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Wednesday, January 21, 2026
1:00 p.m. to 2:00 p.m. Eastern
12:00 p.m. to 1:00 p.m. Central
11:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. Mountain
10:00 a.m. to 11:00 a.m. Pacific

About the Program

Join Seyfarth partners Lauren Leipold and Ken Wilton as they present their annual recap of the most significant trademark law and litigation developments from 2025. This comprehensive review distills the year’s most impactful court decisions, USPTO actions, enforcement trends, and practical lessons for brand owners and practitioners. Attendees will walk away with a clear understanding of how 2025 shaped the trademark landscape—and how those developments influence current strategies for protection, enforcement, and portfolio management.

Speakers

Lauren Leipold, Partner, Seyfarth Shaw LLP
Ken Wilton, Partner, Seyfarth Shaw LLP

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If you have any questions, please contact Sela Sofferman at ssofferman@seyfarth.com and reference this event.

To comply with State CLE Requirements, CLE forms requesting credit in IL or CA must be received before the end of the month in which the program took place. Credit will not be issued for forms received after such date. For all other jurisdictions forms must be submitted within 10 business days of the program taking place or we will not be able to process the request.

Our live programming is accredited for CLE in CA, IL, and NY (for both newly admitted and experienced).  Credit will be applied as requested, but cannot be guaranteed for TX, NJ, GA, NC and WA. The following jurisdictions may accept reciprocal credit with our accredited states, and individuals can use the certificate they receive to gain CLE credit therein: AZ, AR, CT, HI and ME. For all other jurisdictions, a general certificate of attendance and the necessary materials will be issued that can be used for self-application. CLE decisions are made by each local board, and can take up to 12 weeks to process. If you have questions about jurisdictions, please email CLE@seyfarth.com.

Please note that programming under 60 minutes of CLE content is not eligible for credit in GA. programs that are not open to the public are not eligible for credit in NC.

Simple microphone shot on the stage
Matthias Wagner, Unsplash

Eminem’s recent trademark activities raise a question. Is Slim being shady in attempting to enforce his trademark rights, or is he duly protecting his brands?  Protecting one’s trademarks isn’t just for big businesses, online retailers, or chain stores. It’s for musical artists too. As discussed in What’s in a (Band) Name? Why Bands Need Trademark Registrations, it’s a good idea for artists to pursue trademark registration as it may protect their name, logo, or other source identifying elements, prevent legal disputes, and expand business opportunities. Artists who recognize the value in protecting their trademarks may see growth in their career beyond the music industry. And perhaps no one understands this better than Marshall Mathers III, better known as Eminem, Slim, or Slim Shady.

Beyond being a legendary rapper, Eminem is also a businessman, having turned his alternate persona into trademarks for various merchandise and music services. He is the owner of the US registrations for the marks SLIM SHADY and SHADY for among other things, clothing, musical sound recordings, and live entertainment services.  Registration of his marks may have helped grow his fictional character –Slim Shady– into a real revenue stream.

Eminem enforces rights in his marks against others, which can be a good thing because lack of enforcement could cause limitations to or a loss of rights.  However, some might argue that his recent enforcement activities are a tad aggressive.      

“My Name Is” – SLIM SHADY or SWIM SHADY

Earlier this fall, Eminem filed a petition to cancel a US registration for the mark SWIM SHADY. The owner of the mark is an Australian beachwear company called Swim Shady. Swim Shady sells beach shades, bags, and swimsuits and registered with the United States Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO) the mark SWIM SHADY for those goods. In his petition for cancellation, Eminem alleged likelihood of confusion and dilution based on his prior use and registration of the SLIM SHADY and SHADY marks and false association with his Slim Shady persona.

Likelihood of Confusion

If a trademark is confusingly similar to another mark, and the goods and services are similar or related, this may cause consumers to mistakenly believe that the goods or services come from or are associated with the same source. This is known as likelihood of confusion and may be reason to refuse an application for registration, cancel an existing registration, or obtain a court injunction to stop the use of a confusingly similar mark.

In this case, Eminem argued that SWIM SHADY is confusingly similar to SLIM SHADY. Specifically, he pointed to the similarity in sight and sound and that the marks are identical but for one letter difference.

Interestingly, the application for SWIM SHADY was not refused in view of Eminem’s prior registrations. Perhaps the USPTO did not consider the marks confusingly similar, or the registrations may not have been disclosed in a search. Unfortunately, we won’t know for sure. 

Eminem did not oppose the application for the SWIM SHADY mark prior to registration. The USPTO publishes applications and allows a 30-day period for third parties to oppose those applications or extend the time to do so. Eminem did neither. However, likelihood of confusion may be a sufficient basis to cancel registered marks.

