Previous “Features” posts

Muse’s Flawed Raison D’etre

Doing is the thing.

Recently, Facebook Meta unveiled Muse, their “personal AI agent built for everyone”. Muse goes beyond just being a chatbot, and will attempt to help accomplish actual tasks. From their introductory post:

Muse…doesn’t just answer questions, it actually does the work. It helps people stay on top of things, takes tasks and projects off their plate, and turns long-term goals into action plans.

Meta built Muse from the ground up to be a safe, secure, private, and widely available personal AI agent.

Each person stays in control of their Muse and decides how much access it gets.

Of course, the first big story about Muse was how it read a journalist’s text messages without his permission. Oops. But sure, we should definitely trust Meta with our data this time.

Despite the obvious privacy concerns, the potential of this technology is impressive. That same introductory post states that Muse “takes on more of the work so people can focus on what matters to them”. A.I. taking care of busywork and drudgery is undeniably compelling.

However, Meta’s Chief A.I. officer Alexandr Wang provided a somewhat different pitch. He posted an article entitled “Why We’re Building Muse”.1 I found it abhorrent, and for weeks now, I’ve been unable to let it go.

What first jumped out at me was this description of Wang’s ideal Muse:

[I]t can be someone that says, “This is the thing you’ve been dreaming of your whole life. Let’s go get it. Here’s how.” And then builds a plan. Sends the email. Makes the phone call. Finds the funding. Keeps you on schedule. Clears the way and solves all the problems it can until the human part, the wanting and the dreaming, is all that’s left.

To me, that sounds absolutely awful. Wang appears to be saying that the only human part of living is the wanting and the dreaming. Absolutely not. Doing, doing is the thing.

I may want to run a sub-3 hour marathon or write a best-selling book. But those end results are not actually the point. Accomplishing them (or not) is where the humanity truly lies. If I am able to bring about those things through effort, to earn them, I will feel a sense of achievement. By contrast, if they are simply handed to me by a machine, they will be devoid of meaning. They will be nothing.

This complete failure to recognize the joy of doing sickens me. It also shows an utter lack of understanding of what leads to humans feeling fulfillment.

But perhaps the single most glaring line in this piece is when Wang makes the claim that “Every unrealized want is a quiet tragedy of human potential.” No. No, it is not. This premise is flawed, and indeed, revolting.

If we think, for example, of people dying from lack of food, a statement like “every unrealized need is a quiet tragedy of human potential” sounds correct. But wants? Humans have an infinite number of wants, and they’re often contradictory. Some people have bad wants. Every want should, without a doubt, not be met.

This confusion between the concepts of “needs” and “wants” poisons Wang’s entire piece. It would be incredible if society could meet the needs of every human. It would be disastrous to meet the wants of every human.

Ultimately, I am repulsed by the underlying idea that my role as a human being should be to want and let the machines take care of the rest. We are not simply vessels to receive ceaseless pleasure and enjoyment, to have our every want met, with no effort on our part. Being human is about doing things yourself, and with others. It’s about accomplishing things. If A.I. can assist us, great. But we damned sure ought to be doing more than simply “wanting”.

Wang closes his piece with this call-to-arms:

Here’s to wanting. Here’s to dreaming. Here’s to everyone.

Not “Here’s to accomplishing”. That word is entirely absent from Wang’s manifesto, and that absence speaks volumes.


Footnotes:

  1. A screenshot of the full post is archived here. ↩︎

Amazon Is Creeping on Us All

You’re not my real dad, Amazon!

In the past few days, I’ve seen an inordinate number of articles related to Amazon’s “Prime Big Deal Days”, which is apparently a separate event from Amazon’s “Prime Day 2026”. Despite the singular “day” in the name, “Prime Day” ran from June 23 to 26, while “Big Deal Days” is an October sale. I’m not much for prompted shopping, but these excessively hyped sales can be a good time to buy something I regularly purchase anyway, like vitamins or mouthwash. Alas, because I’m out of the country, this has all just been noise.

Amazon also popped up in much more entertaining fashion, though, related to their data collection on shoppers. It began with this Threads post, from which Futurism gathered a good collection of quotes. Corporate data collection is generally creepy, but this is mostly just ridiculous. There’s no way to know which of these are real (or even if any of them are, I suppose), but they certainly made me laugh.

