Sticky Messages

A fun and easy email about “appointment marketing”

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I’m in this bantering WhatsApp group with a few friends that I studied with. In the group, we exchange stupid jokes and tabloid headlines, and we reminisce about times spent drinking together.

I’m very happy to join in all that.

But sooner or later, the conversation turns to Netflix and the shows people are watching. Whenever this happens, I sit there, a frozen smile on my face, with nothing to contribute, quietly desperate inside, waiting for the storm to pass.

I stopped watching TV a long time ago, and I completely missed out on the streaming revolution. I never got into any of the millions of streaming shows.

I wish my friends never got into them either, so I wouldn’t have to sit on the sidelines during the latest rounds of, “It was soooooo good, you should check it out!”

So it was with some malicious glee today that I read an article on Vulture, about Netflix’s recent troubles.

The article came out late last month, on the heels of news that Netflix lost subscribers for the first time in 10 years. Netflix’s stock price dropped 35% as a result, erasing over $50 billion worth of value in one day.

“Good,” I cackled to myself, rubbing my hands together. ​​

But you know what? I might not watch Netflix, but I do care what they do as a company.

Because like Ben Settle has been pointing out for years, we have entered the age of entertainment. Today, not only your education or selling, but even your entertainment, needs to be presold through entertainment and still more entertainment.

And who better to learn from than the hottest entertainment provider today? That’s why I figure Netflix’s hits and misses are both worth studying.

The Vulture article gives an interesting analysis of what has been going wrong at Netflix. The article deserves digging up and reading in full. Here I will share just one fun and easy thing with you.

Netflix innovated binge watching. All episodes of a show were dumped to the public at the same time.

That means you can spend a weekend in bed, eating Nutella out of the jar, and watching episode after episode of Bridgerton until nausea sets in, either from the show or from Nutella.

But while binge watching got Netflix a cult of rabid fans to start, it has its drawbacks, which are now surfacing.

One drawback is obvious. The lifetime of a binged show tends to be short.

The second drawback is less obvious. Many people like the opposite of binge watching, something the Vulture article calls “appointment TV.”

For example, knowing (once upon a time) that Seinfeld is coming on at 9pm every Thursday isn’t just about having a ritual for a Thursday evening for an entire year.

It also creates expectation and excitement.

It allows viewers to bond with their friends who are also watching the same show.

And maybe most important, it allows people the pleasure of sharing and converting others, getting you free publicity, and money money money.

So what exactly am I telling you to do?

Absolutely nothing.

​​In fact, if you remember anything from this email, remember my disappointed face whenever I hear the conversation turn to Netflix recommendations… and remember my fiendish cackling whenever I read about Neflix’s troubles.

Because I figure that for anything like “appointment marketing” to work, it takes more than just a regular schedule.

The content itself must be fun and easy. Even a hint of work or seriousness is probably deadly.

So in the interest of having you go on Twitter to share the latest Bejako email… or tell your friends that my newsletter is soooooo good and they havetocheckitout… I will stop myself here. And I will go peek in my WhatsApp group, maybe for some political memes to make me chuckle.

And on the next episode of Bejako…

Well, that episode will air tomorrow, at around 8pm CET, in your inbox, in case you sign up for my fun and easy email newsletter.

Tell, don’t show

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Among copywriters, the most famous movie of all time is Lethal Weapon. That’s because Gene Schwartz, the author of Breakthrough Advertising, which is something like a bible in the field, once said that every copywriter should watch Lethal Weapon at least two or three times, preferably back to back.

Gene was recommending Lethal Weapon because of its BANG-talk-BOOM-talk-JOKE-BANG-BOOM-talk structure.

But Lethal Weapon is an influence gift that keeps on giving. For example:

In one early scene, we see Martin Riggs, a cop played by Mel Gibson, in the middle of a Christmas tree lot. Riggs is being used as a human shield by a cornered drug dealer, who is pointing a gun at Riggs’s head.

Riggs starts yelling to the gathering cops, who all have their guns out. “Shoot him! Shoot the bastard!”

The drug dealer is getting flustered. He begs Riggs to shut up.

​​Riggs keeps yelling. And in a flash, he turns around, grabs the gun from the drug dealer, headbutts him, and ends the standoff.

​​Next scene:

W​e see the same Martin Riggs, in his ramshackle trailer by the beach, late at night. He’s drinking and looking at a framed wedding photo of himself and his wife.

