Listen up, you feral discount hounds, because the only thing hungrier than you right now is my appetite for capital gains. It’s Cyber Monday, the one day a year where the mere mention of ‘savings’ makes grown men weep and hedge fund managers gnaw through their Hermès ties like overbred terriers. This is Christmas morning for carnivores. This is the floor of the exchange with knives out and nobody blinks. If you hesitate, you get left to the vultures with the Blockbuster gift cards. I remember when a deal meant shaking a trembling CEO’s hand in a boardroom that smelled vaguely of fear and Dry Erase markers. But now? Now you people are throwing your wallets at screens at three in the morning, pantsless, mainlining lukewarm coffee, hunting for bargains like it’s a blood sport. I salute you. It’s Darwinism with cashback rewards. Let’s talk reflexes, rookie. You need to hit that checkout button faster than I disposed of my fifth wife’s antique porcelain when she asked about our prenup. Get in, get out, never let your finger linger on the ‘add to cart’ longer than necessary. Real winners don’t wait for the shipping timer; they buy now and sue later if it’s the wrong size. See this toaster? Sixty percent off. That’s not a bargain, that’s daylight robbery—with you as the bandit, cramming avocado everything into ten slots at a time. Air fryers for $40? Kid, I bought my first air fryer in the 80s and it took two gallons of unleaded—so don’t tell me about efficiency unless you can cook potstickers on a jet engine. Smart TVs that practically host the meeting for you! Coffee mugs that surveil your beverage temperature with more data mining than a Wall Street analyst stalking the market’s next big tumble. Vacuum robots that judge the dust content of your bathroom floors and adjust their algorithmic stock portfolios accordingly. Do you want to watch, or do you want to own? Because this year, owning is the only verb. Here’s a power tip, straight from Gordon’s golden Rolodex: Don’t let sentimentality into your basket. Grandmas and puppies are for Christmas day, not for Cyber Monday. Sentiment is for the weak—ruthless shopping is for those who build empires from crumbs. If you see a deal on a Bluetooth-enabled showerhead, you don’t stop to ask if you even have a shower; you liquidate your assets and seize that shiny, water-spewing opportunity. Fortune favors the bold and the already heavily-indebted. Want a set of kitchen knives that makes Gordon Ramsay look like he’s whittling with a spoon? Black Friday is for amateurs—the real carnage happens now. Want fifty pounds of protein powder for the price of two soy lattes? Buy it and start bench-pressing your regrets. And don’t get me started on the wearable tech: Smart watches so smart they’re enrolling for online MBAs, fitness trackers with a more detailed analytics dashboard than your 401(k). You want your heart rate or your portfolio’s heat map? This year, they’re the same damn rollercoaster. It’s a zero-sum market. If you’re not buying that half-price pressure washer, some guy named Kyle in Tulsa is. And if Kyle gets it, he wins—and you lose. That’s the law of the savanna. So let me leave you with this: The market waits for no one. Cyber Monday is not a marathon. It is a leveraged buyout inside a kitchenware aisle. Courage, speed, and maybe a small line of credit—that’s how you win. Remember, greed is good, but discounts are better. Drive them into the ground and let the tears of tech interns lubricate your next-day-delivery supply chain. In summary: buy everything, regret nothing. That’s the real ‘absolute best deal’—the untouchable high of outspending everyone in the virtual room. Now get in there, tiger. The weak shop in-person. The bold feast on pixels and profit.