My own profile is rather tame.1 Your humble author can’t deny that he “reads non-fiction and classic literature” and “consistently repurchases proven products” (like the aforementioned vitamins and mouthwash). Accurate or not, though, I’d really prefer not to be defined by assumptions based on a few random purchases.

A note reading “Owns a Philips Sonicare electric toothbrush”

You can’t be sure of that, Amazon! Maybe I bought those replacement brush heads to use on their own, as really inconvenient tiny manual toothbrushes.


Footnotes:

  1. I tried and failed to find it via the website, so I had to install the Amazon mobile app. There, it was located under Account > Shopping Preferences > About You. ↩︎

Booking Dot Redundant

There are just so many unnecessary emails.

I recently spent a night in Kristiansund, Norway, which should absolutely not to be confused with Kristiansand, Norway. The two cities are much farther apart geographically than lexicographically:

A map showing the 11 hour driving distance between Kristiansund and Kristiansand

I wonder how many people wind up in the wrong one each year. I am confident the number is not zero.

Anyhow, I stayed at a lovely little apartment found on Booking.com run by a kind woman named Annette. She managed things so nicely that when Booking auto-prompted me to leave a review, I didn’t even mind. I wrote a few lines encouraging future travelers to consider the spot, in the hopes that it would be helpful.

Text reading: Annette was great, the location was convenient, and the price was right. I’d recommend this property to anyone coming to Kristiansund.

I thought that would be the end of it.

Of course, it was not. After I followed their request urging me to leave a review, Booking then followed up by dropping this in my inbox:

Text reading: Thanks for reviewing your stay, Paul Kafasis! We've added your review of Apartments At The Sentrum to our site. Check it out here: Read Your Review

Read my review? I don’t need to do that. I wrote it!

Who’s Ready for Some Scheduled Laughs?

Do you want a lot more OFT content, created by machines? No? Me neither.

Today in horrible emails, it’s an unsolicited come-on I recently received from Neodrop.ai (link intentionally omitted). Their message suggested their A.I. could write content for this very website. I have reproduced it in its entirety:

Hi there,

We recently came across One Foot Tsunami — humor writing, kept tight and funny.

That’s exactly the kind of humor-essay blog we built NeoDrop for — an AI content team that keeps creating for you. Tell it what to make — newsletters, videos, podcasts, or articles — and how often; it researches fresh sources, picks what matters, and produces editable content on schedule, so jokes get drafted before the news moves on.

Imagine a punchline-perfect morning, draft ready:
– Draft essays in your comic voice
– Turn headlines into topic lists
– Keep the laughs scheduled
You keep the final judgement, editing, and fact-checking.

If anything comes up while you’re using it — questions, feedback, or ideas — just reply to this email; we’d love to hear how it can work better for One Foot Tsunami.

Best,
NeoDrop Team

I have not used the advertised service, nor even looked at it. I did briefly consider using Neodrop to write an article mocking the idea of using Neodrop to write content for this site, but even that idea made me sad.

Still, I do have some simple feedback: I do not want this. No artist should want this. Stop. This is a bad solicitation, one whose very existence is depressing. It’s much worse than creepy Sid the payroll rep, who at least wanted to offer me a service that might be useful.

I write this site for fun. One Foot Tsunami is a hobby, a labor of love, and a creative outlet. I hope to use my writing to entertain, amuse, and educate real readers like you, and the key phrase there is my writing.

Using the robots to do it for me would be beyond pointless. It’s not quite as evocative, but just as Dan Brooks doesn’t want a robot that pets the dog for him, I don’t want the machines to write my damned blog for me.

It’s No One’s Favorite Beagle, Snorpy

You should absolutely not buy from Novolly.com.

Recently, I found myself on the receiving end of a good old-fashioned bait and switch scam. Perhaps I should hide my shame. Instead, I’m going to tell you all about it.

It started with an internet advertisement, one which pitched a felt Snoopy doll. I hope you’ll agree it’s adorable:

A felt Snoopy, in a lovely wooden box with a pillow and a letterpress card

I have been a Peanuts fan since childhood, so this product was well-targeted. The presentation was wonderful as well. With that handsome wooden box and beautiful letterpress card, I thought this tiny Snoopy would make another lovely gift for my special lady. It was even on sale:

A regular price of $41.99, but on sale for $20.98

With too little thought, I placed an order with Novolly.com (link intentionally omitted), then waited for my cute little guy to arrive. When the package came, I opened it eagerly. This is what I beheld:

Snorpy, in all his hideousness

Oh, no. No, no, no. What is this? That’s not Snoopy! That’s some sort of horrible knock-off. It’s…Snorpy! And Snorpy ain’t right.

