Avast, ye scurvy dogs and digital deckhands! Captain Iron Ink here, dipping my quill into the darkest bile to report on a treachery worse than a ghost ship in a fog bank. It seems the merchant lords of the mainland have grown too fat on their own hubris, tacking on hidden tithes and 'processing fees' as if we wouldn’t notice the extra weight in our purses. According to the latest logs from the High Admiral of Analytics, J.D. Power, these wretched surcharges are causing what they call an 'Acute Abandonment Risk.' In the King’s English, that means the crew is jumping overboard before the ink even dries on the receipt!

I’ve seen many a storm in my day, but nothing turns a loyal swashbuckler into a fleeing coward faster than seeing a three-percent 'convenience fee' for the privilege of handing over one’s hard-earned doubloons. The report suggests that when a merchant tries to claw back the cost of their own credit-card sorcery from the pockets of the common sailor, the bond of trust is snapped like a rotted mast. It’s a foul wind blowing through the marketplaces, mates. These greedy shop-keepers are playing a dangerous game, thinking they can bleed us for every copper while we stand at the counter. They forget that a pirate with a light purse is a pirate with a heavy grudge.

'I’d sooner drink a gallon of bilge-water than pay a surcharge for my morning grog,' spat Old One-Eye Barnaby, a veteran of the spice trades I found weeping over a bill at the local tavern. 'I went to buy a new cutlass, but when the clerk told me there was a surcharge for using my golden sovereign, I left the blade on the barrel and walked out. Let 'em defend their shops with spreadsheets and 'service fees' when the kraken comes knocking!' Even the high-born Lords of the Treasury are beginning to sweat, realizing that if the buyers vanish, the whole economy of the high seas sinks to Davy Jones’ Locker.

This isn't just a minor squabble over a few pieces of eight; it’s a full-scale mutiny in the making. The data proves that once a customer feels cheated by these parasitic add-ons, they don’t just grumble—they vanish into the mist, never to return to that particular port again. We are seeing a mass exodus from the checkout line that would make a plague-ship look like a crowded party. The merchants think they are protecting their margins, but they are actually scuttling their own vessels. You can’t trade if there’s no one left on the docks, you blithering idiots!

So, take heed, ye bloated governors of commerce! The Black Spot has been delivered, and it’s printed on the bottom of a receipt. If you continue to nickel-and-dime the salt of the earth, you’ll find yourselves captaining empty shops and ghost-malls. We sailors of the digital age have long memories and fast ships. We’ll take our business to the hidden coves and honest traders who don't charge us for the 'honor' of taking our gold. To the rest of ye: prepare to see your 'loyal' customers walk the plank, for the age of the surcharge is the death of the sale!