https://youtu.be/nOmPIM39XVU

We have officially entered the “Inception” phase of the internet, but instead of Leonardo DiCaprio, the guy breaking into your subconscious is an AI-generated character you recognize as an angel, but with the hidden payload of a demon.

Picture this: I’m chilling, ears perked up to a YouTube vid in the silky-smooth baritone of Bitcoin overlord Michael Saylor—my personal oracle of crypto wisdom, the guy whose voice could sell ice to Eskimos or Nike sneakers to cheetahs.
He’s talking about the Cantillon Effect, where freshly printed money hits the elites financial shot of adrenaline, allowing them to scoop up scarce assets like housing at pre-inflation rates while the rest of us peasants are left fighting over inflated bread crumbs (long) after prices account for the sudden inflow of printed dollars. Richard Cantillon, he says, was an 18th-century economist.

And I’m nodding along like a bobblehead, absorbing it all because, duh, it’s Saylor! The man doesn’t pause, doesn’t umm or ahh—he’s a verbal freight train of truth. But wait… too smooth? No human hitches? Ding ding ding! AI alert! Suddenly, I’m Sherlock Holmes with a smartphone, fact-checking like my sanity depends on it. 18th century sounds a little early, is this correct?
Check it, yes, the dude was an18th-century baller, but the point is, I slurped that info right into my mind without a second thought, all because it wore Saylor’s vocal disguise. It’s like your mom critiquing your life choices—boom, instant trust injection. But if some random Twitter troll says the same? Pfft, block and mock.

Ah, but here’s where the real comedy horror show kicks in, folks: the grand smuggling operation for your mind! These digital puppet masters data-mine your soul—oh, you love Tony Robbins? Adore Elon Musk’s meme-lord vibes? Fangirl over Victor Davis Hanson’s historical hot takes? Bam! They whip up an AI clone faster than you can say “deepfake dystopia.” It’s a 10-minute vid of your hero spouting their greatest hits: Tony preaching “change your physiology to change your state!” (Classic!) Then, sneaky as a fox in a henhouse, he slips in: “Hey, it’s not Gavin Newsom’s fault California blew billions on homelessness—blame the addicts and their choices!” Wait, what? Tony, my motivational messiah, defending that slick-haired Sacramento snake oil salesman? It feels a tad off, like pineapple on pizza, but hey, Tony said it, so maybe Gavin’s not the total douche-nozzle. A few more ideas like this, and me, someone who thinks the dude is is an evil alien from the planet Zog, might actually consider voting for president.

Or imagine AI Joe Rogan, that podcast pope of pot and punches, dropping bombs: “Bro, Trump’s all over those Epstein files—total creep show!” You’re mid-protein shake, and suddenly Trump’s orange glow dims in your mind. They target you like a heat-seeking missile: fence-sitters, swing voters, the easily swayed. Ads pop up tailored just for you, because Big Brother’s been peeking at your search history. And poof! That idea embeds like a splinter—subtle, insidious, impossible to pinpoint later. “When did I start thinking Epstein was Trump’s middle name? Must’ve been that Rogan ep… or was it?”

This is the Wild West of weaponized whispers, people! Enemy nations, sleazy politicians like Newsom himself—they don’t give two flips about morals; it’s all fair in love, war, and mind-melding. They’ll hypnotize you into believing the sky’s green if it suits their narrative. And us? We’re the chumps in the early innings of Brain Tug-of-War 2.0, yanked between deepfake delusions until we either snap like overcooked spaghetti or unplug entirely—go analog, baby! Scribble notes on napkins, chat face-to-face like cavemen with better hygiene.

Unless… cryptographic salvation! We need instant fake detectors, like a blockchain bouncer at the door of your dome: “Sorry, AI Saylor, your hash doesn’t match—back to the digital dumpster!” Otherwise, the the concept of free will? Kiss it goodbye, and toss it in the virtual dumpster. Hey, I’m not immune to it. I listened for half an hour before I realized something ain’t right and it was time to get out of Dodge. I’m just here to warn you, the outlaws are coming guns blazing, and since I see them riding over the hill, the least I can do my friends, is make you aware.