Immediately after laying eyes on this abomination, I emailed the seller to ask, and please pardon my strong language, what the heck? I included a photograph of what I’d received, as well as a link to their product page to show the contrast. Despite that, their first reply requested pictures. I sent more, along with a firm demand for a refund. Here is their horrifying reply, in full:

Thank you for reaching out to us, and please accept our sincere apologies for the quality issue with your order.

We want to be transparent with you: our workshop employs a significant number of people with disabilities, and our handmade felt dolls are crafted by them with great care and dedication. While this makes each piece unique and meaningful, we must also be honest that handmade items from our team may occasionally have minor imperfections or variations compared to the product photos. We are truly sorry that the item you received did not fully meet your expectations.

As a sincere gesture of goodwill, we would like to offer you a 20% refund​ of your order total — no return needed. You are welcome to keep the item. We hope this helps make up for the disappointment.

If you have any further concerns, please don’t hesitate to let us know. We truly value your understanding and support for our team.

Best regards,
Novolly Support Team

Please note the text to which I’ve added emphasis. Having the gall to blame this on “people with disabilities” is surely a one-way ticket straight to hell, right?

I was aghast, and opted to simply ignore what I’m fairly certain was an outright lie. I replied to once again request a full refund. We went back and forth several times, with their support robot offering increasing discounts from 20% to 50% to 60% to 65%. All the while, I was assured that I could keep the rubbish they’d had deposited in my mailbox.

In addition to throwing their probably fictitious disabled employees under the bus, the company also attempted to scare me into accepting a partial refund offer. To do so, they told me that getting a “full refund” require me shipping the item back to them in Hong Kong, at my own expense. That’s quite a swindle: Ship junk from across the globe, then require the recipient to mail it back at great expense in order to get their money back.

Obviously, paying to return the item was not the financially savvy move, nor worth the hassle. Instead, I decided to issue a chargeback with my credit card. Before doing so, I warned them of my intentions, providing one last chance to simply issue a refund. Here’s their oh-so-obviously-written-by-A.I-and-not-just-because-of-the-em-dashes reply:

On the chargeback — we’d genuinely like to ask you not to open one. Not because it protects us, but because honestly, it doesn’t serve either of us well. For you, it means a long wait: banks typically take several weeks, sometimes months, to review a case. The funds stay frozen the whole time, there are extra documents and statements to submit, and the outcome is never guaranteed — quite often the dispute is resolved in the seller’s favour and nothing comes of it after all that waiting.

For us, it means the case is taken out of our hands, and we lose the ability to simply process your refund for you — which is exactly what we’re trying to do here, right now.

So in the end, nobody wins. A chargeback turns something we can settle together today into months of waiting and paperwork for both sides. We’d honestly much rather take care of you here, directly, and get the money back on your card right away.

A whole lot of that sickeningly LLM-generated pablum is just flat-out false. Most notably, credit card issuers do not take months to resolve things, and the buyer is generally off the hook for the funds as soon as their complaint is filed. Fortunately, I knew all that. Rather than waste any more time talking to a poorly trained robot, I spent about five minutes filing the chargeback. Later that very same day, my credit card company closed the complaint by issuing me a full refund.

That’s a decent resolution, but obviously, it would’ve been better if none of this had happened at all. I’ve thought about this a fair amount, and I can identify several things that led to me being snookered. It begins with Peanuts celebrating its 75th anniversary last year, which led to Snoopy being everywhere. After seeing dozens, if not hundreds, of licensed products, I didn’t think too much about this particular item.

As well, A.I. imagery is getting really good, and really hard to spot. Looking at the images closely, I now suspect this product has never actually existed in real life. But at a glance, it seemed plausible enough. Heck, the hand holding this even has the right number of fingers, at least as far as I can tell:

A felt Snoopy in a human hand that looks normal enough
Looking very closely, that pinky might be a bit short?

Even the price was set well. The “regular” price of $42 feels plausible-to-slightly high to me, while $21 was low enough to buy without worrying too much about it.

