the other person said, “Yes. That seems reasonable.”

And just like that, a global tradition was born.

Think about it for a second.

Out of all the possible ways humans could have shown affection, we settled on the one that involves smashing faces together and swapping microscopic organisms like Pokémon cards.

You meet someone you like.
Your brain says, “This person seems wonderful.”
Your immune system says, “Absolutely not.”

But love overrules biology.

Dogs sniff each other.
Birds sing songs.
Humans go straight to lip-to-lip microbial exchange and call it romance.

And the strange part is that it works.

You can shake someone’s hand for ten years and feel nothing.
But kiss the right person once, and suddenly your brain releases chemicals like it just won the lottery.

Which means somewhere deep in human evolution a committee decided:

“Let’s reward face collision with happiness.”

Old Guy Wisdom for the week:

Human beings are incredibly complicated creatures.

We invented agriculture, airplanes, and the internet.

And then we celebrate romance by gently headbutting each other’s mouths.

Nature is a mysterious designer.

But you have to admit…

It’s a pretty good system.

Satirical Disclaimer:
This is satire. No romance was scientifically harmed in the making of this observation.

Unlimited Stupidity Detected

Satirical Disclaimer:
This is satire. If you recognize yourself in the examples below, please remain calm and do not attempt to argue with the mirror.

BREAKING: Scientists have confirmed that humans possess an unlimited capacity for stupidity.

The study was unnecessary, of course. We have been running field trials all year.

At first, researchers assumed stupidity had limits. Perhaps a ceiling. Maybe a natural boundary where people would pause and say, “Wait… this might be dumb.”

But no.

Human stupidity appears to function like the universe. It expands constantly, and nobody is entirely sure what is driving it.

Every time you think we have reached peak stupidity, someone invents a brand new way to surprise us.

Just when you believe the bar cannot go any lower, someone digs a basement and installs WiFi.

You would think evolution would have helped with this. We developed language, tools, agriculture, satellites, artificial intelligence…

…and we still argue with strangers on the internet about things we could learn in six seconds.

It is actually impressive when you think about it.

We have supercomputers in our pockets, and we mostly use them to prove to each other that we have absolutely no intention of using them.

Old Guy Wisdom for the week:

Human intelligence built airplanes, vaccines, and space telescopes.

Human stupidity reads the instructions and says, “Yeah… but what if I just ignored all that?”

Nobody Rolls Up Their Sleeves Anymore

Satirical Disclaimer:
This is satire. If you feel personally attacked, please take a short nap and try not to resign from it halfway through.

You know what the real problem is?

Nobody rolls their sleeves up anymore.

We used to roll up our sleeves to work. Now people roll up their sleeves to take a selfie about how exhausting it sounds.

I swear, you could assign some folks the job of sleeping, and they would wake up tired, call a meeting about it, and then quit by noon.

“Honestly, the expectations were unclear.”
“Was I supposed to dream proactively?”
“I just didn’t feel supported by the pillow.”

Back in the day, if something needed doing, you did it. You didn’t form a task force to explore your feelings about it while requesting flexible nap hours and a wellness stipend.

We have reached a point where the phrase “hard work” triggers a search for an ergonomic chair.

I am not saying everyone is lazy.

I am just saying if effort were a gym membership, half the country would sign up in the morning and cancel before lunch because the treadmill lacked emotional validation.

If you can quit sleeping, you can quit anything.

Judging by some of the emails I get, a few people are dangerously close to resigning from breathing due to performance anxiety.

Roll your sleeves up.

Or at least pretend you know where they are.

Adulting ≠ Maturity

BREAKING: New research shows being an adult does not automatically make you mature.

I know, shocking.

You can pay bills, file taxes, and assemble IKEA furniture without crying… and still behave like a raccoon who just discovered coffee.

Being an adult means you have responsibilities.
Being mature means you handle them without turning your friends, family, or coworkers into emotional hostage negotiators.

Examples spotted in the wild:

A guy who owns a house but leaves dirty socks under the couch for three weeks.

A person who can drive a car but loses arguments with their GPS, as if it personally insulted them.

A human capable of cooking a full meal but still manages to start passive-aggressive family feuds over the placement of the salt shaker.