Riggs takes his gun and puts it inside his mouth. He tries to pull the trigger, but he can’t. He starts crying. “Oh, I miss you,” Riggs says to the picture.

Are you getting an idea of what kind of character Martin Riggs might be?

I hope so.

But in case not, there’s one more scene I want to tell you about. In fact, it’s the very next scene in the movie:

The police office psychologist is walking with the police captain through the police station. “May I remind you,” she says to the captain, “that his wife of 11 years was recently killed in a car accident? He’s on the edge, sir. I’m telling you he may be psychotic. You’re making a mistake by keeping him in the field. The man is suicidal.”

So now let me point out the obvious:

Probably the most famous bit of writing advice is to show and not tell.

And it’s good advice.

It’s almost as good as the advice to both show and tell, which is what’s happening in those Lethal Weapon scenes.

Because with buddy cop comedies, sales copy, and with influential writing as well, we are really not looking for people to draw their own conclusions.

Sure, it’s great if they conclude what we want them to, on their own. And that’s why we show them stuff.

But you don’t want to leave it there. You don’t want to give people any wiggle room. So that’s why you tell them your point as well as show it.

What? You say you knew that already? Or you say it’s so obvious that it doesn’t need to be pointed out?

Fine. So let me tell you something else, which might be genuinely new:

You can tell people stuff. Including stuff that’s not supported by the emotional visualization you just showed them.

Because an emotion is like syrup. It can be poured over anything… and once it’s poured onto the pancakes, it’s likely to spread all over the plate, to the sausages also.

That’s a super valuable idea, if you only grasp it.

​​In fact, all my emails are chock full of such super valuable ideas. If you want me to show you as well as tell you that, sign up for my newsletter here.

I’m sorry Ms. Jackson

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This one right here goes out to all the email copywriters… the business owners who write their own emails… maybe even those with a YouTube channel.

Here’s the story:​​

A few weeks ago, a music industry insider named Ted Gioia made a big splash by writing an article with the title:

“Is Old Music Killing New Music?”

Gioia had a bunch of stats and anecdotes to prove that old music — stuff that came out 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 years ago — is crowding out the new music being produced today.

Gioia has his theory for why this is.

Basically, he says, record company execs just wants to get a piece of the American pie to take their bite out. So they keep giving people tried-and-true stuff. They’re not willing to take risks.

It’s short-term thinking, Gioia says. Because ironically, the execs are making themselves irrelevant in the process. But one way or another, the fact remains, in Gioia’s words:

“Never before in history have new tracks attained hit status while generating so little cultural impact.”

In my own uninformed yet subjective opinion, this is part of a bigger trend.

It’s not only music that’s getting old. I think it’s movies also, and perhaps other pop culture too.

This matters for marketers.

Because from what I’ve seen writing approximately a billion sales emails… pop culture always gets a great response.

Pop culture references turns you into a magician who can abracadabra a sales point… get people to enjoy it… and maybe even get them to buy.

So what exactly am I telling you?

Well, it’s the same thing that some 40 years ago, A-list copywriter Gene Schwartz said:

“If a movie does a hundred million dollars or more, especially a movie that does two hundred or three hundred million dollars or more, I would go to it two or three times.”

This is a good idea today just as it was in Gene’s time.

Go see blockbusters. But make sure you see the same ones that Gene was talking about, like Lethal Weapon and Home Alone and Pulp Fiction.

In other words, don’t take risks with any of this new stuff. Give people the tried-and-true. And keep doing it. Forever. Forever-ever. For-EVER-ever.

“Whoa there Bejako,” you say. ​”You’ve been handing out a lot of careless and maybe even harmful advice lately.”

Oh yeah, like what?​

“Well, like ​first you said to bet on the Bengals for the Super Bowl. We know how that turned out. Then a couple days ago you almost got me sucked into QAnon.”

That was an honest mistake.
​
“Whatever. The point is, now you’re telling me to pander to my audience with references to Fleetwood Mac and Kill Bill. But isn’t this the same short-term thinking as those record company execs? Won’t I be making myself irrelevant in the process?”

I don’t know. You might be right. I might be wrong. So all I can say is:

I’m sorry dear reader. I am for real. Never meant to send you bad advice. I apologize a trillion times.

But I’ll do more than apologize.