Nevertheless, there were a number of red flags. That sale price winds up being a full 50% off, which is rather a lot. The language on the page isn’t quite right, either:

“Snoopy sits naturally beside the card—free of exaggerated gestures or elaborate embellishments—much like an old friend who never intrudes yet always stays by your side. Even without a word, that familiar smile conveys a sense of simple, reassuring strength.”

But what really should have set off warning bells was the bottom of the product page, which showed several other well-known characters:

Several other felt dolls of big-name characters: Paddington, Scooby-Doo, Winnie the Pooh, and Spiderman

How likely is it that this no-name company managed to score licensing deals with StudioCanal (Paddington), Warner Brothers Discovery (Scooby-Doo), and Sony (Spiderman), and Disney (Winnie the Pooh)? Indeed, not very likely.

I missed those warning signs, and as I result, I got conned by Novolly. Perhaps this post will help others avoid the same fate. In the meantime, here are some side-by-side comparisons to enjoy:

A comparison shot

A comparison shot

A comparison shot

How many differences can you can spot?

Click to reveal a list of seven notable differences

  1. Snoopy is an adorable little pup. Snorpy is disturbingly gangly.

  2. Snoopy is wee. By contrast, Snorpy is far too large.

  3. Snoopy’s toes are stitched. Snorpy’s are drawn on crudely with a marker.

  4. Snoopy sports a nicely-knit scarf. Snorpy’s scarf is raggedy at best.

  5. Snoopy lives in a well-made wooden box. Snorpy arrived in cheap cardboard.

  6. Snoopy rests on a linen burlap pillow. Snorpy sits in crinkled paper that resembles hamster bedding.

  7. Snoopy’s card is letterpressed, with a deckle edge. Snorpy’s is faux-letterpressed and squared off.

I Fought the T

And the T lost.

In 2017, I ran a charity fundraiser/unsanctioned road race against Boston’s B Line, an MBTA Green Line trolley that very much does not put the “rapid” in “rapid transit”. In that event, approximately 120 folks raced alongside what we call “the T” for about four miles. The course began at the line’s Boston College terminus and followed along Commonwealth Avenue to Blandford Street, the last aboveground stop.

That race took place on a cold January day, and I ran hard just to stay warm. When it was over, I had posted a solid 27:18 over 3.97 miles, for a 6:52/mile pace. And yet, the T narrowly beat me.

A Green Line train in motion

As you can see, I was displeased with that result, and no amount of free bananas or nifty race medals could console me. I was, however, comforted by reports from friend-of-the-site Maggie S. and other spectators who rode the train itself. A B line ride is generally a pokey affair, and seldom causes passengers to yell “Whooooooaaaa!” as though they have suddenly found themselves on a roller coaster. That day, they did just that. That particular operator really got into the spirit of competition, and drove extremely aggressively. So I soothed myself with that idea that I could certainly beat a fairly driven T. But I didn’t actually go back to prove it.

Until eight years later, that is. In 2025, I signed on for the Charlie Card Challenge. This is a similar race, but rather than stopping at Blanford when the train disappears underground, the course continues on for two more miles to Park Street. For the first two-thirds of the race, it‘s possible to see your opponent, but after that, you’re racing blind.

Visible opponent or not, I felt good about my chances. Though I was coming off a nagging injury, my race paces were significantly faster than 2017. The T ride I took to get to the starting line was even encouraging, in its otherwise depressing slowness.

It turned out to be a tougher race than I’d have guessed. The T ran a lot faster headed inbound than it had outbound, and there was more vehicular traffic to dodge than I expected. Stopping at traffic lights and watching the seconds tick up while cars streamed past was mentally painful.

In the end, I managed a 44:34 over 6.03 miles. That’s a 7:23/mile clip, slower than in 2017, but enough to edge out the particular train I was racing by an utterly delicious 5 seconds. Victory! Vindication! Vengeance, even!

A Green Line train in motion
[Photo courtesy of P. Kafasis]

Still, I knew I had gotten a bit lucky. The race featured 8 different waves, and while my time beat their 46:51 average, 2 of the 8 trains were faster than I was. Had I run in Wave 1 or Wave 5, my 44:34 would have come up quite short. This was not a decisive win.

2025 results, including Wave 1 at 43:16 and Wave 5 at 42: 24

So it was that this past Friday, I set out to slay the T for good. The 2026 Charlie Card Challenge again featured eight waves, with hundreds of runners, including a Boston Globe reporter (whose article is, alas, paywalled). It also got non-paywalled coverage from WBUR and GBH. Clearly, people continue to enjoy a man vs. machine tale.

