Can ChatGPT Really Help You Win Powerball? If You Believe That, You’ll Believe Anything

 

Put your belief that ChatGPT can help you win Mega Millions and Powerball into a box and shoot it; because AI can crunch the numbers, but it cannot bully Lady Luck.

I can already hear the sales pitch.

“Forget lucky birthdays. Forget fortune cookies. Forget the old man at the gas station who swears 17 is hot this week. Artificial intelligence has arrived. Ask ChatGPT for your Powerball numbers, buy the ticket, and start shopping for the Lamborghini.”

Wonderful.

There is only one small problem: It is nonsense.

ChatGPT can write a poem about Powerball. It can explain Powerball. It can calculate the odds of Powerball. It can generate Powerball numbers. It can even give those numbers an impressive-looking explanation. What it cannot do is see Wednesday night hiding inside Tuesday afternoon. That little detail kills the entire fantasy.

Powerball currently asks players to choose 5 white-ball numbers from 1 through 69 and 1 red Powerball from 1 through 26. A ticket costs $2, and the official jackpot odds are approximately 1 in 292.2 million. Mega Millions is hardly more charitable. Under the game introduced in 2025, a player chooses 5 numbers from 1 through 70 and 1 Mega Ball from 1 through 24. A ticket costs $5. The jackpot odds are 1 in 290,472,336.

Read that number again.

290,472,336.

That is not a typo.

That is mathematics standing at the door with a baseball bat.

Yet AI has entered the lottery conversation because we humans have an ancient weakness. We hate randomness. Randomness insults us. It tells us that our intelligence, education, research, spreadsheets, algorithms, dreams, birthdays, dead grandmother's favorite number and ChatGPT prompts may have absolutely nothing to do with what happens next.

We don't like that.

So we invent patterns.

“Number 32 hasn't appeared lately.”

Fine.

“Number 7 is overdue.”

Says who?

“Look at the historical data.”

I am looking.

The historical data tells me what happened yesterday. The lottery machine is interested in what happens tonight. That distinction is everything. Mega Millions itself explains that its drawing machines and ball sets are randomly selected, tested before drawings and certified by outside auditors. The purpose is straightforward: each number is supposed to have an equal chance of being drawn.

So imagine me walking into a convenience store carrying my smartphone like Moses carrying the tablets.

“ChatGPT gave me the numbers.”

The cashier looks at me.

“So?”

“It analyzed them.”

He shrugs.

“That'll be $5.”

And there goes my money.

The machine does not care that my numbers came from artificial intelligence. It does not care whether they came from Harvard, MIT, NASA, ChatGPT, my grandmother or a chicken walking across numbered squares.

Random is random.

This is where the story becomes deliciously dangerous, because there actually have been people who won substantial lottery prizes after using ChatGPT-generated numbers. In 2025, Tammy Carvey of Michigan asked ChatGPT for Powerball numbers. She played them. Her ticket matched 4 white balls and the Powerball. The original prize was $50,000, and Power Play doubled it to $100,000. Then there was Carrie Edwards of Virginia. She used numbers suggested with ChatGPT's help and won $150,000 playing Powerball. Her story became even more remarkable because she donated her winnings to charity.

There.

Case closed.

ChatGPT predicts lotteries.

Right?

Wrong.

This is exactly how coincidence puts on a necktie and begins pretending to be science. Millions of lottery combinations are purchased. Some are chosen from birthdays. Some come from Quick Pick. Some come from dreams. Some come from family traditions. Some come from numbers on license plates. And now some come from AI. Eventually, somebody using AI will win something. That proves that the ticket won. It does not prove that AI predicted the drawing. The difference is enormous.

Suppose I close my eyes, throw a dart at a wall covered with numbers and use the numbers the dart hits. If I win $100,000, nobody should conclude that darts have developed predictive intelligence. Yet put the same random selection behind a glowing computer screen and suddenly we start whispering about algorithms.

Welcome to the age of technological superstition.

The irony gets better. Mega Millions has its own random-number generator. The official website will generate numbers for players, and it explicitly says those selections are for entertainment purposes. More importantly, Mega Millions says no method of choosing randomly generated picks is better than another.

That sentence should be printed on a billboard.

AI cannot squeeze tomorrow's winning combination out of yesterday's lottery results because properly conducted lottery drawings are independent random events. If 23 appeared recently, that does not make 23 tired. If 41 has disappeared for weeks, 41 is not sitting backstage saying, “Boss, I'm overdue.”

Numbers have no memory.

Balls have no ambition.

The Powerball does not suffer from fear of missing out (FOMO).

This is the gambler's fallacy wearing an AI costume. And the jackpots themselves help feed the madness because they are enormous enough to make common sense pack its bags.

Mega Millions' record jackpot reached $1.602 billion in Florida on August 8, 2023. Other jackpots have exceeded $1 billion in South Carolina, Michigan, Illinois, Maine, New Jersey and California. Once people see $1 billion flashing above a convenience-store counter, mathematics starts sounding like a party pooper.