I’ll tell you how to avoid pandering and talk about pop culture your audience isn’t familiar with, without taking much of a risk. That’s in my email tomorrow. I hope you’ll read it. You and your mama.

G is for Gavin mauled by a wild cat

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Once upon a time, there lived a human being named Gavin.

One day, Gavin was walking through the jungle. Suddenly he froze. His eyes got wide. His mouth hung open. Blood drained out of his face.

What was that in the bushes ahead? It looked like a tiger’s shifting green eyes.

But a moment later, Gavin relaxed. He realized what he was seeing. It was just berries, hanging from a branch.

A bit later, it happened again. Gavin stopped mid-step. He thought he saw tiger eyes in the shadows. But his own eyes and his brain were better adapted this time. It was more fruit. He chuckled at himself and kept walking.

And a few moments later, it happened yet again. Gavin thought he saw a tiger’s eyes in the bushes. But this time he just shook his head and didn’t even slow down. He walked right up to the bush where the tiger was hiding. Gavin died, age 13, victim of a tiger mauling, never having sired any children.

Today, I want to give you a design and branding and maybe copywriting tip.

It’s based on idea I got from cognitive scientist Donald Hoffman. Hoffman says our brains and eyes quickly get used to most stimuli. That’s why I often stand for ages in front of the fridge, trying to find the olive jar I know must be in there… which turns out to be right on the shelf in front of me, in full view.

This is a feature, not a bug. It makes no sense to keep noticing familiar things. Except…

There are some things we never get habituated to.

One of these is animals. Or even animal bits are enough.

An eye. A tail. A tooth.

Hoffman says our brains never get fully habituated to these stimuli. Well, in general that’s true. There were people like Gavin whose eyes and brains did get habituated to seeing animal bits… and we never heard from these people again.

So that’s the design and branding tip Hoffman gives.

If you want to design packaging or create a logo for your brand, find a subtle way to trick the eye. Make it think it might be seeing an animal hiding on the shelf or inside the computer screen.

However many times people see your design or you logo, they will notice it, yet again.

Because animals are hard-wired into our biology. And so are people. Which is my copywriting tip for you for today.

If you have something important — but abstract — to teach people, make sure you wrap it up in a person. For example, here’s how Edward Gorey helped kids learn their ABCs — and how you can too:

A is for Amy who fell down the stairs
B is for Basil assaulted by bears
C is for Clara who wasted away
D is for Desmond thrown out of a sleigh
E is for Ernest who choked on a peach
F is for Fanny sucked dry by a leech
…

Want more marketing ABCs, wrapped up in a person-sandwich? Then hold back your habituation to being pitched, and follow my lead here.

Deadline in the air tonight

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“You know the song by Phil Collins, ‘In the Air of the Night’
About that guy who coulda saved that other guy from drownin’
But didn’t, then Phil saw it all, then at a show he found him?”
– Eminem, Stan

I just found out that Phil Collins’s famous hit In The Air Tonight is not about a drowning that Phil witnessed. I thought it was for years, apparently like Eminem and millions of other people. But no. It turns out to be just an urban legend. Says Phil:

“So what makes it even more comical is when I hear these stories which started many years ago, particularly in America, of someone come up to me and say, ‘Did you really see someone drowning?’ I said, ‘No, wrong.’ And then every time I go back to America the story gets Chinese whispers, it gets more and more elaborate. It’s so frustrating, ’cause this is one song out of all the songs probably that I’ve ever written that I really don’t know what it’s about, you know?”

I know, Phil. It’s gotta be frustrating. Still, it’s a hell of a story… and maybe you should have kept quiet about the bland real origin of the song.

But whatever. Phil can’t hear me. Maybe you can. So let me admit why I bring all this up:

In The Air Tonight has been playing in my head all evening long. In part, because it’s getting late. In part, because I don’t want to be accused, like that mysterious person in Phil’s song, of standing by and not lending a hand to a drowning man.

So here’s me, making a last effort to help you out:

The deadline to enroll in my Copy Riddles program is nearing. The cart will close in a few hours, at midnight PST.

Maybe you couldn’t care less and you’re just fine, right where you are. But if you have any interest in enrolling in Copy Riddles, consider this a lifebuoy I’m throwing you. To grab it and use it while there’s still time:

https://bejakovic.com/cr

Fake stories in copy

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A man sat down at a classy restaurant. It looked great.

There was a plant next to his table. A big ficus.

