A Little Pin in the Universe: How to Deflate an Ego Without Leaving Your Living Room

They say you can’t buy happiness — but you can buy a voodoo doll. And sometimes, that’s close enough. Especially when the doll happens to resemble a certain overconfident billionaire who thinks he’s a mix of Tony Stark, God, and your boss from hell.

The doll arrives in a sleek black box, wrapped in recycled paper (naturally), with a tiny instruction card that reads: “Insert needles in strategic places for optimal results.” How thoughtful. You pour yourself a drink, light a candle, and stare at the smug little face stitched with just the right amount of arrogance. It’s uncanny — the doll looks like it’s about to brag about sending a car to space or “saving” free speech.

You start with a pin in the ego — right between the eyes. A small prick, nothing major. Just enough to deflate that hot-air balloon of self-importance floating somewhere over Silicon Valley. Next, a jab in the mouth. Maybe it’ll encourage a moment of silence — or at least stop the stream of half-baked ideas about colonizing Mars while Earth burns.

Then you find the wallet. It’s not an organ, but on this doll, it might as well be. A sharp needle right there, and you whisper: “Maybe this time, you’ll pay your taxes instead of buying another social media platform to ruin.”

You pause. Maybe you’re being too harsh. After all, he’s just a man — a man with more money than empathy, more satellites than friends, and more companies than sense. But compassion isn’t what brought you here. Justice is. Cosmic, karmic, needle-shaped justice.

So you go for the final blow — the heart. If you can find it. You poke around the chest area but it feels… empty. Hollow. Maybe the doll came without one. Maybe the manufacturer just skipped that part to stay accurate. Either way, you give it a firm jab. Not out of anger, but out of hope. Hope that somewhere, in some strange, symbolic way, a tiny flicker of humility might light up in that man-shaped void.

When you’re done, you sit back and admire your work. The doll looks like a strange art installation — modern, minimalistic, painfully realistic. You imagine it sitting in a billionaire’s glass office, next to a half-eaten protein bar and a list of people to fire before lunch.

You smile. For a brief, beautiful moment, balance feels restored. The universe — or at least your living room — is back in order.

You don’t expect miracles. You don’t need rockets to explode, stocks to crash, or empires to fall. You just want the satisfaction of knowing that somewhere out there, the world’s most self-congratulatory man might feel a mysterious itch. Maybe he’ll pause mid-tweet, glance around, and wonder, “Did someone just…?”

Yes. Someone did. And they bought the deluxe edition voodoo doll — with extra needles, of course.

Buy a Voodoo Doll of the persons You Love to Hate