“One ticket.”

Then another.

Then another.

“ChatGPT, analyze the last 100 drawings.”

Now we are cooking.

Except we aren't.

We are decorating randomness.

AI can find frequencies in past drawings. It can count how often numbers appeared. It can identify so-called hot and cold numbers. It can produce charts. It can calculate combinations. It can avoid commonly selected birthday numbers. It can generate 20 tickets that look beautifully balanced between odd and even numbers.

None of that makes the next random balls obey the analysis.

That is the scam hiding inside some of the breathless talk about AI lottery systems. The scam is not necessarily ChatGPT. ChatGPT is merely a tool. The problem begins when people assign supernatural powers to statistical analysis.

I can ask AI:

“Give me the most likely Powerball numbers.”

The intellectually responsible answer is boring. There are no magic numbers. Every valid combination faces the same jackpot probability in a fair drawing. That doesn't sell many “secret systems.”

So somebody adds fireworks.

“AI POWERBALL STRATEGY THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW!”

Now we're in business.

Add a photograph of a mansion.

Put a Lamborghini in the corner.

Throw dollar bills across the thumbnail.

Somewhere, mathematics is drinking alone.

Consider what happened in Ohio in 2026. A $60 million Mega Millions jackpot was won with an auto-pick ticket. The winning numbers were 4, 11, 18, 38, 50 and Mega Ball 24. The winner chose the $30 million cash option.

The computer randomly picked the numbers.

No prophecy.

No secret prompt.

No 73-page AI strategy.

Just chance.

That is uncomfortable because chance cannot be monetized as easily as hope.

Hope needs a system.

Hope needs a guru.

Hope needs an algorithm.

Hope needs somebody saying, “I have cracked the code.”

But the code has not been cracked.

If someone actually developed an AI system that could reliably predict Powerball or Mega Millions, I doubt that person would be selling the method for $19.99 on the Internet. I imagine the conversation differently.

“Sir, how did you become a billionaire?”

“I predicted lotteries.”

“Can I buy your course?”

“No.”

“Can I subscribe to your newsletter?”

“No.”

“Can I see your prompt?”

“No.”

Then the billionaire disappears behind a gold-plated door. That would make sense. Selling a supposedly reliable jackpot-prediction system makes about as much sense as discovering an oil field under my backyard and earning my fortune by selling maps to the backyard.

There is, however, one legitimate thing AI can do for lottery players: It can help me understand the game. That matters. ChatGPT can explain probability. It can calculate how much I am spending. It can show me that buying more tickets increases my chances only by buying more combinations, not by making any individual combination magically smarter. It can explain lump-sum versus annuity payments. It can help me understand taxes. It can generate random numbers for entertainment. It can even help me build a strict lottery budget so entertainment does not quietly become financial self-harm.

Those are useful jobs.

Predicting the winning numbers is not one of them.

And there is another cruel joke buried here.

Powerball's overall odds of winning some prize are about 1 in 24.9, while the jackpot odds are roughly 1 in 292.2 million. Mega Millions' overall odds of winning any prize are 1 in 23, but the jackpot odds are 1 in 290,472,336. That gap explains much of lottery psychology. People win small amounts often enough to keep hope alive.

Then the giant jackpot sits on television wearing makeup.

$500 million.

$800 million.

$1 billion.

Come closer.

Just $2.

Just $5.

Maybe tonight.

And now AI adds a futuristic whisper:

“Maybe technology can improve your chances.”

No.

Technology can make the ticket-selection process more sophisticated. It cannot make randomness less random. If ChatGPT gives me 8, 19, 27, 44, 61 and Powerball 13, those numbers are not blessed by silicon. They are simply numbers. If they win, I got lucky. If they lose, ChatGPT did not malfunction. And if somebody wins after using AI-generated numbers, congratulations are appropriate. Scientific conclusions are not.

That distinction matters because humans have always confused successful outcomes with successful methods. The lottery merely makes the mistake spectacular.

A man dreams about 17 and wins using 17.

Suddenly dreams predict lotteries.

A woman uses her children's birthdays and wins.

Suddenly birthdays are a strategy.

A computer generates numbers and wins.

Computers are lucky.

ChatGPT generates numbers and wins.

Artificial intelligence has cracked Powerball.

Same superstition.

New costume.

I am not saying people should never buy lottery tickets. Entertainment is entertainment. Somebody eventually wins jackpots. Real people have collected life-changing sums, including Mega Millions prizes above $1 billion.

Buy the ticket if that is how you choose to spend your entertainment money.

Dream.

Check the numbers.

Imagine telling your boss goodbye.

Enjoy the fantasy.

But I would keep one hand on my wallet when somebody tells me AI knows which balls are coming out of the machine.

ChatGPT can write the resignation letter I might send after winning Powerball. It cannot tell me when I will need it. That is the punchline. We built machines capable of writing software, analyzing mountains of data, translating languages and explaining advanced mathematics. Then we looked at this extraordinary technology and asked the most human question imaginable:

“Okay, genius. What are tomorrow's lottery numbers?”