Old Guy Wisdom for the week:
If you can balance a chequebook but can’t balance your reactions, congratulations, you’re an adult. But don’t confuse that with maturity.

The ultimate lesson: maturity is not automatic, it’s earned… usually after decades of realizing your own mistakes and figuring out how to apologize without adding “but…” at the end.

Satirical Disclaimer:
This is satire. No adults were harmed, though some egos may have been lightly bruised.

This is satire. If your blood pressure rises while reading it, please hydrate before commenting.

If there is one thing the presidency of Donald Trump has proven, it is this:

Apparently, the job requirements for President of the United States are more “suggestions” than qualifications.

For decades, we were told you needed experience.
Gravitas.
Temperament.
A working relationship with reality.

Turns out, the only hard requirement is a pulse and a microphone.

It is oddly inspiring.

Children across America can now say, “When I grow up, I too can ignore briefings, insult allies, dominate headlines, and still be considered leadership material.”

That is diversity.

We have officially diversified the qualifications.

Mental instability? Not disqualifying.
Criminal indictments? Apparently extracurricular.
Vocabulary depth of a cereal box? Manageable.

On the one hand, it is heartwarming. The American dream is alive. Anyone can do it.

On the other hand, I am not entirely sure the Founding Fathers meant “anyone” in quite that way.

Old Guy Wisdom for the week:

When the highest office in the land becomes proof that the bar is flexible, you have to decide whether you are witnessing progress… or limbo.

And the music keeps getting lower.

You are not really an adult. You are just a child with better snacks and more responsibility anxiety.

Let's be honest. Being an adult is mostly about successfully pretending you know what you are doing while hoping nobody asks for receipts.

Maturity, however, is different. Maturity is when you stop thinking every disagreement needs to end in victory and start realizing that peace is cheaper than therapy and far less awkward at family dinners.

Adults have jobs.
Mature people have jobs and know how long they can stare at the coffee maker before pretending it is making coffee faster because they are watching it.

Adults pay bills on time.
Mature people pay bills on time and experience emotional growth every time they don't check their bank balance immediately afterward.

Adults buy things they don't need.
Mature people buy things they don't need, but at least pretend they thought about it for five minutes first.

Here is the real modern adult dilemma:
We have more information than any generation in history, but we still Google symptoms at 2 a.m. and convince ourselves that a headache probably means we need to move to a cabin in the mountains and learn woodworking.

Social media has made adulthood look like a competition.
Who is productive.
Who is busy.
Who is “crushing it.”

Maturity, meanwhile, is quietly wondering who is crushing what exactly, and why everyone is so tired.

Adults chase success.
Mature people decide which versions of success will not destroy their sleep schedule, their friendships, or their ability to enjoy a sandwich without thinking about productivity metrics.

The real sign of maturity?
When you stop arguing with strangers online because you suddenly realize they are probably arguing from their phone while sitting on the couch in their pyjamas, and that is not a battlefield. That is just Tuesday.

Final truth:
Growing up is unavoidable.
Growing wiser is optional.
But sanity is usually hiding somewhere between not caring what strangers think and caring enough to remember to buy milk.

Mortgage Approved For Burger

I remember when a hamburger, fries, and a soda were called lunch.

Now it is called a financial decision.

The other day, I pulled into one of those famous golden-colored establishments that may or may not feature a smiling clown in its corporate history. I ordered a simple meal. Nothing fancy. No truffle aioli. No artisanal bun woven by monks.

Just a burger. Fries. Soda.

The teenager at the window read me the total.

I thought she was quoting my car payment.

I briefly considered asking about financing options. Perhaps a small down payment and twelve easy installments. Maybe a loyalty program where, after ten purchases, they throw in a complimentary counselling session.

I remember when loose change in the cup holder could handle lunch. Now you need a strategic savings plan and a co-signer.

And do not get me started on the soda. For that price, I assumed the bubbles were handcrafted.

The fries were excellent, though. Lightly salted with nostalgia and regret.

Old Guy Wisdom for the week:

When a burger combo requires budgeting software, it is no longer fast food. It is an investment portfolio with ketchup.

I am not saying things were better before.

I am just saying I should not need to check my credit score before ordering extra pickles.