“I’ve got one of these at home,” the man said. He passed his fingers over the leaves and—

He realized they were plastic.

The plant looked real, but it was fake. In fact, on closer examination, the man realized the plant looked fake also. There were things that gave it away.

Suddenly, the man found himself questioning the whole restaurant, even before he had a chance to order.

Speaking of ordering, I got a couple questions recently. They were on the topic of, “What do you think of using fake stories in your copy?”

One question had to do with the claim that fake stories are illegal to use.

I don’t know about that. I’m not a lawyer. But I doubt it’s illegal. At most, I think you might have to add some kind of disclaimer, like they do at the bottom of TV commercials. “These are paid fitness models, and they have never used the Ab Rocket and would in fact never use the Ab Rocket.”

So I don’t have a problem with fake stories from a legal standpoint. But I have a problem with them just because they sound fake and made up. Because people will spot a fake story, just like they will spot a fake plant. And then they will doubt everything that follows.

“But what about parables and fairy tales?” That was the second question I got on this topic.

That’s something completely different, I think. Parables are powerful. Pop culture illustrations are great also, even if they come from a comic book or superhero movie. Fairy tales work too, whether you made them up or somebody else did.

The key is the subtext.

A fake plant in a restaurant signals tackiness and makes you doubt the quality of the food.

A fake plant as part of theatrical scenery, during an engrossing play that leaves you with some sort of lingering moral… that’s a welcome aid to imagination, understanding, and maybe, to being persuaded.

Now if you feel persuaded by this fairy tale:

You might like to read some other stuff I write. In that case, you can sign up for my email newsletter.

Understanding really influential writing

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Let me warn you ahead of time that today’s post is vague and speculative. I’m sharing it because I think the core idea could be very valuable, and maybe you will agree.

​​But if you are looking for a quick tip to improve your conversion rates, you won’t find that in today’s post, so maybe it makes sense to stop reading now.

And now that you’ve been warned, let me jump to the big question:

What’s up with consciousness? It seems to be a trendy question these days. And since I am a trendy person, I clambered onto this bandwagon.

So I just finished reading a book about one theory of how consciousness arises, called The Feeling of Life Itself. The book was written by Christof Koch, formerly a professor at Caltech and now chief scientist at the Allen Institute for Brain Science.

At the heart of Koch’s book are two diagrams. Each diagram shows a network of logic gates, the kind of stuff computers, or human brains, are built of in the abstract.

One diagram shows a network with three gates. The other diagram shows a much bigger network, with 66 gates.

And here’s something non-obvious:

The 3-gate network and the much bigger 66-gate network actually do the same computation. In other words, start with the same inputs, run the thing for a while, and you will end up with the same outputs with these two very different-seeming networks.

How is this possible? Well, the 3-gate network is richly interconnected, with each gate doing double and triple duty. On the other hand, the big 66-gate network is much more linear, with each gate serving just one tiny role.

Rich interconnectivity is why the 3-gate network can punch above its weight, computation-wise.

And it just so happens — so says Christof Koch — it’s also why the tiny 3-node network has some small bit of consciousness… while the much bigger 66-node network has none.

In other words, Koch’s claim is that consciousness is the same as how tightly integrated a network is, and how many distinct roles its elements serve.

​​That’s why certain parts of the human brain give rise to consciousness… while a computer, no matter how fast or smart it gets, will never be conscious.

I can’t judge Koch’s argument one way or another. But I feel there’s something there, because his idea stimulated an analogous idea in my own mind. I think something similar happens in writing and communicating ideas.

Let me show you. Here’s the intro to the 1994 reprint of Marshall McLuhan’s Understanding Media:

“Thirty years ago this past summer Herbert Marshall McLuhan published Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, and within a matter of months the book acquired the standing of Holy Scripture and made of its author the foremost oracle of the age. Sel­dom in living memory had so obscure a scholar descended so abruptly from so re­mote a garret into the center ring of the celebrity circus, but McLuhan accepted the transformation as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, nothing more than the inevi­table and unsurprising proof of the hypoth­esis that he had found in the library at the University of Toronto.”

How did McLuhan go from obscure scholar to oracle in a matter of months? From the same intro:

“Despite its title, the book was never easy to understand. By turns brilliant and opaque, McLuhan’s thought meets the specifications of the epistemology that he ascribes to the electronic media – non­ lineal, repetitive, discontinuous, intuitive, proceeding by analogy instead of sequential argument.”