Trademark Dilution

Eminem also argued that his trademarks will be diluted if the SWIM SHADY mark is not canceled. Dilution may occur when a famous or well-known mark is similar to another mark, such that the distinctiveness or reputation of the famous mark is impaired. Here, Eminem argued that his marks are famous because they have been extensively used and publicized for over 25 years and are distinctly associated with his celebrity. Eminem asserts that continued registration of Swim Shady’s mark would impair the unique association of his marks with Eminem. Also, any goods offered under the SWIM SHADY mark that are of inferior quality to Eminem’s goods could dilute the reputation of Eminem’s marks. Eminem may be worried that if the SWIM SHADY goods are inferior, it would cause a consumer to say I’m “Cleanin’ Out My Closet” of SLIM SHADY goods. 

False Association

Finally, Eminem argued that the SWIM SHADY mark falsely suggests a connection with his Slim Shady identity. False association may go beyond trademarks and can provide protection for a persona. Because SWIM SHADY and Slim Shady differ by only one letter and share the term SHADY, Swim Shady’s mark may create an association in the minds of consumers with Slim Shady, which could damage Eminem’s reputation. If consumers think that the goods are coming from or are authorized by Eminem and they are of poor quality, then consumers may not want to purchase other goods offered under the SLIM SHADY mark.  

Swim Shady may have chosen its mark because it’s an Eminem “Stan.” But if both marks coexist on the USPTO’s register or in the US marketplace, this could lead to consumer confusion. It may also have consumers thinking, who is “The Real Slim Shady?”

International Component

This matter is not limited to the United States.  In Australia, Swim Shady applied to register its SWIM SHADY mark and Eminem applied to register his SLIM SHADY mark. Unlike the US dispute, Eminem does not appear to enjoy priority because Swim Shady’s application was filed before his. Further, it appears that Eminem’s application was refused in view of Swim Shady’s pending application. This is a reminder for brand owners that filing trademark applications in jurisdictions where business is ongoing or may be soon is always a good strategy. Nevertheless, this proceeding could influence the corresponding US dispute. 

Eminem’s Other Recent Trademark Enforcement

It’s unclear whether Eminem will prevail in the SWIM SHADY dispute. However, this is not the first time he has pursued legal action against third parties with marks containing the term SHADY. In 2023, he opposed a trademark application owned by stars of the TV show “Real Housewives of Potomac,” Gizelle Bryant and Robyn Dixon, for the mark REASONABLY SHADY. The application covers a slew of goods and services including cosmetics, candles, mugs, clothing, and entertainment services.  Bryant and Dixon host a podcast with the same name and are known for using the slang terms “shady” and “shade.”

Despite Bryant’s and Dixon’s predilection for talking about shady activity on their podcast, they do not appear so happy with Eminem’s tactics. In a recent motion to compel the deposition of Eminem, the Housewives alleged that Eminem would not agree to a deposition other than one that would begin at 2:00 PM and last two hours. Eminem asserts that his limited availability is because of the need to be at his recording studio every morning.

Conclusion

Eminem’s trademark enforcement strategy underscores the importance of protecting brand identity in a global marketplace. While some may view his actions as overly aggressive, they reflect a broader principle: trademarks are valuable assets that require vigilant defense to maintain their distinctiveness and commercial strength. The SWIM SHADY dispute illustrates the complexities of trademark law, including issues beyond the potentially familiar likelihood of confusion analysis and those posed by international disputes. Whether one sees Eminem’s approach as savvy or “shady,” it serves as a reminder that proactive trademark management is essential for artists and businesses alike to safeguard reputation and revenue.

A digital artwork depicting the synergy between the human brain and artificial intelligence (AI). Featuring futuristic visuals, the metallic, liquid-like brain exudes sophistication, surrounded by electronic circuit patterns symbolizing connectivity and technological evolution. This piece represents a future where AI and humanity collaborate to create limitless innovation.
Ecliptic Graphic, Unsplash

Every year has its “it” term.
In 2025, the crown belonged to AI, and rightfully so. AI dominated the headlines, flooded the USPTO’s dockets, and triggered more §101 rejections than any examiner would care to admit. If you worked in tech, you had to talk about AI. If you worked in patent law, you likely had to explain why simply applying AI to an existing technology is not patentable.

As a primer, a §101 rejection is basically the USPTO telling you, “Interesting idea, but the law says you can’t patent that,” usually because the claimed invention is an abstract idea. For AI inventions, this often means the USPTO argues that the model is simply performing a function that could be carried out by the human mind, i.e., “a mental process.”

2026 is shaping up differently. This year’s breakout term will not come from Silicon Valley, and it will not be something your non-legal friends casually drop into conversation, unless you are hanging out at the bar after an IP conference (and let me tell you, patent attorneys know how to party). Instead, the hottest term of 2026 is about to come from deep within the halls of the USPTO, courtesy of a December 4, 2025, memo with the energy of “I can’t believe no one remembered this existed.”

Ladies and gentlemen…2026 belongs to SMED. Yes, Subject Matter Eligibility Declarations.

A tool so underused and under-discussed that half the practitioners who read the memo had the same reaction: “Wait… we can file evidence for §101? We’ve been fighting this with words alone?”

Like the Brussels sprouts resurgence of the early 2000s, suddenly SMED is having its main-character moment.

So What Is a SMED, Exactly?