I’m in better running shape than I was last year, but there are no guarantees when it comes to an unsanctioned road race against a train on city streets. The MBTA has also been focused on extensive work to speed up their entire system. So while I believed I could beat the T, I didn’t know if I would.

I took another slow ride out to the starting line, and at a few minutes before 7 PM, I set off at the front of Wave 7. For half a mile, I led the way at a sub-6 minute pace, before tapering off a bit. Despite that fast start, the train quickly got ahead. I snapped a picture as it did.

A Green Line train in motion
You’ll have to forgive the blur, the train was moving and so was I.

The train and I battled back and forth over the first two miles, but I eventually put it behind me for good, at least as far as I could tell. At around two and a half miles, I heard its bells one last time, but I refused to give the trolley the satisfaction of even a backwards glance.1

While racing along the remainder of the aboveground portion, I delighted in reading the arrival estimates as I passed each station. Seeing the time for the next train climb from “1 minute” to “3 minutes” provided a notable boost. As I powered past Blanford, I knew I had a good lead.

However, last year’s race had taught me that I’d want a cushion to combat the pauses that would be forced upon me. The open-course nature of the race puts the runner at the mercy of traffic lights, and I had to stop for several, losing perhaps 60 to 120 seconds. Speeding up or slowing down to catch a pedestrian walk signal was an essential strategy, particularly in the final Back Bay section.2

I caught the signal at Charles Street, the final road crossing, and churned into the last half mile in Boston Common. I felt good, until I didn’t. The park was crowded with people and vendor carts, due to a large festival going on. The pungent air suggested this was some sort of weed fest, which later research confirmed. Passing through a marijuana rally as you attempt your finishing kick is certainly an experience.

In the end, my watch showed 41:59 for 6.00 miles, a 6:59/mile pace. I beat my train by a good two and a half minutes. In fact, I beat all eight trains, and even the fastest train we’ve seen, last year’s Wave 5 that put up a 42:24. I can now proudly and only a little foolishly declare that I’m faster than T.

2025 results, including Wave 1 at 43:16 and Wave 5 at 42: 24

For reference, here are results for all four years of the race thus far.

Charlie Card Challenge Average Train Speeds

  • 2023: 47:13/7:52s (Race date: September 8, 1 train)

  • 2024: 52:07/8:41s (Race date: September 13, 6 trains)

  • 2025: 46:51/7:49s (Race date: September 5, 8 trains)

  • 2026: 48:41/8:07s (Race date: September 18, 8 trains)3

I’ll close with cheers and thanks to Tom Aye and Dirty Water Running for putting on this ridiculous and ridiculously fun race. At this point, I’m not certain I’ll be back to race again next year. I’m satisfied that for now, the T is no match for me. If the MBTA eventually manages to implement signal priority for the Green Line though, I’ll definitely be there for another rematch.


Footnotes:

  1. As Satchel Paige said, “Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you”. ↩︎

  2. The more fearless/reckless runners may even take to dodging moving cars, though that’s certainly not recommended. ↩︎

  3. You might notice that after a substantial speed up between 2024 and 2025, the trains got a bit slower in 2026. I’m curious how the date of the race might affects train speeds. Being a little later into the new school year might mean, say, more college students going downtown, slowing down the trains. ↩︎

Money Quotes: September 2026 Edition

“Kaivoin apinan raivolla maata”

Let’s look at some Money Quotes, the best in ridiculous quotes from the news.

First off, in South Boston, we have a a true and confirmed scofflaw:

[O]fficers spoke to the victim who stated an unknown male entered the store and took a coffee and a snack without paying for them. ​The victim stated the suspect has done this on several occasions​, ​​demonstrating a complete disregard for ​potential consequences.

Honestly, if criminals had any regard for potential consequences, they probably wouldn’t be out there criming.

Also in lousy criminals, we have a Florida man, because of course we do:

A woman who was inside the HomeGoods at the time of the incident told officers that she saw Thomas enter the store, walk into the aisle where she was standing, and say, “I’m sorry, I have to do this,” CCPD said. The woman said Thomas then dropped his pants, exposing himself.

That’s obviously awful. I guess it’s at least something that he pre-apologized? No, no, it’s still awful.

