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Netflix has become this giant, all-powerful streaming beast, but here’s the thing: it’s never touched the ground. No theme parks, no cruises, no merch. It’s like a ghost in the physical world. Meanwhile, Disney? They’ve got the monopoly on joy, or at least the monopoly on people paying $20 for a cotton candy that’s basically a brick. But maybe Netflix is just waiting for the right moment to drop a bombshell.

Alas, dear reader, this summer has brought with it a distinct and unsettling malaise, as BYD’s monthly sales have stagnated like an old sock lost at the bottom of the metaphorical laundry basket. Traditionally, the summer months are akin to watching paint dry—the kind of waiting game that’s just as thrilling as looking for lost socks. And while many assumed BYD would glide through these slower months with the grace of a seasoned tightrope walker, reality appears to have other plans. With a heavy dose of governmental disapproval (think of Mother Nature wagging her finger at you), BYD’s daring pricing cuts have ignited a rather unfriendly competition, one that has the industry munched upon by the jaws of rapidly diminishing margins.

The more pertinent observation, the one that clings to the discerning eye, is that the stock still languishes some distance from its former glory. A circumstance, I submit, that makes it… interesting. Particularly for those of us who find ourselves contemplating the possibility – and honestly, it’s only a matter of time – of a rather unpleasant bear market. Allow me to provide a rationale, in three sober measures.

The stock, akin to a prodigal son boasting of yields surpassing 15%, raises a question worthy of Aristotle’s inquiries: Can we expect brighter days ahead? Shall the dividend—a reward for our patience—survive the cataclysm of the second quarter?

The business, a relic of industrial might, had grown weary. Its growth, once a steady rhythm, had faltered into a hesitant waltz. Investors, their hopes frayed by years of decline, watched as the stock’s descent mirrored the fading glow of a sunset over a forgotten town. The prospect of a breakup, murmured like a secret in a dusty library, hinted at a desperate attempt to resurrect the corpse of a brand that had outlived its relevance. Yet, in the quiet corners of corporate boardrooms, there lingered a faint possibility that the company’s sauces and spreads—those humble staples—might yet unlock a forgotten promise of growth, while its processed meats, shrouded in the shadow of health fears, faced an uncertain fate.