An SMED is a Rule 132 declaration that allows applicants to submit evidence, rather than just an attorney argument, in support of patent eligibility.

That evidence can include experimental results, performance data, architectural explanations, expert testimony, state-of-the-art background, and inventor declarations explaining why the claimed innovation was not routine or conventional.

In other words, an SMED gives applicants a way to show, with facts, why their invention improves technology.

A simple example

Suppose your claims involve a neural network with distributed layers performing gradient-adaptive routing and multi-modal fusion (meaning the system breaks complex data into parts, routes each part to the best tool for the job, and then blends everything back together, essentially processing thousands of conversations, images, and signals at once). An examiner may assert that the steps “can be performed mentally,” such that the claims are rejected for being directed to an abstract idea. Under an SMED approach, your inventor can submit a declaration explaining why a human mind cannot perform the network’s operations: humans cannot simultaneously compute multi-million-parameter tensors, apply real-time backpropagation, perform vectorized attention weighting, or route inputs dynamically across expert layers.

The shift began with the Desjardins decision, now precedential, in which the USPTO formally recognized improvements to machine-learning architectures as technological advancements, not abstract ideas. Reduced storage needs, lower system complexity, and the avoidance of catastrophic forgetting are technological improvements. They are eligible. They are patentable.

The memorandum from Director John Squires reminded the examining corps, and indirectly practitioners, that applicants do not need to rely solely on attorney argument to overcome §101 rejections. They can submit declarations. They can bring in experts. They can introduce objective data, performance comparisons, architecture breakdowns, or state-of-the-art testimony.

In other words, you can actually prove your invention is eligible. An SMED may be used to prove that the invention is not directed to a mental process or that it improves a neural network.

Shocking, I know.

SMED transforms the eligibility conversation from metaphysics (“But is this really an abstract idea?”) into something grounded, factual, and technical. It gives applicants a way to connect the dots between what an invention actually does and what an examiner may be glossing over. For AI, robotics, animation systems, signal processing, fintech, and any architecture-driven technology, SMED may be the star ingredient.

The truth is, SMED has been hiding in plain sight for decades—a quiet Rule 132 declaration. An optional filing that most practitioners never consider. But like Brendan Fraser’s resurgence, all it needed was the right moment, and now that moment is here.

So here we are.
2025 was the year AI took over the world.
2026 will be the year patent lawyers start asking, with increasing frequency and only a hint of dramatic flair:

“Should we just SMED this?”

More often than not, yes.

Welcome to the Year of SMED.

Box of gourmet chocolates sitting on a table
Clint McKoy, Unsplash

Merci, Danke, and Thank You—different in linguistic origin, yet all express gratitude.  Now that we are in the holiday season, you may want to convey appreciation to someone by expressing thanks or giving a gift, perhaps chocolate.  After all, saying “thank you” is commonly associated with chocolate, at least according to the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board (TTAB).

In August Storck KG v. Florend Indústria e Comércio de Chocolates LTDA, the TTAB considered whether the mark DANKE for chocolate could be registered with the United States Patent and Trademark Office despite prior registrations for the mark MERCI for chocolate. Opp. No. 91277224 (TTAB 2025). August Storck, owner of the MERCI mark, opposed Florend Indústria e Comércio de Chocolates LTDA’s application for DANKE based on a likelihood of confusion. Its main argument was that, under the doctrine of foreign equivalents, both marks translate from different languages to “thank you” and covered identical goods.

The doctrine of foreign equivalents is typically applied when one mark is in English and another is in a foreign language. The marks in foreign languages are treated as equivalents of the English marks provided that, among other things, consumers would stop and translate the foreign language marks. However, the TTAB may apply the doctrine when considering marks from two different foreign languages or from the same foreign language when assessing the marks’ similarity.

In this case, the TTAB applied the doctrine because the evidence established that the ordinary purchaser would translate the French “merci” and German “danke” to “thank you.” A shared meaning between marks can be a significant factor in the likelihood of confusion analysis.  But in this case, the TTAB found the shared meaning to be “conceptually weak.” The TTAB pointed to several third-party uses of “thank you” in connection with chocolate to underscore this point.  In other words, consumer confusion is less likely because consumers associate the wording “thank you” with chocolate.

When you think about it, it’s a fair point – whether it’s a box of someone’s favorite brand of chocolate or basket of chocolate-covered strawberries, at some point or another you have encountered the use of chocolate as a way to express gratitude.  

The TTAB also acknowledged that DANKE and MERCI are dissimilar in sound and appearance. The marks have distinct pronunciations and share no common elements. The only commonality between the marks is the shared meaning.

The conceptual weakness of the opposer’s mark appears to have been the crux of the TTAB’s reasoning. The differences in sight and sound may have sweetened the deal. But would the TTAB have reached the same outcome if the marks were GRAZIE (Italian) and GRACIAS (Spanish)?  Further, if the marks covered goods that are not commonly associated with “thank you,” would the differences in sight and sound have been sufficient to find no likelihood of confusion?  It’s difficult to say, in part because there is relatively sparse application of the doctrine of foreign equivalents when neither party’s mark  is in English.  Nevertheless, this case suggests that brand owners should consider whether adoption of a mark in a foreign language may conflict with another mark in a different foreign language.  Additionally, use of terms in specific industries could significantly impact the strength of a mark. 