So that’s the idea I wanted to share with you.

A textbook and a book of the Bible both convey information. Possibly even the same information.

But a textbook creates no experience, no consciousness in the reader’s brain. A textbook might be useful. But it’s too linear, and that’s why it’s forgettable, and it inspires nothing.

On the other hand, take writing like the Bible or McLuhan’s Understanding Media.

​​These are non-linear, self-referential works, where each passage is doing double and triple duty. ​The more integrated the writing, the more it creates an experience of consciousness in the reader’s brain.

That’s why these books are remembered, absorbed, and acted upon. That’s why they can transform somebody from obscure to celebrity. And it just so happens, that’s why they punch above their weight, influence-wise.

Split-brain persuasion

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Imagine a table in a science lab. At one end is a man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, smiling and looking around. At the other end is a scientist in a white coat, holding a clipboard.

“I’ll ask you some yes-no questions,” the scientist says. “But don’t answer me in words. Instead I want you to point to YES or NO on this board here. And for each question, I will tell you which hand I want you to point with. Makes sense?”

The other man nods.

“Let’s start then. Right hand: are you at Caltech right now?”

The man points to YES with his right hand.

“Left hand: are you a woman?”

The man points to NO with his left hand.

“Right hand: is chocolate your favorite ice cream flavor?”

YES.

“Left hand: are you asleep right now?”

NO.

“Ok… here’s a more personal question. Right hand: do you believe in God?”

The right hand points to NO.

“Left hand: do YOU believe in God?”

The man’s left hand flies to point to YES. Because the left side of this man’s body, and the right side of his brain, are believers. But the right side of his body, and the left side of his brain, are atheists.

The crazy thing is, this experiment really happened. And so have many other related experiments.

They were all done on patients who had their corpus callosum cut. That’s the bridge between the two islands of your left and right brain hemispheres.

People with a cut corpus callosum do just fine in normal situations. But in a lab setting, you can tease out that they have two brains… two personalities… and two different consciousnesses inside their skulls and skin.

In a person with a normal corpus callosum, these two parts somehow merge. But my guess is these split-brain conflicts remain in all of us, just hidden beneath the surface.

Anyways, now that I’ve told you about the man who might be going to both heaven and hell, here’s the point of today’s email:

According to split-brain research, the right side of the brain responds to images, humor, surprise, and metaphors…

While the left side of the brain responds to facts, argument, consistency, and logic.

So you’ve got to both SHOW and TELL. Because you don’t want the two sides arguing with each other beneath the surface. It might sink your message.

And here’s another tip:

If you’ve tried and failed to persuade somebody before… even though you have a good point… then you don’t need better logic.

The left side is happy hearing the same sound logic over and over.

But you do need a surprising new presentation. It doesn’t have to be logical. It just has to be dramatic. How dramatic? Ideally, heaven-and-hell-type stuff.

Did you find this post enlightening? If you did, then use your left hand to click here and sign up for more ideas and images like what you just read.

Tom Cleveland continues his productive NYT snooping

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How do veterans of #vanlife feel about all the newbies? Can you make a statement about your gender, when there’s no one there to watch you? And is that “maskne” on your face, or is it plain old acne?

In case you want answers to any of these questions, head on over to the New York Times website. As I write, these stories are all up on the home page.

A guy named Tom Cleveland has been snooping on the Times. I wrote about him a few weeks ago. Through his snooping, he discovered how the NYT makes its headlines more dramatic through A/B testing.

Now Cleveland has put out a part two to his research. It’s about which stories linger on the Times digital front page. And the breakdown is this:

News: 46.6%
Opinion: 22.2%
Feature: 31.1%

“Categories and numbers, huh?” Let me translate what I think this means.

“News” you’re probably familiar with. “U.S. Adds 916,000 Jobs in Sign of Surging Labor Market.” No thrills there.

“Opinion” is a little more fluid. It includes hard-hitting editorial such as “The unsettling power of Easter” (also on the NYT front page right now) as well as the “If a gender falls in the forest” piece above.

And then there’s “Features.” This is apparently an industry term for pure fluff — your typical #vanlife and maskne pieces.

So adding up Opinion and Feature, we get that the NY Times shows this type of content 54.3% of the time on its front page. In other words, this is most of what they show — because it’s most of what people want to see.

Please believe me:

This is not my ant-sized attack on the elephant that is the New York Times. Instead, I just want to point out that people always want human-interest stuff, first and foremost.

