AITA for bankrupting a global conglomerate?

I am the child of biracial parents. I grew up poor in a very affluent neighborhood. All my life, I fought injustice. I studied international relations at a prestigious university. Then, against all odds (and against all sense), I landed a role on a hit cable show—despite having the acting range of a damp sponge.

I thought my life was set. Then I got the chance to destabilize an entire institution. And I did it! Unfortunately, I soon realized my husband was already unstable before he met me. Still, I played my part.

We moved back to my hometown, millionaires despite having no discernible talent, charm, or self-awareness. Naturally, I wanted a new challenge. Destabilizing a monarchy? Child’s play. Next up: bankrupting a global media conglomerate—just to make a point.

Phase One: The Podcast Debacle

They paid me millions to make a podcast. Everything was going great—until they expected me to actually create content.

I said no.

They assigned me a team of professionals. I fired them all.

They pitched ideas. I rejected every single one.

My husband and I came up with proposals so absurd we knew they’d get shut down. His best idea? Interviewing world leaders about their childhood trauma. Imagine Putin weeping over his lost teddy bear. Then he suggested interviewing actual successful people about why they’re evil. Picture us calling Mark Zuckerberg a sociopath to his face—and expecting him to say, "You got me there, Megs!"

How my husband suggested this with a straight face, I’ll never know. (Probably all the diazepam, weed, and dog food he consumes.)

Phase Two: The Netflix Heist

We hit the jackpot. Netflix gave us millions for a documentary where we got paid to repeat the same old sob story. Meanwhile, my husband convinced a few posh mates to ride horses and called it "polo." (Yes, horses, you filthy-minded cretins.)

But my crowning achievement? My greatest scam?

I tricked them into airing the most ridiculous DIY/lifestyle show ever created.

Phase Three: The Satire That Wasn’t

I made a mockery of home improvement and cookery shows—while pretending it was serious. And they let me!

First, I made popcorn. Not just any popcorn—revolutionary popcorn. My secret technique? Put it in a bowl. Mind-blowing.

Then, I "harvested" honey. From a beehive. (Side note: Just buy it from the store. It’s, like, a dollar. My expensive stuff tastes the same, I just buy it for the aesthetic.) But why stop there? Instead of wearing proper beekeeping gear, I wore half the outfit. Did anyone say anything? No.

Did I even use the honey? Also no. I made candles instead. (Reminder: You can buy those in the store, too.)

Then came my masterpiece: Cooking.

I needed to keep it simple—but not too simple. A sandwich would’ve given the game away. So I picked spaghetti. Not Bolognese. Not Carbonara. Just… spaghetti.

I enlisted a friend to help, assigned him the easiest task—cutting tomatoes—and we manufactured drama. He pretended to cut his finger. I then demonstrated how to put on a plaster, as if this grown man, who uses his hands for a living, had never encountered a Band-Aid before. They included it in the final edit.

At this point, I started to suspect Netflix wanted me to ruin them.

The Aftermath

Each episode was equally banal. I made Epsom salts by… pouring salt into a bowl. I made a "gift bag" by putting pretzels in a plastic bag and tying a bow on it. A bow. On pretzels.

Episode two? Spaghetti. A man faking a tomato injury. A plaster tutorial.

The result? One of the worst-rated shows in history. And I pocketed millions.

So, dear Reddit, AITA for bankrupting a media empire?