The machine can give us 6 numbers.

Of course it can.

So can a fortune cookie.

So can a dartboard.

So can your dog  if you scatter numbered pieces of paper across the floor.

The miracle is not that ChatGPT can choose lottery numbers. The miracle is that after seeing odds of roughly 1 in 292 million, I can still convince myself that the right prompt might make mathematics blink.

It won't.

The lottery machine does not read prompts.

And Lady Luck does not have a ChatGPT account.

 

For readers interested in a separate line of thought, the titles in my “Brief Book Series” are available on Google Play. Read them here on Google Play or in Barnes & Noble bookstore: Brief Book Series.

 

 

Nigeria’s Federal Government Has Found Money for God While Nigerians Wait for Water

 

Nigeria is borrowing trillions, citizens are drowning in poverty, yet Abuja keeps finding billions for religion. When government funds prayers before necessities, something is dangerously wrong.

I have finally discovered one of Nigeria’s great economic miracles. We may not have enough hospitals. We may not have enough classrooms. We may not have reliable electricity. Millions of Nigerians still struggle with poverty. Government debt keeps climbing. But apparently, somewhere inside Abuja, somebody looked at this magnificent national emergency and said:

“You know what Nigeria needs right now? More government-funded religious projects.”

Amen.

Or perhaps I should say, Allahu Akbar.

Because Abuja appears determined to make sure nobody feels left out.

Tracka, BudgIT’s accountability platform, examined the 2026 federal budget and found about ₦8.05 billion earmarked for religious infrastructure: ₦6.14 billion for 52 mosque-related projects and ₦1.91 billion for 7 church projects. The International Centre for Investigative Reporting independently reported the same figures. Even more astonishing, these 59 projects sit inside a 2026 spending plan of about ₦68.3 trillion carrying a projected deficit of ₦31.45 trillion.

Read that again.

Nigeria is borrowing heavily, yet we have found room in the national wallet for churches and mosques. This is fiscal comedy wearing agbada. I can almost hear the budget meeting.

“Sir, the people need water.”

“Noted.”

“Sir, they need hospitals.”

“Very important.”

“Sir, electricity?”

“Absolutely.”

“Schools?”

“Certainly.”

“Jobs?”

“We are working on it.”

“Mosques and churches?”

“Release the money!”

And there lies the madness.

I am not attacking Christianity. I am not attacking Islam. Faith matters deeply to millions of Nigerians. Churches and mosques provide community, charity, comfort and moral guidance. But that is precisely why government should keep its political fingers out of their collection plates.

The Nigerian Constitution itself creates a clear wall. Section 10 says the government of the Federation or a state shall not adopt any religion as state religion. Yet Nigeria has developed a strange political habit: government does not officially establish a religion, but somehow taxpayers keep finding themselves financially involved in religious activities.

That is like a man announcing that he has stopped drinking while ordering another bottle “for administrative purposes.”

The problem becomes uglier when I look outside the stained-glass window. Nigeria’s own National Bureau of Statistics found in its 2022 Multidimensional Poverty Index that 63% of Nigerians—about 133 million people—were multidimensionally poor. The survey covered more than 56,000 households. That is not opposition propaganda. That is arithmetic.

A hungry child cannot eat a renovated mosque.

A woman in labor cannot receive an emergency Caesarean section from a church public-address system.

A village without clean water cannot drink holy water every morning and call the sanitation crisis solved.

And darkness does not disappear because somebody shouts, “Let there be light!” NEPA—or whatever respectable name Nigeria’s electricity troubles wear these days—still has to supply it.

This is what makes the ₦8.05 billion figure so offensive. Money has opportunity cost. Every naira spent in one place cannot simultaneously be spent somewhere else. Economists have taught this simple principle for generations, yet Nigerian budgeting sometimes behaves as if money reproduces overnight behind the Central Bank.

It does not.

The Debt Management Office reported that Nigeria’s total public debt had already reached about ₦152.40 trillion by June 30, 2025. That included roughly ₦71.85 trillion in external debt and ₦80.55 trillion in domestic debt. So this is not spare change falling from heaven. Nigeria is a country carrying enormous obligations while still budgeting billions for projects that religious congregations can finance themselves.

Then comes the familiar Nigerian plot twist: explanation.

The Office of Deputy Speaker Benjamin Kalu argued that its controversial allocation was not really direct religious financing. The office said the relevant amount was ₦780 million after deductions and that the money would support a youth reorientation program against drugs and crime through more than 130 churches. References to public-address systems and evangelical instruments were blamed on a technical error.

Ah, yes. The technical error. Nigeria’s most hardworking invisible civil servant. Whenever something smells strange inside official paperwork, Technical Error arrives wearing dark glasses.

“Who put that there?”

“Technical error.”

“Why does the description say this?”

“Technical error.”

“Who approved it?”

“We are investigating.”