Finally, this case demonstrates that, whether using danke or merci, giving chocolate is a great way to say thank you!

Dirty Hands
Possessed Photography, Unsplash

Introduction

A collision is on the horizon. The collision is between a strict interpretation of the human authorship requirement under U.S. copyright law, and the ascendence of generative artificial intelligence (Gen AI) as an essential element of modern creativity. From publishing and advertising to music, film, media, and software development, AI systems are reshaping workflows and redefining authorship. Yet, as this technological revolution accelerates, U.S. copyright law remains anchored to an interpretation that feels increasingly out of step: that Gen AI outputs are all ineligible for copyright and, thus, automatically ejected into the public domain.

The U.S. Copyright Office has taken a firm position on this point. Unfortunately, this stance, while perhaps doctrinally consistent, is misaligned with economic reality. Our copyright-reliant industries – arguably some of the crown jewels of the U.S. economy — cannot tolerate prolonged uncertainty about copyright ownership, protection, registration and enforceability. If copyright law and practice fail to adapt, there could be economic consequences for U.S. competitiveness. And, even at the individual level, there is a growing sense that the law should not deprive authors of the fruits of their genuine authorship, even when intertwined with Gen AI.

Consideration should be given to the ways in which copyright could evolve to provide greater certainty to our creative industries, while remaining aligned with the foundational purposes of copyright law. This article — in an all-too-cursory-but-constrained-to-blog-post manner — examines three possible paths forward, namely: (1) amending the Copyright Act to construe Gen AI outputs as works-made-for-hire, (2) amending the Copyright Act to allow Gen AI outputs to be viewed as joint works with human users, and (3) allowing the law to continue to evolve organically through the courts and agency guidance. Each approach carries implications for creators, businesses, and the integrity of copyright law.

The Human Authorship Requirement: A Doctrinal Anchor

Copyright law in the United States rests on the premise that the copyright monopoly incentivizes human creativity. Section 102 of the Copyright Act protects “original works of authorship,” and courts have consistently interpreted “authorship” as requiring a human creator. This principle was reaffirmed in Thaler v. Perlmutter, where the DC Circuit held recently that a Gen AI system cannot be an author under current law, and that Stephen Thaler, the system creator and user in the case, was also not the author of the work.

The Copyright Office’s guidance echoes this view: works “produced by a machine or mere mechanical process that operates randomly or automatically without any creative input or intervention from a human author” are not registrable. The rationale is understandable — copyright exists to reward human creativity.

Yet, the boundary between tool and creator is blurring. When a human conceptualizes the work and provides prompts, but the Gen AI determines composition and detail, is this human authorship? If a designer uses Gen AI to generate hundreds of variations and selects one for refinement, does that selection, together with the refinement, constitute sufficient creative input or control? At what point does a combination of preliminary concepts, prompts, selection and refinement cross over from non-authorship to authentic, protectable human authorship? These questions expose the inadequacy of a rigid test in an era of collaborative creativity.

Specific Areas of Concern

The creative community appears to be coalescing around at least three key areas of concern with the present state of play:

  1. Exclusion of Authentic Authorship.  There is a sense that the Copyright Office’s decisions to date are yielding inequitable denials of copyright to works that in fact do constitute authentic human authorship. As now well-known, Jason Allen undertook 624 prompts and significant editing and refinement before finalizing his award-winning Théâtre D’opéra Spatial; Kris Kashtanova developed 18 pages of images displaying consistent tonal and thematic elements, including significant editing and refinement by Kashtanova, in creating their Zarya of the Dawn comic; and Stephen Thaler programmed and trained his own Gen AI tool, and then directed its output of A Recent Entrance to Paradise. Are these artists really undeserving of copyright protection for these works? Do the works not embody sufficient origination, conceptualization, organization, selection, control, creativity, execution, refinement, superintendence and stewardship to constitute human authorship? Does denial of copyright protection for these works serve the objective of promoting artistic progress? For many, the answer to these questions is no.
  2. Burdensome/Potentially Impossible Copyright Registration Procedure.  Another area of concern involves the Copyright Office’s new requirement that applicants describe and disclaim any more-than-de-minimis contributions to the work created using Gen AI. Per the Copyright Registration Guidance: Works Containing Material Generated by Artificial Intelligence, applicants are asked to separate portions created by the human author from portions created by the AI. In many cases, this is an extremely burdensome and even potentially impossible task – works often go through an iterative process where dozens to hundreds of drafts are prepared, revised, further revised and so forth, in order to achieve the final product. Under those circumstances, can an applicant always accurately separate which portions were created by AI and which by the human? And if they get it wrong, is the registration subject to invalidation (thus putting statutory damages, attorneys fees, and the other benefits of registration at risk)?
  3. Litigation Uncertainty.  A final concern involves copyright infringement litigation. Under current law, virtually every defendant in every copyright infringement lawsuit going forward will be motivated to challenge the validity of the underlying copyright based on the potential presence of Gen AI portions. Even if a plaintiff has complied with the law and only claimed the human-authored portion of a work in the work’s registration, the copyright could still be challenged. And, if the plaintiff is unable to produce detailed records proving the exact portions contributed by the human author versus the Gen AI, the copyright could ultimately be found unenforceable. This creates a tremendous burden and great uncertainty for the future for all copyright infringement plaintiffs, and seems ultimately untenable.

