The sky is ash, the oceans are rising, and yet—BEHOLD—the Black Friday harbingers emerge from the shattered husk of late capitalism, clutching their sacred flyers of doom: "BEST DEALS UNDER $100." Ah, the irony! To think mere dollars might deliver us salvation on this most unholy of consumer holocausts. Gather round, my fellow survivors of corporate feudalism, as I document the death knell of civilization: A $99 air fryer—behold, the Prometheus of frozen snack prep—and Bluetooth headphones, which broadcast your playlist to the void because there’s nobody left to hear you scream. The Black Friday Olympics begin well before dawn, as throngs of deal pilgrims descend upon the mall, breath frosty in the nuclear winter, clutching bitter artisanal coffees and a hope that just won’t die. They shuffle like mall-walking revenants, driven not by hunger nor reason but by the scent of a $37 electric toothbrush destined to outlive us all. Let’s examine, with the cold unblinking gaze of a haunted economist, the holy trinity of sub-$100 devastation: 1. The 40-Inch TV (for $88!)—a shimmering altar upon which you may witness the collapse of democracy in 4K. 2. The $9 portable blender—a device which exists solely to reduce fruit, sanity, and hope into indistinguishable smoothies. 3. That fabled $12 shower speaker—because even in the end times, you deserve to belt Adele while scrubbing off radioactive soot. By noon, the megastores resemble war zones in which only the most ruthless and/or caffeinated escape with the last Crock-Pots. These are not deals: they’re warning signs. The cheerful red “Sale!” tag—really just a bloodstain of late-stage capitalism. Beware the siren call of the $20 LED strip lights. For, like the Roman Empire, you too may decorate your domicile with gaudy excess as the world burns. Those $35 smart speakers? Harbingers of the singularity, whispering reminders: "Order more batteries." But still we press on! Sweating over Walmart.com in haunted pajamas, browser tabs multiplying like end-times locusts. Is the $45 weighted blanket a swaddle or a shroud? Only the final clearance will tell. Pay special heed to the mythic $25 air purifier—sucking dust and dread from the stale apartment air. The merchant whispers, “Breathe easy,” but I know the truth: It’s filtering out the last traces of hope. In the end, to hunt Black Friday deals under $100 is to dance atop the volcano as it erupts giftcards and returns policies. We are but moths in a flickering neon hellscape, drawn to the flame of markdowns—singed, but unwilling to look away. So be vigilant, my acolytes. Pierce the fog of discounts. And remember: as you chase $7 smart plugs into the abyss, the only thing truly on sale… is your soul.