At this rate, Technical Error deserves a pension. But even if I accept the explanation completely, another question walks through the door. Why put a public youth program inside religious allocations in the first place? If government wants to fight drug abuse, budget transparently for drug prevention. If it wants youth rehabilitation, fund the responsible public agency. If churches, mosques or civil-society groups will implement parts of the program, establish clear competitive rules, measurable outcomes, audited contracts and public reporting. Do not bury public policy inside religious expenditure and then act shocked when taxpayers smell incense.

Nigeria has been down this road before.

In 2024, President Bola Tinubu’s government approved a ₦90 billion subsidy for the 2024 Hajj pilgrimage, according to multiple contemporary reports. The decision came after the naira’s fall sharply increased pilgrimage costs. Whatever humanitarian or political argument was offered, the principle remained troubling: taxpayers were again being asked to cushion the cost of religious travel.

I keep asking the simplest question.

Why?

If I want to visit Jerusalem, why should a farmer in Benue help pay? If another Nigerian wants to perform Hajj in Mecca, why should a struggling trader in Enugu subsidize the journey?

Religion is sacred precisely because belief is personal. The moment politicians start financing faith, faith risks becoming another constituency to purchase. And Nigerian politicians understand constituencies.

A road does not vote.

A hospital bed does not attend rallies.

A borehole does not endorse candidates.

But religious communities contain millions of voters.

Suddenly the political arithmetic becomes less mysterious.

Give here.

Commission there.

Take photographs.

Shake hands with clerics.

Mention God repeatedly.

Then wait for election season.

I cannot prove that every religious allocation is designed to buy political loyalty, and it would be irresponsible to pretend otherwise. But I can say the structure creates that suspicion. When government distributes scarce public resources through politically valuable religious networks, especially as the 2027 elections approach, Nigerians are entitled to ask hard questions.

The irony is brutal. The same government tells citizens that reforms require sacrifice.

Fuel subsidy? Sacrifice.

Currency reform? Sacrifice.

Higher transportation costs? Endure.

Expensive food? Be patient.

Economic pain? Tomorrow will be better.

Then citizens open the budget and discover that sacrifice apparently has exemptions. The poor must tighten their belts while Abuja searches for another hole in its own. That is why this debate is bigger than ₦8.05 billion. It is about what government thinks government is for. Government exists to provide public goods that individuals cannot efficiently provide alone: roads, security, public health, education, water systems, infrastructure and functioning institutions.

God does not need an appropriation bill.

Citizens do.

The tragedy is that Nigeria has extraordinary religious energy. Churches overflow. Mosques fill. Prayer camps multiply. Vigils continue through the night. Nigerians pray for electricity, jobs, security, good roads, affordable food and competent government.

Then government arrives and says, in effect:

“We heard your prayers. Here is money for another religious project.”

No.

That is not an answered prayer.

That is satire writing itself.

Let congregations build their places of worship. Let believers finance pilgrimages. Let government protect everybody’s freedom to worship—or not worship—without fear. Then let Abuja do its own job.

Give Nigerians functioning hospitals.

Give children decent schools.

Give communities clean water.

Give businesses electricity.

Give young people an economy capable of rewarding work.

Give taxpayers transparent budgets.

And if ₦8.05 billion is sitting somewhere looking for something holy to do, I know a sacred cause: Try keeping Nigerians alive.

 

For readers interested in a separate line of thought, the titles in my “Brief Book Series” are available on Google Play. Read them here on Google Play or in Barnes & Noble bookstore: Brief Book Series.

 

 

The Robotaxi Apocalypse Is a Lie

 

They say robotaxis will kill millions of driving jobs. The numbers tell another story: the great self-driving apocalypse may be Silicon Valley’s most expensive scare campaign.

I keep hearing that self-driving cars are coming for everybody. First, they will take over the streets. Then they will wipe out taxis. Then Uber and Lyft drivers will join the unemployment line. After that, apparently, Americans will surrender their steering wheels, sell their cars, climb into robotaxis, and happily place their lives in the hands of computers.

I have only one problem with this beautiful science-fiction funeral. I am not convinced the corpse is dead.

I don’t get the hype about self-driving cars. Yes, the technology is impressive. A car drives itself. Cameras watch the road. Radar and lidar scan the surroundings. Computers make driving decisions. The steering wheel moves without human hands.

Fine.

But after I finish admiring the circus trick, I still have a simple question.

What exactly has been revolutionized for the passenger? If I need to travel 10 miles across town, a self-driving car does not magically turn those 10 miles into 5. It sits in traffic. It waits at red lights. It gets trapped behind construction. It cannot tell rush hour, “Excuse me, I am artificial intelligence. Please move.”

A robotaxi stuck in traffic is still stuck in traffic.

That is my first problem with the prophecy.

My second problem is price. Self-driving technology does not automatically guarantee that owning or using a vehicle becomes dramatically cheaper. Somebody still has to manufacture the vehicle, insure it, maintain it, clean it, charge or fuel it, repair it, replace tires, operate the fleet, maintain software and pay for the enormously complicated technology wrapped around the machine. Removing the driver removes one cost. It does not remove economics.