The remainder of this article considers three possible ways in which copyright could evolve to meet the above challenges, to ensure both the continued robustness of U.S. copyright law as well as creating a welcoming environment for the increasing use of Gen AI to advance innovation, creativity, and productivity in our creative industries.

Works-Made-for-Hire?

One proposed solution would be to amend the Copyright Act to allow AI-generated works initiated by a human user to qualify as “works-made-for-hire.” Under current law, works-made-for-hire include those created by employees within the scope of employment or certain commissioned works under written agreement. Extending this concept to the Gen AI context would vest ownership of Gen AI outputs in the user, providing clarity and predictability.[1]

The advantages of this approach are significant. It would offer creative individuals and businesses copyright certainty, enabling them to invest confidently in various types of Gen AI-driven projects and use cases without fear of losing intellectual property rights to the public domain. Questions would be reduced about whether enough control was exerted by the human user, how authorship should be identified on copyright applications, and how copyrights could be enforced in copyright litigation. Any need to document clear separation of the contribution of the Gen AI versus the contribution of the human author would be mitigated.

This structure also makes some conceptual sense: when an employer engages an employee to develop a creative solution (whether in text, software, visual art, music, or otherwise), the employer defines the problem, task, or concept, the employee executes creative work to design a solution, and the parties may then work together to further refine the solution until finished. In that case, the employee would ordinarily own the copyright in her creative work, but that result is flipped by the work-made-for-hire doctrine – with the ownership and authorship of the work vesting in the employer instead of the employee. Analogously, a Gen AI user ideates a problem, task, or concept, prompts the Gen AI system accordingly, the Gen AI executes creative work to produce a solution, and the user may further refine the output, either with or without the AI’s assistance, until a satisfactory final product is achieved. Instead of the Gen AI being viewed as the author, the ownership and authorship of the work would vest automatically in the human user.

However, there are important drawbacks to this approach which cannot be ignored. Gen AI systems are neither employees nor contractors, and redefining “work-made-for-hire” to include non-human entities may distort statutory coherence and create other interpretive problems. This approach could also be over-inclusive and dilute the authorship principle, incentivizing minimal human input and undermining the creative threshold that copyright seeks to protect and encourage. The question would invariably be asked, do we really want to award a copyright monopoly to a work fully created by Gen AI with, say, a single three-word prompt by the human user? Is the objective of promoting progress in the useful arts still being met with this solution? 

Joint Works?

Another proposal is to treat Gen AI outputs as joint works, with the human user as co-author. Joint authorship under current law requires two or more authors intending their contributions to merge into a unitary whole, and with each contributing sufficient material to constitute authorship. Extending this concept to Gen AI would acknowledge the collaborative nature of human-AI creativity.

The advantages of this approach lie in its realism. Many creative processes now involve iterative human-AI interaction, and recognizing joint authorship would reflect this dynamic. It also preserves human contribution, ensuring users retain rights even when Gen AI plays an equal or even dominant role. Moreover, this model offers flexibility, adapting to varying degrees of human input and accommodating diverse creative workflows. It would also still require non-minimal contribution by the human author, and would allow for both the Gen AI and human portions of the work to be safely protected by copyright and not exposed to potential relegation to the public domain.

Yet, this solution is also not without challenges. Gen AI cannot own anything, making “joint authorship” a legal fiction. Further, determining the threshold of human input required for authorship would introduce ambiguity. This approach would still suffer from the need for the human to demonstrate a non-minimal contribution, and courts would struggle to apply consistent standards. This uncertainty could lead to litigation difficulties that may be no better than the challenges of the present legal situation, with disputes over how much human authorship was present and whether this amount was sufficient for the human to be considered a joint author of the work. (That said, the minimum threshold for determining whether a contribution is sufficient for participation in a joint work is well-trod legal terrain; in theory, this would be a significantly better and more certain area to litigate versus the as-yet uncertain area of identifying the boundary between copyrightable human-authored works assisted by Gen AI and Gen AI-produced works ineligible for copyright.) 

Organic Development; Just Let it Be?

The third path is to let the law evolve organically through judicial decisions and Copyright Office guidance. Under this approach, courts would continue to distinguish works that are “substantially Gen AI” (ineligible) from those with “sufficient human authorship” (eligible), refining standards case by case in a slow and laborious process.

This approach offers several advantages. It avoids premature legislative overhaul, allowing nuanced, fact-specific evolution as technology matures. Judicial flexibility ensures that courts can adapt standards to emerging realities without locking in rigid statutory definitions. Importantly, this path preserves core principles, maintaining human authorship as a doctrinal anchor while accommodating incremental change.