Let’s pivot to baseball, where big leaguer Willson Contreras was doing a minor-league rehab stint when he had some sort of trouble with an umpire:

Contreras also got into a spat with the home-plate umpire Saturday in Portland, but when asked about the incident Sunday, he didn’t elaborate.…“I don’t know, you can go ask the umpire, his name is Gary,” Contreras said.

Willson doesn’t want to get into it, but you can go ask Gary.

Finally, in better news, Finnish metal detectorist Kalle Lappinen found a cache of thousands of Viking-Age silver coins. He described what happened after his detector pinged:

“With the fury of a monkey, I dug through the soil, bottom moraine and cobblestones,”

I suspected this might be a translated idiom, and a Reddit user on r/Finland seems to verify that. Delightful! Let’s all get out there and see about making that phrase stick in English, too.

We Can See Everything

I don’t think I want to.

I have paid Elizabeth Holmes only scant attention, but I know the basics of her story. After she founded Theranos at 19, the company grew to a multi-billion dollar valuation on the back of fraudulent claims about enhanced blood tests. After it eventually fell apart, Holmes was tried and convicted of fraud. Despite two bizarrely-timed pregnancies that seemed like disturbingly calculated attempts to garner sympathy, she is currently serving 11 years in prison.

I imagined that might be the last we heard of Holmes, and for some time, it was. Now, however, there’s a bizarre new documentary called “You Can See Everything”. It’s from comedian/surrealist Nathan Fielder, who for reasons beyond comprehension was granted full access to Holmes and her family just a month before she had to report to prison in 2023. After reading about its Sunday premier at the Telluride Film Festival, I watched the trailer, and boy was it unsettling.1

Elizabeth Holmes looking incredibly creepy

Frankly, it’s the creepiest thing I’ve seen in a long while, and not just because it looks like an outtake from the music video for “Black Hole Sun”. Holmes looks so uncanny that I honestly thought the whole thing might be A.I.-generated, but it’s her affect that’s truly horrifying. When she declares “I’m engaging with you as a human being”, the “sociopathic” is heavily implied.

“You Can See Everything” will be released next month, and it might just be the scariest movie of the Halloween season


Footnotes:

  1. The trailer is archived here. ↩︎

Staying Humble

It’s hard to get a big head when you have no head.

My laser printer (a Brother whatever-it-is) can’t do color, but CVS will print a 4”x6” photo for all of 42 cents.1 It takes about a minute and a half to upload an image file and click through to order. A few hours later, your printed photo is ready for retrieval.

And so:

A picture of your humble author, whose face is entirely covered by a blurry elbow in the foreground, printed out and framed

You probably thought I was kidding. I probably thought I was too. But now I’ve gone and done this. It makes a good addition to my trophy case, ensuring that I don’t get a big head.


Footnotes:

  1. It’s possible it was even cheaper than that, as I fear I may actually have stolen this photograph from CVS. As described, I uploaded my photograph online and placed the order to have it printed. When I went to pick it up, I was handed the photo, after which I simply left.

    Only after I got home did I stop to wonder when I’d actually paid. The original emails don’t have any payment information, and I don’t see a 42¢ charge on my credit card. I suspect I was supposed to pay at the store. And yet, the clerk who handed me the photo gave no indication that he was expecting payment. ↩︎

The $999,999 Limit

Oh, the points you could earn!

Though the recent email sent by Massachusetts was suspicious in the extreme, the registration on my car will indeed come due in a couple of months. After I verified that, I figured I ought to get it taken care of online. It’s generally a relatively painless process, requiring just a few clicks.

As I finalized things and reached the payment stage, I saw this:

A payment screen noting that “The maximum payment allowed on a credit card is $999,999”.

I highlighted what is a truly bizarre sentence to read, in any context. “The maximum payment allowed on a credit card is $999,999”! I would love to know the story behind that. This message has been shown since at least 2025, because I was similarly taken aback when I saw it last October. I took a screenshot then, and chuckled about it with friends. Only now, upon seeing it again, did I think to share it with you too.

Which would you guess is less common: a million dollar RMV charge, or a credit card with a million dollar limit? I suppose someone who purchases a multimillion-dollar super car might owe the RMV taxes that reach seven figures. That type of person might also have a real Amex Black Card (not the bogus Visa Black Card), which could make it possible to charge such a bill to a credit card.

Still, does it really make sense for every single resident who transacts with the RMV to see this ludicrous message?