My third problem is availability. A conventional automobile can operate almost anywhere there is a legal road and a capable driver. Fully driverless commercial service remains geographically limited. A technological revolution that works beautifully inside selected operating areas is impressive, but it is not the same thing as replacing hundreds of millions of ordinary vehicles across cities, suburbs, mountains, rural roads and miserable weather.

And then there is safety. Yes, self-driving cars are safe. Waymo reported that through March 2026 its vehicles had traveled 220.6 million rider-only miles. Its data showed substantially lower crash rates than human-driver benchmarks, including an 81.93% reduction in crashes involving reported injuries and a 94.05% reduction in crashes involving serious injury or worse. Earlier research covering 56.7 million miles also reported major reductions in injury crashes involving pedestrians, cyclists and motorcyclists. Those are serious numbers, and I am not going to hide them under the carpet because they inconvenience my argument.

But those numbers prove that autonomous driving can become safer in certain operating environments. They do not prove that the privately driven automobile is preparing for its funeral.

That distinction is where the robotaxi apocalypse starts losing air.

Real technological disruption usually has a weapon. Not a slogan. Not a TED Talk. Not a billionaire standing beside a futuristic machine. A weapon.

The weapon is overwhelming advantage. The Internet had it. Consider the letter. I could write something in Baltimore, put it in an envelope, buy postage, send it across the country and wait days for delivery. Or I could press “send” on an email and deliver the message in seconds.

Game over.

That was not a 10% improvement. It was a slaughter.

The evidence is sitting in America’s mailbox. U.S. First-Class Mail volume reached about 103.7 billion pieces in 2001. By 2025, it had collapsed to about 42.2 billion. The Internet did not ask traditional mail for permission. It walked into the room, pulled out speed and convenience, and started shooting.

Look at shopping.

Before e-commerce, I had to drive to a store, find parking, walk inside, search shelves, stand in line, pay and drive home. The Internet said, “Why?”

Suddenly I could sit on my couch at 11:47 p.m., wearing pajamas that should probably be investigated by federal authorities, order what I wanted and have it delivered to my door. In the 4th quarter of 1999, e-commerce represented only 0.7% of U.S. retail sales. The transformation that followed was enormous because online shopping removed friction from the transaction.

Banking got the same beating.

Once upon a time, paying bills meant writing checks, stuffing envelopes, buying stamps and trusting the mail. The Federal Reserve estimated 42.6 billion check payments in 2000. By 2021, that number had fallen to 11.2 billion. Meanwhile, electronic payments exploded. Debit-card payments alone rose from 8.3 billion in 2000 to 87.8 billion in 2021.

Why?

Because the new method was dramatically easier.

The Internet did the same thing to newspapers. I no longer had to wait until morning to discover what happened at midnight. News became immediate.

It did it to maps. I no longer had to unfold a paper map across the passenger seat like Christopher Columbus looking for Ohio. Digital navigation could tell me where I was, where I needed to go, which road was congested and when I would arrive.

It did it to entertainment. I no longer had to drive to a video store, wander through aisles, discover that the movie I wanted was gone and return another day. Streaming brought huge libraries directly into the living room.

It did it to travel booking. Instead of calling agents and waiting while somebody searched schedules, consumers could compare flights, hotels and prices online themselves.

It did it to communication. A business meeting that once required airline tickets, hotels, taxis and 2 wasted travel days could suddenly happen through an Internet video call.

That is disruption.

The old way says, “This takes time, money and effort.”

The new way says, “Not anymore.”

Now bring the self-driving car into the interrogation room.

“Can you get me across town dramatically faster?”

“No.”

“Can you eliminate traffic?”

“No.”

“Can you eliminate parking problems if I own you?”

“No.”

“Can you teleport me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why exactly are you going to destroy the automobile as we know it?”

Silence.

That does not mean autonomous vehicles are useless. Far from it. They could become enormously important. They may improve mobility for elderly people, people with disabilities and people who cannot drive. Robotaxis could reduce labor costs for transportation companies. Autonomous systems could reduce certain kinds of crashes. They may transform particular transportation markets.

Waymo is already demonstrating that this is not laboratory fantasy. The company said it delivered more than 14 million trips during 2025 alone. That is real commercial activity, not a PowerPoint presentation.

But replacing something is a much higher bar than competing with it. We have seen this movie before.

Television did not kill radio.

Airplanes did not eliminate trains.

Cars did not eliminate bicycles.

E-books did not eliminate printed books.

Online shopping did not eliminate physical stores.

The smartphone absorbed cameras, maps, calculators, music players and dozens of other functions because putting those functions into 1 pocket-sized device created a massive convenience advantage. The self-driving car offers something narrower: I ride in a car without personally operating it.

That is useful.

It is not teleportation.

