(Live from Planet Earth — where nobody knows how anything works but everyone’s got an opinion anyway.)

Legal Disclaimer: This is satire, comedy, and unlicensed science. If you think Pepto is a vitamin, electricity is a government hoax, or Bluetooth is how demons talk to each other — you’re in the right place. If you’re allergic to profanity, logic, or laughter that makes you question your life choices, please exit the theater now and go leave a one-star Yelp review for gravity. 

The rest of you? Buckle up. Because tonight, we’re exploring the everyday magic that keeps civilization running — and nobody knows how the fuck any of it works.

You ever stop and think about the sheer witchcraft happening around you every day?

 Real sorcery. Not wands and pointy hats — I’m talking about the absolute black magic that keeps the modern world from catching fire every fifteen minutes.

Let’s start with Pepto-Bismol.

That pink sludge of salvation. How the hell does one product fix everything between your esophagus and your ass?

Indigestion? Pepto.

Heartburn? Pepto.

Diarrhea? Pepto.

Existential despair? Give it a shot, it’s pink — maybe it’ll help.

And who, in the name of medical science, looked at that bubbling vat of liquid Barbie motor oil and said, “Yeah, that looks drinkable”? 

It wasn’t a doctor. It was some poor bastard in 1900 going, “My stomach feels like a campfire, I’ll drink anything that isn’t on fire.”

And it worked! Now it’s an empire built on trust, chalk, and the color panic-pink. No one knows why it works, but by God, it does. We don’t pray to Zeus anymore — we keep a bottle of Pepto in the cabinet, because it’s never failed us.

Now, light switches.

We all flip them, sure. But how does it work? You flip the little lever, and—poof—the light obeys.

Instantly. Like a well-trained dog made of photons.

Don’t tell me “it completes the circuit.” Yeah, I know, but how does the current know it’s time to move? Is there a little electric scout zipping down the wire going, “Switch is still closed, boss! Nope, still closed! Still—wait! Open! OPEN! GOOOOOO!”

And then suddenly, boom, the whole house lights up like Vegas.

Electricity travels at the speed of light, right? So somewhere in your wall, billions of electrons are basically NASCAR drivers waiting for the green flag.

And the flag is you saying, “I’m scared of the dark.”

Then there’s television.

How does a black box full of sand and wires know to show The Hulk and not The Weather Channel?

You press a button, and suddenly there’s an entire universe screaming at you in high definition. All those signals flying through the air — billions of them, news, cat videos, conspiracy podcasts— and your TV says, “Ah yes, you wanted to watch Shark Week, not Fox & Friends. Understood.”

Meanwhile you can’t even remember where you left your car keys.

That’s not electronics. That’s sorcery. That’s digital necromancy. That’s some Merlin-with-a-remote-control bullshit.

And doors.

Every door is a lie.

Some you push, some you pull, and the only way to know which is which is to fail publicly.

You ever push a pull door? Instant de-evolution.

One second you’re Homo sapiens, master of language and tools.

The next, you’re a confused raccoon pawing at a glass panel while strangers judge your life choices.

But let’s talk about the real dark magic — the invisible, silent, omnipresent crap that runs your entire life.

Magic Shit That’s Invisible, Silent, and Yet Everything Runs On It

Wi-Fi.

How the hell does that work?

It’s magic air. Invisible radio ghosts whispering cat videos into your phone. You can FaceTime someone on the other side of the planet through walls, oceans, and continents, but God help you if you walk behind your refrigerator.

That’s the Bermuda Triangle of the modern home.

Apparently the same force that lets you stream 4K porn from Iceland is powerless against a Kenmore from 2008.

Bluetooth.

Oh, Bluetooth’s the devil. It’s technology that works precisely until the moment you actually need it.

“Connected,” it says.

No sound.

“Paired,” it promises.

To what? Nobody knows.

Bluetooth’s the tech equivalent of your drunk ex at 2 a.m. — “Hey, I’m here! Wait… where am I?”

It’s voodoo, pure and simple. Invisible leashes that never stay clipped.

And then there’s GPS.

You’re telling me a tiny box in my car can talk to a bunch of space elves orbiting 12,000 miles up, and they can pinpoint me standing behind a Taco Bell within three feet?

That’s not physics, that’s divine intervention.

I can’t find my socks in my own house, but a machine can find me anywhere on Earth —

 unless I’m in a parking garage, where it suddenly forgets I exist.

Now let’s talk plumbing.

Because that’s the oldest, most underappreciated miracle of them all.

How the hell does that even work?

You take a shit the size of Manhattan, and somehow it disappears through a pipe the width of a Pringles can —with bends! 

BENDS!

There’s no way that makes sense! That’s not fluid dynamics — that’s black magic and municipal hope. A series of 90-degree turns that would defeat a marble, but somehow your leftovers from Chipotle make it to the ocean like it’s on tour.

And it’s silent! No roaring, no clogging — usually.

You flush, it’s gone, as if the toilet has its own personal wormhole to the abyss. You don’t thank it. You just walk away, confident it worked.

We put more faith in toilets than we do in Congress, and honestly? They’ve earned it.

Let’s not forget coffee makers.

Tiny altars of chaos that transform brown dust into consciousness.

You pour in cold water, and out comes liquid sanity. No idea how.

Steam, pressure, caffeine, prayer — who cares? It’s a miracle that smells like survival.

And microwaves.

We’ve all accepted that there’s a box in the kitchen that cooks food from the inside out using invisible death rays. We don’t even question it!

You hit a button labeled “Popcorn” and trust that the machine knows what kind of corn you bought. That’s not convenience — that’s faith.

We live in a world of miracles wrapped in plastic and apathy.

Electric fire on demand.

Pipes that eat our waste.

Machines that summon other people’s faces through invisible space magic.

We’re living in the Age of Enlightenment —and most of us still think “turn it off and on again” is actual troubleshooting.

We are the most technologically advanced species in history, and none of us could explain a toaster without diagrams and divine guidance. We’re not surrounded by gadgets. We’re surrounded by wizards who left early.

So yeah—next time your Wi-Fi drops, your light flickers, your Pepto saves your soul after gas-station sushi—take a moment.

Stand there.

Marvel.

Because we don’t live in the future, my friends.

We live in someone else’s spellbook.