I’m putting all my money in the Pacific Garbage Patch. So long, suckers. The only safe bet left in a world gone mad—floating islands of plastic, bobbing in the radioactive soup of the Pacific, a monument to our excess, our undying tribute to convenience and indifference.

Every broker on Wall Street tells me to diversify. ‘Hedge your bets,’ they say, like I haven’t seen the writing on the wall. Like I can’t see the rats fleeing the ship, fat cats cashing in while the rest of us drown. No, I’m going all in. I want my money in a real American dream: one that’s impossible to clean up, too toxic to touch, festering just out of sight. The Pacific Garbage Patch—the ultimate long game.

You poor fools, still clinging to your IRAs and your crypto coins, your tech stocks, praying for salvation. You’ll be sipping iced lattes as it all burns, and I’ll be out there, watching my investment float along, indestructible. The garbage doesn’t go anywhere. It just builds up forever—my own personal slice of the apocalypse. So long, suckers.”

“But don’t think this is just some twisted retirement plan. No, this is a grand exit strategy. While you’re all scrambling to buy your little piece of the future—mortgaging your souls for condos and electric cars—I’m investing in the only empire that truly represents us. The Pacific Garbage Patch: a sprawling, eternal wasteland of plastics and microfibers, stretched across the waves like the final frontier. A true monument to human achievement, built from the scraps we left behind.

I’m calling it: the banks will collapse, the markets will crash, but the trash? The trash is forever. While your assets dissolve into dust, my kingdom of straws and Styrofoam will float on, circling the Pacific with grim determination. The rest of you are shackled to the illusion of progress, grinding along while my empire of waste rises with every tide.

Picture it now—me, the Lord of the Patch, sprawled across a throne made from discarded lawn chairs and plastic bottles, laughing as the yachts drift by, powered by the last gasps of fossil fuel. The brokers on Wall Street will call me mad. The influencers will call me insane. But when the dust settles, when the sea levels rise, they’ll all see what I saw: the Patch isn’t just trash. It’s destiny.”