However, the drawbacks are considerable. Prolonged uncertainty leaves businesses and individual creators navigating a legal gray zone, exposing them to risk and inconsistent outcomes. This ambiguity could chill investment in AI-driven creativity, deterring innovation in sectors that depend on copyright certainty at a time when these industries should be innovating and taking advantage of the opportunities offered by AI augmentation.  Fragmentation is another concern, as different courts and agencies could adopt divergent approaches, creating a patchwork of standards that complicates compliance.

Conclusion and Next Steps

Unlike many other hype-curve developments in recent years, Gen AI truly seems to challenge copyright law at a fundamental level. Strict interpretation of the human authorship requirement to exclude Gen AI outputs seems increasingly impractical in a world where creativity is often co-produced by humans and machines. No solution is perfect. Legislative reform offers clarity but risks doctrinal distortion; organic development preserves principles but prolongs uncertainty.

In the short term, the Copyright Office could refine its guidance to provide clearer thresholds for human authorship, reducing ambiguity for creators and businesses. It also could consider acknowledgement of a broader array of contexts in which human authorship may be recognized and potential relaxation of application requirements. In the long term, Congress will likely need to act — whether through a works-made-for-hire model, a joint authorship framework, a hybrid approach or something else — to ensure that copyright law remains fit for purpose in an AI-driven economy and can continue to incentivize creative expression.  

This article covers complex topics in insufficient detail. Further research is warranted in the following areas:

  1. How do the philosophical foundations of our concept of “authorship” inform our perception of human authorship in the AI era? Is our “author concept” a relative historical notion that could be updated to meet current practical reality, or is it necessary for legal continuity? 
  2. What exactly does the Constitution’s mandate to promote “progress” in the useful arts mean? What types of behaviors and outcomes – aesthetically, economically, culturally, and phenomenologically – are we intending to promote with copyright?
  3. Are our copyright-reliant creative industries really so copyright dependent that AI disruption to copyright ownership certainty poses a serious economic risk? Is it possible that newer business models and technology are sufficient to render uncertainty in copyright not so bad?
  4. Some works, like the rejected Allen, Kashtanova and Thaler works, seem worthy of copyright protection despite the role of Gen AI, while others – an image, say, resulting from a three-word prompt to Midjourney with nothing more, e.g. – do not. What principles should guide the Copyright Office and law to better determine which works are monopoly-worthy and which are not? Would there be harm in granting at least “thin” protection to users in connection with Gen AI outputs?

[1] As outlined in a prior post, Dr. Thaler, together with a collection of scholars in an amicus brief, have advocated for the construal of Gen AI works as works-made-for-hire, with Dr. Thaler as the putative employer/commissioner and his Gen AI “Creativity Machine” as the putative employee/contractor.

Roasted turkey
Gabriel Garcia Marengo, Unsplash

Thanksgiving is finally here, which means the turkey gets its annual moment in the spotlight. For 364 days a year, the turkey is just trying to fit in. It was forced to take on roles it never auditioned for. Turkey bacon. Turkey sausage. Turkey pastrami. Turkey pepperoni on pizza that never asked for it. All year long, the poor bird is cast as an imitator, an understudy, a lean protein cosplayer trying to play the part of its delicious but decidedly fattier cousins. But on Thanksgiving, there is no disguise. No turkey trying to impersonate a pig or a cow. No turkey in witness protection program packaging. It is simply turkey. And it is glorious.

In honor of the one day when turkey gets to be itself, I decided to dig into a few turkey-themed patents. As it turns out, inventors have been tinkering with the bird for decades, and not always in ways that scream culinary elegance. The earliest turkey inventions were really attempts to make turkey more convenient for people who loved the flavor but apparently hated the shape. One of my favorites is U.S. Patent No. 2,640,779, a vintage patent from the 1950s directed to a loaf or log of turkey meat. Imagine looking at a whole turkey and thinking, this is nice, but what if it were shaped like a giant deli brick? The patent describes a method of separating white meat, dark meat, and various flavor bits, then wrapping them in skin, compressing the whole thing into a roll, freezing it solid, and cooking it under pressure. The goal was to create a uniform turkey log that could be sliced like bread. If turkey bacon is an imposter, this was the original turkey impersonator. It is Thanksgiving flavor wearing the body of a meatloaf.

The loaf invention eventually evolved into canned turkey, which is memorialized in U.S. Patent No. 2,761,786. This one takes the turkey log, puts it into a can, bakes it to draw out the juices, seals it, sterilizes it, and hands you a product that looks like a cross between Spam and a Thanksgiving flashback. The patent proudly explains that the goal is to maintain the illusion of freshly roasted turkey even though it has been wrapped, pressed, frozen, cooked, baked, canned, and sterilized. It is Thanksgiving, but with the shelf life of an MRE. As a patent attorney, I admire the creativity. As a Thanksgiving guest, I quietly hope to never encounter canned turkey at dinner.