And the unemployment prophecy looks especially shaky when I examine the government’s own numbers. If taxi and ride-hailing drivers are standing on the edge of technological extinction, somebody forgot to tell the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. The BLS counted about 204,000 taxi drivers, including ride-hailing drivers, in 2024. Instead of projecting their employment to collapse, it projects employment to reach about 226,600 in 2034—a gain of 22,600 jobs, or 11%. For taxi drivers, shuttle drivers and chauffeurs combined, employment is projected to rise from 447,900 in 2024 to 486,800 in 2034. The BLS expects about 58,800 openings per year across those occupations.

Read that again.

While headlines are preparing the undertaker, the federal employment projections are ordering more chairs.

Could those forecasts be wrong? Absolutely. Forecasting technology 10 years into the future is dangerous business. History is full of confident predictions that eventually became expensive comedy.

But that is precisely my point.

We keep turning possibilities into certainties.

“Robotaxis exist” becomes “robotaxis will dominate.”

“Autonomous vehicles are improving” becomes “nobody will drive.”

“Some driving jobs can be automated” becomes “millions of drivers are doomed.”

Slow down.

Technology does destroy jobs. Anyone denying that is denying history. Telephone automation devastated the old world of manual switchboard work. Digital photography crushed much of the film-processing business. ATMs changed bank employment. E-commerce hammered certain retailers. Online travel booking changed travel agencies. Machines have been stealing particular tasks from human beings since the Industrial Revolution.

But technology also creates jobs, changes jobs and sometimes expands the market it supposedly came to destroy.

The smartphone did not merely kill products. It created app developers, mobile marketers, social-media managers, rideshare drivers, content creators and businesses that barely existed before.

Even Uber itself is a delicious piece of irony. Technology was once supposed to eliminate traditional transportation jobs through efficiency. Instead, smartphone technology created an enormous new category of app-based driving work.

Now another technology is supposedly coming to kill the workers created by the previous technology.

Capitalism has a sense of humor.

Will some drivers lose work to autonomous vehicles?

I think so.

In carefully mapped urban markets where autonomous fleets can operate efficiently, routine taxi trips are obvious targets. If a company can safely operate a vehicle for long hours without paying a driver, the economics will eventually become tempting. Pretending otherwise would be foolish.

But “some displacement” is not “driver-driven cars are finished.”

Those are completely different claims.

The ordinary automobile possesses an advantage futurists sometimes underestimate: humans already know how to use it, the infrastructure already exists, it operates almost everywhere, people own hundreds of millions of them, and many people actually like driving.

The robotaxi therefore does not merely have to work. It has to make the old system sufficiently inferior that millions of consumers willingly abandon it.

That is what the Internet did to many old technologies.

Email looked at postal speed and laughed.

Streaming looked at scheduled television and laughed.

Digital banking looked at the paper check and laughed.

Online shopping looked at closing hours and laughed.

GPS looked at the folding road map and laughed.

Video conferencing looked at flying 2,000 miles for a 1-hour meeting and laughed.

What does the self-driving car look at when it sees my regular car? Mostly the steering wheel. That is the weakness buried beneath the hype. Self-driving technology may change transportation. It may capture substantial market share. It may eventually become safer than human driving across many environments. It may reduce the number of professional drivers needed in certain cities. It may even become ordinary enough that our grandchildren wonder why humans were once trusted to control 4,000-pound machines while angry, sleepy, drunk, texting and eating hamburgers.

But that future does not automatically mean the death of human-driven cars. Technology does not win because it is futuristic. It wins because it solves an old problem so brutally well that going backward starts to feel stupid.

The Internet did that repeatedly. Self-driving cars have not crossed that line yet.

So when somebody tells me that Uber drivers should start packing their bags because robotaxis are coming, I am not running to organize the funeral. I am looking at the road. The robot is coming. The human driver is still there. And, according to the current employment numbers, he may be there for quite a while.

For now, the robotaxi apocalypse has encountered the oldest enemy known to transportation.

Traffic.

 

On a different but equally important note, readers who enjoy thoughtful analysis may also find the titles in my  “Brief Book Series” worth exploring. You can also read them here on Google Play, or in Barnes & Noble bookstore: Brief Book Series.

 

Pay $2—or Just Walk On? The Fare Nobody Pays and the $79 Million Maryland Somehow Cannot Find

 

Imagine paying your bus fare while the person beside you rides free. Now imagine that happening millions of times—and Maryland cannot tell you exactly what it costs.

I have finally discovered a business model more generous than charity. It is called Maryland public transportation. Apparently, you can get on a bus, sit down, ride across Baltimore, get off at your destination, and—if the allegation from some Maryland Transit Administration (MTA) bus drivers is anywhere close to correct—there is a decent chance nobody will seriously trouble you about that irritating little detail called paying.

The regular one-way fare is $2. MTA's own fare policy establishes fares and rules for Baltimore's Local Bus, Light Rail and Metro Subway services.

But rules are funny things.

They work best when somebody expects people to follow them.

That brings me to the number that should make Maryland taxpayers spill their coffee:

$79 million.

