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The real dream is to scam the credit card companies so hard you manage to buy a house entirely on unsecured consumer credit in a state where creditors can't touch your primary residence. I have heard whispered tales of men who have achieved this seemingly impossible feat.

I am the bone of my card,
Credit is my body, and debt is my blood.
I have swiped over a thousand times.
Unknown to interest,
Nor known to bankruptcy.
Have withstood countless payments to acquire many things.
Yet those hands will never hold financial freedom.
So as I charge, Unlimited Card Works.

A scene unfolds before us—a middle-class neighborhood.
Houses are nestled side by side, each one a fortress against the relentless pursuit of debt collectors.
Among them stands the protagonist, clad not in armor, but in casual attire, clutching a wallet filled with credit cards.

"My home is my sanctuary," he declares, "A haven secured not by steel and stone, but by the fine print of consumer credit laws."

He raises his hand, and with a flick of the wrist, a card materializes, glowing with the power of leveraged debt.

"Visa, Mastercard, Discover—each of you a piece of my soul, forged in the fires of financial institutions. You are the means by which I have achieved the impossible—a house, paid for not with savings or investments, but with the illusion of wealth."

With each word, more cards appear, floating in the air like the swords of a mythic arsenal.

"I have summoned APRs that would break a lesser man. I have faced minimum payments that devour my paycheck whole. Yet I remain, undeterred, for I know that as long as I stand within these walls, the creditors cannot touch me."

The scene shifts, revealing a horde of debt collectors on the horizon, their suits dark and foreboding. They advance, but as they near the house, they find themselves repelled by an invisible barrier—the state law that shields a debtor's primary residence.

"You cannot breach these defenses," the protagonist smirks, "For this house is protected by the very system that enslaves me. This is the true power of my Unlimited Card Works!"

With a final, triumphant laugh, he swipes a card, and the air around him shimmers with the energy of accumulated debt. The debt collectors retreat, powerless against the legal shield.

"I have no money," he admits, "Only the promise of future earnings that I have already spent. But in this house, I am untouchable. This is the price of my freedom—a fortress built on the sands of unsecured credit."

And so he stands, within his fortress of debt, a king in a castle of cards.

Unlimited Card Works.