Let me describe the tableau: It’s November. Black Friday looms not so much on the horizon as it does in your kitchen window, breathing heavily, demanding sacrifice. NBC is still asking you to believe in deals. But I have survived five Black Fridays, one Macy’s stampede, and a lost year in a mall Sharper Image. I dropped out of financial news to warn you: these deals under $100? The end is nigh. Look at the devotees gathering at 3AM outside the SuperTracks SuperMart—intent not on spiritual enlightenment but scented candles with a 33% markdown. Mark my words: this is how Rome fell. That doorbuster isn’t a vacuum, it’s the harbinger of civilization’s collapse. Consider the evidence: Kitchen gadgets that julienne your carrots AND your dreams, now $59.99 with a code no mortal can decipher. Bluetooth socks. A Himalayan salt lamp shaped like Jeff Bezos’ head. All available—do you hear me?—for less than the price of a tank of gas, or a single therapy session coping with the chaos of late-stage capitalism. When did salvation come shrink-wrapped? When did fulfillment become three-day-shipping, if you click before sunrise? I remember reading Sumerian cuneiform tablets. Do you know what they wrote down? Their wish lists. There are clay receipts—"Cuneiform for buy one get one amphorae free." Babylon, anyone? That's what you’re reenacting, shopper. Next time you fill your cart with collapsible air fryers, I want you to whisper “Mene mene tekel upharsin” and see which LED ring light flickers off first. Big box stores say "these deals won’t last!" Neither will civilization, if you consider the level of stampede risk for a $39.99 air-purifying neck pillow. But the prophets are clear: "Limited time offers" are the four horsemen of the retail-pocalypse. First comes "Supply Chain Issues" on a pale horse, then "Midnight Doorbusters" astride a black SUV. You think you’re winning? On the contrary! For every $99 soundbar you seize from the trembling hands of your neighbor, somewhere, a spreadsheet gets its wings, a stock ticker quivers, and Wall Street sages rework their algorithms to price in the coming scarcity of Plug-and-Play Crochet Kits. That’s not value, that’s numeric prophecy. Some will say this is hysteria. To them I say: try reaching customer service between the hours of three and never. Try returning that weighted blanket while the sun blots out behind the self-checkout kiosk. When you watch two billion packages migrate across the continent followed by tornadoes of glitter-filled slime, you’ll see what I mean. And yet, when the smoke clears and commerce’s great iron doors bang shut, there you’ll be, clutching your $84 digital barbecue thermometer and asking: was that the deal of a lifetime, or was it simply the last deal before the fall of Man? Shop accordingly. The world may not end this Black Friday, but if you see me in line at 4AM with a haunted look, staring at a 12-cup multipurpose rice cooker, you’ll know I tried to warn you.