If you’re in the business of feeding people whatever, just to sell subscriptions and ads, they you might as well stick to fluff or tabloid content.

On the other hand, perhaps you have an important message to share with the world. But you worry that your topic puts people to sleep. Or gives them a headache.

Don’t worry. It’s an easy problem to fix. Just wrap your dry, complex topic in a thick human-interest sandwich. People will happily devour it, all the way to the end. ​​Here’s an example from an email I wrote last year:

“It’s a story of family betrayal… of breakthrough ideas, conceived in prison… of a small group of desperate visionaries who took an almost occult science… and combined it with a strange, untested new technology… to create the foundations of an industry worth over a quarter trillion dollars.”

Do you know what that paragraph was about? It’s about dry, technical topic. Namely, direct marketing, told through the colorful characters who dun it — Claude Hopkins, Gary Halbert, Ken McCarthy. And if you want to know how that story developed, you might like to sign up to my very human-friendly email newsletter.

Intuition pump

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Let me share a fictional story I just read in an anarchist copywriter ezine:

One morning in a certain November, a man named John Bejakovic walked out onto his driveway and down to the mailbox.

All around, the street was empty, as it had been for days. His neighbors, like most people around the world, were in a panic, and stayed out of the open as much as possible.

Each night, experts on the teletron warned of unusual bursts of cosmic gamma rays. The experts said these gamma rays could cause serious DNA damage. And while some people seemed to handle the gamma rays just fine, others suffered for weeks with strange symptoms. Still others died.

John opened his mailbox. Among the usual junk mail — magalogs from Boardroom and Phillips Publishing — he saw a thin white envelope. He recognized it immediately. It was an occasional newsletter John was subscribed to, written and published by an expert in persuasive communication.

As always, on the top of the white envelope, in large black letters, there was a “teaser.” This week, it read:

“AN HONEST MISTAKE?”

John walked back inside, magalogs under his arm. He tossed the magalogs into the trash, sat down on the couch, and ripped open the envelope.

“I’ve been warning you all year long,” the newsletter started. “The world is finally starting to realize that the Great Gamma Ray Hysteria is nothing more than a seasonal flareup of space radiation. The question is, how did we get here?”

The newsletter then went into a bunch of reasoned arguments. John scratched his head, and scanned over the remaining pages. Expert opinion… statistics… data. Not only was this whole gamma ray thing not real, the newsletter argued, it was purposefully fabricated.

“Yawn,” John said out loud, even though nobody was in the room with him. “How could an expert in persuasive communication write something like this?”

John tossed the newsletter aside, and grabbed an issue of the New Yorker from the coffee table. He was in the middle of an article about philosopher Daniel Dennett. The article picked up:

“Arguments, Dennett found, rarely shift intuitions; it’s through stories that we revise our sense of what’s natural. (He calls such stories ‘intuition pumps.’) In 1978, he published a short story called ‘Where Am I?,’ in which a philosopher, also named Daniel Dennett, is asked to volunteer for a dangerous mission to disarm an experimental nuclear warhead.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” John said, slapping the page. He rushed to his writing desk and got out a piece of paper. “I’ll show him,” he said out loud, even though there was nobody else in that room either.

Hey it’s me again. I mostly wanted to share this fictional story because the main character has the same name as me. What are the odds?

But the story gets increasingly pornographic after this point, so I won’t bother reprinting it verbatim.

The gist of the action is that the guy started to write a letter to the persuasion expert. He wanted to complain about the boring newsletter. But he ripped the letter up because he realized he was making the same mistake of trying to make his point through argument.

So instead, he wrote a short story about unicorns, and about an evil wizard who poisons their meadow. He published his story in Teen Vogue, where it went viral, and wound up being read verbatim on the Dr. Oz teletron show.

What nobody realized is that the story was just an exercise — a trojan horse to make the same point about the gamma rays, but in a more persuasive way.

And after the story was read on Dr. Oz, people around the world had a mass change of heart and started walking out onto the streets again. And you can imagine how that went, with all the surging gamma radiation raining down from heaven.

Anyways, like I said, a fictional story. But I had to share it just because of the coincidence of the name. And who knows, maybe you can draw some value out of it.

Speaking of newsletters, I’ve also got one. It’s email, not paper, and it arrives every day, not only occasionally. Here’s the optin.