People keep saying “All Americans want is healthcare and the Epstein files. Instead, we’re getting…”
I keep hearing that line, and it sticks because it isn’t just a meme. It’s a diagnosis. Healthcare and Epstein files aren’t random demands. They’re shorthand for the two things people feel most robbed of: decency and transparency.
But the deeper truth is even darker. What we’re actually handed isn’t incompetence; it’s design. Secrecy, exploitation, control packaged as democracy and choice. Two parties, a thousand brands, a million ads, all built to make you feel like you’re steering while the wheel is locked.
This isn’t just about healthcare or one scandal. It’s about how the game is rigged from the grocery aisle to the voting booth. It’s about how our wants are harvested, our attention colonized, and our “choices” scripted long before we show up.
And yet this isn’t a hopeless story. Because once you name the maze, you can stop mistaking the walls for freedom. You can start digging tunnels. You can start finding each other.
Psychological Warfare 101
We are not free. We are participants in psychological warfare run by billionaires. Ads, branding, marketing do not just sell products. They sell identity, desire, shame, fear. They keep us docile by convincing us our “choices” matter, when the truth is, we’re just picking between cages.
And it’s not accidental. Marketing is a multi-billion dollar machine and one of the fastest-growing industries on the planet. Entire teams of researchers and behavioral scientists map our brains, track our clicks, test colors, fonts, sounds, and scents, all to nudge us toward a purchase.
Take Coca-Cola. For decades they’ve run one of the most successful psy-ops in history: red and white branding burned into global memory, Santa Claus redesigned in their colors, “share a Coke” campaigns engineered to trigger belonging. The product isn’t just sugar water. It’s an identity.
And it goes way beyond soda. Ever notice why grocery stores are laid out the way they are? Milk, bread, eggs always pushed to the back, so you’re forced to wander past aisles of impulse buys on your way there. Or why so many restaurants are bathed in red and yellow? Those colors literally spike appetite and make you restless. You eat faster, spend quicker, and move along. “Keep it moving, cattle.” Gimme your cash and GTFO.
None of this is an accident. It’s studied. Tested. Perfected. Every billboard, every influencer ad, every “limited-time offer” is designed to bypass thought and go straight for your nervous system. That “treat yourself” impulse? That tiny hit of dopamine? That’s the jackpot they’re after.
Our attention isn’t just captured. It’s colonized.
The Grocery Store Hall of Mirrors
Take Procter & Gamble:
They dominate ten daily-use categories: laundry, cleaning, grooming, oral care, baby care, feminine care, the works. They own Tide, Pampers, Crest, Charmin, Gillette, Olay, Old Spice, Dawn. Different shelves, different labels, same company.
Take Nestlé:
Over 2,000 brands spanning baby formula, bottled water, chocolate, coffee, frozen food, pet food. KitKat, Gerber, Purina, Nespresso. They don’t just make food. They are the food aisle.
And then you say, “Okay, I’ll opt out. I’ll shop at Aldi or Trader Joe’s instead.”
But here’s the trick: Trader Joe’s is owned by Aldi Nord. Aldi U.S. runs over 2,100 stores across 37 states. Globally, Aldi and Trader Joe’s control nearly 14,000 stores. And 80 percent of Trader Joe’s products are store brand, rebranded generics pulled from the same supply chains.
So no, you didn’t escape. You just shifted cages. And that’s the point. The illusion of choice keeps you feeling like you’re resisting when you’re still inside the maze.
The Usual Suspects
And then there’s Big Oil. ExxonMobil, BP, Shell, Chevron, TotalEnergies, the usual suspects. They don’t just drill. They own the pipelines, the refineries, the plastics, the lobbying machines, even parts of the media that shape what we think. They bankroll disinformation, buy off regulators, and write the policies we’re forced to live under, all while we pay at the pump.
Now, I’m not digging into that beast right here. That’s a whole other rabbit hole, and honestly, an evil I don’t have the energy to stare down today. But trust me, I know. I know. Fuck them.
And that’s the pattern, right? It’s the same story in every sector: fewer players, more control, deeper entanglement in our daily lives. Different aisle, same owners. Different jingle, same machine.
Look at tech: Google, Amazon, Meta, Apple, four companies shaping how we talk, shop, search, and connect.
Look at media: a handful of conglomerates, Comcast, Disney, Warner Bros. Discovery, Paramount, deciding what stories we see and which ones vanish.
Look at agriculture and food: giants like Cargill, Monsanto (Bayer), Nestlé locking down seeds, supply chains, and shelves.
Look at retail: Walmart, Costco, Target, gatekeepers to daily survival.
Different industries, same consolidation. Different logos, same chokehold.
Yeah, I’m Pissed
I am pissed. And tired. Some days it feels like I’m banging my head against a wall asking the same question: what am I supposed to do?
Because you can’t actually escape. The system is designed to keep you here. It’s my reality too.
And the worst part? The rage doesn’t fade when I name it. It sharpens. Because every time I swipe my card, I know I’m feeding the very machine that’s suffocating me. Every “choice” has already been made upstream, and my role is just to keep the money flowing back upward.
Living like that wears on you. It’s exhausting to know you’re complicit just for existing. You can’t really opt out. You need food, you need medicine, you need gas, you need soap. And every path you take winds back to the same handful of conglomerates.
That’s not freedom. That’s entrapment with a catchy jingle.
The Only Way Out is Through Each Other
But I refuse to let that be the end of it. Because I believe, stubbornly, maybe foolishly, but fully, that we can do better.
The answer isn’t bigger. It isn’t shinier. It isn’t some new app or politician or savior. The answer is smaller. It’s older. It’s us.
Social made the world large. But we still must know our neighbors to thrive.
It looks like community. Like mutual aid. Like a neighbor knocking on your door with a cup of sugar. Like a block party where the grill is hot and no one leaves hungry. Like a garden tended together, a kitchen where the food is shared, a porch light that stays on for more than yourself.
We don’t need more brands. We need more humans. We don’t need another aisle. We need another way.
And here’s the plea: if you’re reading this and you feel the same ache, the same exhaustion, the same fury at being trapped in a rigged maze, don’t carry it alone. Go find your people. And if you can’t find them? Build them. Start small. One conversation. One meal. One shared task. That’s how the walls weaken.
Because the maze is rigged, yes. But once you see the walls for what they are, you stop mistaking them for freedom. That’s when you start digging tunnels. And if enough of us dig in the same direction, we’ll break through into something better.
Not because some corporation lets us. Not because some government grants it. But because we made it, together.
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