Fast forward several decades and we arrive at a much more modern attempt at turkey engineering with U.S. Patent Publication No. 2005/0118315, a patent application that set out to solve a very real holiday crisis. Every year, millions of people buy a frozen turkey, proudly place it in the fridge, and only later discover that thawing a twenty pound ice brick actually requires an amount of time normally associated with planetary rotation. This invention tried to save the day by saying, do not bother thawing at all, just cook it frozen. The idea was to place the solid bird inside an oversized cooking bag that traps steam while giving the turkey enough space on all sides so heat can thaw and cook it evenly. It is essentially a spa day for a petrified bird. As a Thanksgiving technique, it is not bad. As a patent strategy, it is an example of someone saying, trust me, the key is in the bag geometry.

The application goes into great detail about the exact inches of air space between the turkey and the walls of the bag, the position of the juices as they pool and self-baste, and the way the steam circulation supposedly solves every turkey-based woe. Unfortunately, like an actual turkey trying to fly, this one never really took off. The application was published, but it was never allowed. Perhaps the USPTO decided the world was not ready for legally protected frozen-bird spa technology. Or maybe the claims were perched a little too precariously on the edge of obviousness. Either way, it now lives alongside the Spruce Goose, bird pun fully intended, in that special hangar reserved for ideas that almost soared but ultimately stayed grounded.

And if you think turkey logs, canned turkey, and frozen bird steam chambers represent the limits of human imagination, let me assure you that turkey-related innovation goes much, much deeper. We are missing one minor detail. How do you catch a turkey in the first place. For you city slickers, it is easy to forget that turkeys are actually wild birds. Wild Turkey is easy to catch and caused a lot of adventures in my 20s, but that was the bourbon, not the bird. So let’s focus on the bird, not the top shelf. Ok, fine, mid shelf.

Enter U.S. Patent No. 4,531,924, the turkey calling aid. Essentially, the ‘924 Patent is directed to a strip of cloth with flaps along the sides that a hunter holds by the ends, brings the hands together, then rapidly jerks apart to make a sound that allegedly resembles a turkey flapping its wings as it flies down from its roost. That is the entire invention. But the real gravy is in the laser-focused claims. First, the strip must be longer than it is wide. The ends must be reinforced. The flaps must be attached to the side edges. Then the claim requires the user to carry the “strip into the woods at or near dawn to an area where wild turkeys are considered likely to roost.” The user must first move the hands toward each other, then jerk them apart quickly. If you modify almost any detail, you are probably no longer infringing. This method is so narrow it could probably walk through the eye of a needle and still have room to stretch the cloth.

Like Uncle Eddy bringing up politics at the dinner table, this is another reminder that some things should be left alone. When your claim requires you to physically haul a strip of fabric into the woods at dawn to a location where turkeys are likely to roost, it might be time to reconsider the drafting strategy. As a practice point, anytime your claims start reading like a Boy Scouts field manual instead of defining a technological contribution, you are probably narrowing yourself into oblivion. It may be smarter to step back, rethink the inventive concept, and pursue protection for the core mechanics rather than every last feather of the process. And if that is not possible, well, there is always the log of turkey meat.

So this Thanksgiving, if the conversation starts to sag because Aunt Kathy ran out of boxed wine, feel free to liven things up with a few fun facts about these humble turkey patents. They have been quietly doing their best to carve out rights in a world where poultry reinvention is never truly finished. Some reinvent the bird as a loaf or even a can. Some try to solve cooking crises involving frozen turkeys and questionable bag geometry. And one fearless patent stakes its entire claim on the exact hand motions needed to mimic a turkey’s morning wing workout. It all serves as a reminder that innovation pops up in the most unexpected places, even in the holiday traditions we take for granted, and that the joy of patent law is realizing that people will try to patent absolutely everything, including the sound of a confused turkey at dawn.

Episode 5 is now live. This episode discusses the federal guidelines and California laws regulating how retail pricing should be displayed and what fees and charges need to be disclosed upfront and how to best mitigate against the risk of litigation or enforcement actions being pursued. 

Watch Episode 5 Here:

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stack of books in library
Yazid N, Unsplash

Another day, another change at the USPTO.

If you have ever filed a patent application, you know there is a section that asks for your entity status: Large, Small, or Micro. If you have ever asked yourself whether size matters, the answer is now officially yes.

On October 24, 2025, the Office of the Assistant Commissioner for Patents released an Advance Notice of Change to the Manual of Patent Examining Procedure (MPEP) (https://www.uspto.gov/sites/default/files/documents/uaiamemo-oct2025.pdf) regarding false assertions or certifications of entity status. This is not the kind of memo that makes headlines, but the changes can ruin your day if you get it wrong.

What Is an “Entity Status”?

In the patent world, your entity status determines how much you pay in USPTO fees. The different tiers are intended to level the playing field between inventors and large corporations, but like all good things, the system only works when everyone is honest.

A large entity is the default. These entities pay full price for everything.

A small entity is generally a startup, small business, or individual inventor. You qualify if you have fewer than 500 employees, have not assigned your patent rights to a large entity, and are not owned by a large entity. Small entities receive a 50 percent discount on most fees.