Not $79,000.

Not $790,000.

About $79 million.

To be clear, MTA has not said it lost $79 million. Spotlight on Maryland, the investigative reporting unit of WBFF FOX45 in Baltimore,  arrived at that figure using MTA ridership data and the estimate of an anonymous bus driver who said only about 15%–20% of riders pay. If the driver's estimate is right and roughly 80% do not pay, the arithmetic becomes almost embarrassingly simple.

MTA had approximately 49.6 million bus rides in FY2025.

Take 80% of 49.6 million.

That gives us approximately 39.7 million rides.

Multiply 39.7 million by $2.

Welcome to the neighborhood of $79 million.

Of course, that calculation is deliberately rough. Some passengers qualify for reduced fares. Some use daily, weekly or monthly passes. A ride is not necessarily the same thing as a $2 cash transaction. So I am not going to pretend that $79 million is an audited loss.

But that is not the part that bothers me.

What bothers me is that apparently nobody can tell me what the real number is. MTA's response, according to the report, is a masterpiece of government English. The agency says it "tracks and monitors" fare evasion as part of its operational and financial oversight, but calculating the resulting revenue loss is complicated because every incident cannot be directly observed or quantified.

Translation?

"We know it happens. We watch it happen. We track it. We monitor it. But please don't ask us how much money we're losing."

Beautiful.

Absolutely beautiful.

I wish I could run my household finances this way.

My bank calls.

"Joseph, where did the money go?"

"I am tracking and monitoring the situation."

"How much did you lose?"

"Estimating the loss is complex."

"Was it $500?"

"We do not have an annual estimate available to share at this time."

Try that with your mortgage company.

Try it with the IRS.

Try it with the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration when you owe them money.

Suddenly, I suspect "estimating the situation is complex" will lose its magical power. And this is where the story becomes more than a tale about people sneaking onto buses. It becomes a story about accountability.

The anonymous driver interviewed by Spotlight on Maryland estimated that only 15%–20% of riders actually pay. That is one employee's estimate, not scientific proof. It should not be presented as established fact.

But it should be investigated.

Immediately.

Because if he is even remotely close, Maryland does not have a minor fare-evasion problem. It has a collection system with a pulse but no teeth. And other transit agencies have already demonstrated that fare evasion can be measured.

Travel about 40 miles south from Baltimore and things suddenly become less mysterious. Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority says fare revenue contributed $461.8 million toward its operations in FY2025, while it estimates that more than $50 million was lost to fare evasion on Metrobus and Metrorail.

Interesting.

Washington can estimate it.

Apparently, somewhere between Washington and Baltimore, mathematics gets off the train.

WMATA did something even more radical.

It acted.

Beginning in 2023, Metro began installing more secure faregates. Eventually, more than 1,200 taller gates were installed throughout all 98 Metrorail stations. By September 2024, WMATA reported that the changes had produced an 82% reduction in Metrorail fare evasion. It also installed new fareboxes on about 1,500 buses.

Think about that. 82%. That is not a philosophical discussion. That is a result. Metro did not eliminate fare evasion. Nobody sensible expects that. But it identified a problem, measured it, changed infrastructure and measured the result.

There is even an enforcement component. In calendar year 2024, Metro Transit Police issued more than 15,000 fare-evasion summonses or citations and made almost 1,000 fare-evasion arrests.

Whether every enforcement tactic should be copied is a separate debate. Fare enforcement can create legitimate questions involving poverty, equity, policing and the cost of enforcement itself. I am not suggesting that Maryland turn every $2 unpaid bus fare into an episode of "Cops." But there is an enormous distance between excessive enforcement and institutional surrender.

New York offers an even uglier warning.

The Metropolitan Transportation Authority's Blue-Ribbon Panel reported nearly $700 million in fares and tolls went uncollected in 2022. Bus fare evasion alone accounted for an estimated $315 million. Subway fare evasion added another $285 million.

New York called the situation a crisis. Maryland apparently calls its situation "complex." I call that one hell of a vocabulary lesson. And there is another uncomfortable issue sitting quietly in the back of this bus. Who pays when riders do not? Money does not grow beneath the driver's seat. Maryland public transportation receives public support, including money flowing through the Transportation Trust Fund. So when legitimate revenue disappears, the financial pressure does not disappear with it. Somebody absorbs the cost.

The paying rider does.

The taxpayer does.

The motorist paying government fees does.

The transit system does.

Or service does.

Usually, everybody gets invited to the funeral. That is why this cannot simply be dismissed as poor people trying to save $2.

Some people genuinely cannot afford transportation. That is a real public-policy problem, and governments have legitimate options for dealing with it. Maryland already provides reduced-fare arrangements for qualifying riders.

If policymakers believe buses should be free, then say so.

Make them free.

Pass the policy.

Calculate the cost.

Appropriate the money.

Tell taxpayers what they are paying for.

That would at least be honest.

