Avast, ye scurvy dogs and digital drifters! Gather 'round the mainmast as Captain Iron Ink spills the bitterest grog yet on the state of our high-seas entertainment. Word has reached my weathered ears from the legendary privateer Matt Damon—a veteran navigator of many a cinematic voyage—that the lords of the Red N (that Great Kraken of Streaming) have issued a decree that would make even a parrot blush. It seems the Admiralty of Netflix no longer trusts a sailor’s eyes. They demand that every plot point, every twist of the map, and every buried chest of narrative be explained three or four times over in the parley, all because the landlubbers watching from their hammocks are too busy staring at their glowing hand-slates to notice a kraken if it bit 'em on the stern.

“It’s a dark day for the art of the voyage,” grumbled my First Mate, Short-Attention Sam, as he squinted at a horizon he’d already forgotten. “If I have to be told where the treasure is four times, I’ll have forgotten why I’m digging by the second!” And Sam ain’t alone in his grog-soaked wisdom. Damon, while promoting his latest vessel *The Rip*, revealed that the traditional way of sailing—saving your heaviest cannons for the final act—is being scuttled. Instead, the Silicon Lords demand a massive broadside in the first five minutes just to keep the crew from jumping overboard to look at pictures of cats on their enchanted pebbles.

This 'hook-at-all-costs' mentality is turning our grand epics into repetitive bilge water. In the old days, a captain could lead his audience through a fog of mystery, trusting them to hold the compass. Now, the High Seas of Content are being charted by Lord Algor-Rhythm, a heartless ghost who believes the average viewer has the memory of a gold-guppy. If a character decides to betray the fleet, they must now announce it to the seagulls, whisper it to the waves, and then write it in the logbook twice, just in case a distracted sailor was busy swiping left on a digital wench during the first revelation.

Master Gunner Ben Affleck, Damon’s longtime matey, has been seen shaking his head at these new-fangled tactics. He points to the success of the psychological drama *Adolescence* as proof that you don’t need to fire all your cannons at once to keep a crew engaged. But the Red N remains stubborn, fearing that without constant repetition, the modern audience will lose the scent of the booty entirely. The consequence for us on the High Seas is dire: the death of the 'Slow Burn.' No longer can a story unfurl like a majestic sail; it must now be hammered into our skulls like a boarding pike, over and over, until the nuance is crushed into sand.

Mark my words, me hearties: if we continue down this path of the Triple-Told Tale, we’ll soon find ourselves in a world where every map is just a circle and every treasure is a participation trophy. We’re losing the ability to sail by the stars because we’re too busy checking the 'likes' on our sextants. If the storytellers stop trusting us to pay attention, we might as well just scuttle the whole fleet and go back to watching the clouds. At least the clouds don't repeat themselves three times just because I looked away to scratch me barnacles.