But a system in which the official fare is $2 while large numbers of people allegedly ride without paying is something stranger. It is a fare system operating on the honor system after honor has apparently missed the bus. The paying passenger walks aboard and taps a card.

Beep.

$2.

Another passenger walks aboard without paying.

Nothing.

The first passenger looks up.

"Wait. Why did I pay?"

Excellent question.

Repeat that experience often enough and government creates the worst possible incentive. It teaches honest people that honesty is for suckers. That damage is harder to calculate than $79 million.

Rules survive because most people believe everybody else is expected to obey them too. Once people discover that compliance is optional, voluntary compliance begins to look less like citizenship and more like stupidity. That is why MTA's inability to provide an annual fare-evasion loss estimate deserves scrutiny.

Maybe the real loss is nowhere near $79 million.

Fine.

Then measure it and tell us.

Maybe it is $10 million.

Tell us.

Maybe it is $25 million.

Tell us.

Maybe the anonymous driver's 80% estimate is wildly exaggerated.

Wonderful.

Prove it.

Because "we don't know" is not reassuring when the agency simultaneously says it tracks and monitors the problem. Tracking without producing a useful estimate is like installing a security camera and refusing to watch the recording.

The strangest part is that the evidence from Washington suggests this is not some unsolvable mystery. WMATA has published fare-evasion estimates, invested in physical barriers and reported measurable reductions. Its more secure Metrorail gates produced an 82% decline in fare evasion.

So I am left with a wonderfully Maryland question. What exactly are we waiting for? Another study? Another committee? A consultant? Perhaps a consultant to study whether we need a committee to determine whether we should commission a study.

Meanwhile:

Beep.

Another paying rider.

Door opens.

Another alleged fare evader.

Bus moves.

And somewhere inside an office, somebody is tracking and monitoring.

I do not know whether Maryland MTA is actually losing $79 million annually from bus fare evasion. But apparently MTA cannot give us its own annual number either. That is the scandal hiding inside the scandal. The most important number is not $79 million. It is the number Maryland does not know. When New York can estimate hundreds of millions in fare and toll evasion, and Washington can estimate more than $50 million in FY2025 fare-evasion losses, Maryland taxpayers deserve something better than bureaucratic fog.

Measure it.

Publish it.

Explain it.

Then decide what to do about it.

Because if government charges a fare, it should have a serious plan for collecting that fare. And if government no longer intends to collect it consistently, then government should have the courage to stop pretending it has a fare. Until then, Maryland appears to be running one of the strangest transportation experiments in America.

The sign says $2.

Some passengers pay.

Some allegedly do not.

The bus keeps moving.

And when taxpayers ask how much money may be going out the door, the people running the system reach for the most dependable vehicle government has ever built.

Not the bus.

The excuse.

 

As a side note for regular readers, I have also written many titles in my Brief Book Series, now available on Google Play Books. You can also read them  here on Google Play, or in Barnes & Noble bookstore: Brief Book Series.

 

You Got Paid Friday. So Why Are You Broke Wednesday?

You worked two weeks for that paycheck. America needs only 5 days to eat it alive—and the middle class is becoming the main course. Millions of Americans aren’t broke because they’re reckless. They’re broke because housing, food, cars, insurance, healthcare, and debt have turned payday into collection day.

Friday: The paycheck arrives. Wednesday: call the undertaker. The money walks in smiling, takes one look at America’s bills, and starts screaming. Housing alone swallowed 33.2% of average household spending in 2023–2024. Throw in transportation and food, and 63.1% is already gone. Your paycheck barely has time to unpack its suitcase before rent, groceries, and the car payment start measuring it for a coffin. Payday? Please. It’s a 5-day funeral with direct deposit.

The landlord eats first—and he is very hungry. In 2024, 49% of American renters were housing-cost burdened, while 21.6 million households spent more than half their income on housing. Imagine earning $3,600, handing over $1,900, and hearing the landlord say, “Have a wonderful month.” Wonderful with what money?

Inflation cooled down. Your grocery bill forgot to get the memo. Food-at-home prices rose another 2.3% in 2025. Beef and veal jumped 11.6%, while egg prices rose 21.9%. Inflation slowing does not restore old prices. The economic fire department arrived—but the kitchen was already ashes.

When the paycheck dies, Americans resurrect it with plastic. By early 2026, U.S. household debt had reached $18.794 trillion, including $1.252 trillion in credit-card balances. Cash says, “I’m finished.” Visa replies, “I’ve got you.” Unfortunately, Visa is not your rich uncle. It sends a bill.

The middle class is discovering that a good salary can still buy a bad night’s sleep. In 2024, 49% of renters earning $45,000–$74,999 were housing-cost burdened. Even homeowners got mugged politely: property taxes rose 31% from 2019–2025, while average monthly homeowners-insurance premiums jumped 72%. The American Dream now sends invoices.

Separate from today’s article, I recently published more titles in my

Brief BookSeries for readers interested in a deeper, standalone idea.

 You can read them here on Google Play, or in Barnes & Noble

 bookstore: Brief Book Series.