Then there is the micro entity, which represents the underdog’s underdog. To qualify, you must first meet the small entity requirements and also have a gross income less than three times the median United States household income (approximately $240,000 this year). In addition, the inventor or inventors cannot have been named on more than four prior patent applications. The discount at this level is a whopping 75 percent.

What Is Changing in the MPEP

Claiming a reduced entity status is not a casual formality. It is a legal certification under 37 C.F.R. § 11.18, in which the applicant tells the government, under penalty of sanction, that it is entitled to pay a reduced amount. 37 C.F.R. § 11.18 specifically provides that by presenting any paper to the USPTO, a party certifies that all statements are true and made after a reasonable inquiry, and that any knowing or willful falsification may result in sanctions or even criminal penalties.

Until now, the USPTO did not routinely review correspondence for compliance with 37 C.F.R. § 11.18. In practice, this issue typically surfaced only during litigation, when a defendant’s legal team searched the prosecution history for anything that could be used as leverage. Even then, it rarely resulted in a patent being invalidated because courts often found that a mistaken fee payment was not sufficient to render the patent unenforceable unless it was made with deceptive intent.

The memorandum revises several key sections of the MPEP to reflect a stricter enforcement approach. The USPTO now expressly authorizes the Office of Petitions to review entity status claims and to determine whether an applicant or patent owner was entitled to the claimed discount.

Sections 509.03(b) and 509.04 now state that fraudulently or improperly claiming small or micro entity status, particularly with intent to deceive, constitutes fraud practiced on the Office. If such conduct occurs, the applicant can be referred to the Deputy Commissioner for Patents for further action. That phrase, “fraud practiced on the Office,” carries serious consequences. It is the patent law equivalent of being sent to the principal’s office.

The memorandum also adds a new entry under MPEP § 1002.02(b) to address petitions for reconsideration of fines or sanctions resulting from a determination that an entity status claim was falsely made and not in good faith. So if you get caught checking the wrong box, there’s now a formal process to beg for mercy.

In short, the USPTO has established a clear procedural framework to identify, review, and penalize false entity claims.

What Practitioners Should Take Away

This is not a new expansion of power. Rather, it is a formal acknowledgment of authority that the USPTO has always possessed but rarely exercised. The difference now is that the USPTO has put this in writing and has made clear that it intends to use that authority.

The memorandum concludes with a simple statement: these changes take effect immediately and supersede the 2024 MPEP. In other words, enforcement begins now.

For practitioners, this means that entity status cannot be treated as a one-time box to check. Companies expand, merge, and change ownership, and those changes can alter eligibility for reduced fees. Always verify entity status before filing rather than guessing at the deadline. Resist the temptation to select “small entity” simply because it saves a few dollars. If there is any uncertainty, the safer approach may be to pay as a large entity and request a refund later. It may be easier to recover overpaid fees than to explain to the Office of Petitions why your so-called micro entity just went public on NASDAQ.

Entity status discounts are an important tool for inventors and startups, but they only work when everyone participates in good faith. As the USPTO has now made clear, a false discount today can result in significant costs tomorrow.

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Igor Omilaev, Unsplash

When Dr. Stephen Thaler asked the U.S. Supreme Court to reconsider the human authorship requirement for copyright protection last month, many observers dismissed the effort. Thaler’s claim—that his generative AI system should be recognized as the author of its own outputs—has been consistently rejected by courts and the Copyright Office. On its face, Dr. Thaler’s petition for a writ of certiorari looks untenable: under current law, “authorship” remains a human concept.

And yet, Dr. Thaler is right, in part.  While his claim that an AI system should itself be treated as a legal author is (currently) unconvincing, his broader complaint—that the Copyright Office’s conception of “human authorship” is too narrow—deserves consideration. The law should continue to require human authorship, but it should also recognize that creativity mediated through generative AI can and often does meet that standard.

Dr. Thaler Challenges the Human Authorship Requirement

Thaler v. Perlmutter arises from Dr. Thaler’s application to register a visual work generated by his “Creativity Machine” with the U.S. Copyright Office. The Copyright Office denied the application, reasoning that the work lacked the “human authorship” necessary for protection under the Copyright Act because the Creativity Machine is a generative AI system programmed to autonomously produce images. Both the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia and the D.C. Circuit affirmed the decision, concluding that copyright law protects only works of human creation.

Applicable legal precedent traces back to the nineteenth century. In Burrow-Giles Lithographic Co. v. Sarony (1884), the Supreme Court upheld copyright protection for a photograph of Oscar Wilde, reasoning that it was “a product of the author’s intellectual invention” rather than a mere mechanical reproduction. Implicit in the reasoning was that the “author” was human—a creative agent capable of using a machine to generate original expression.

More recently, in the so-called “monkey selfie” case Naruto v. Slater (9th Cir. 2018), the Ninth Circuit held that non-human animals cannot own copyrights and cannot be authors. The court explained that the Copyright Act does not contemplate non-human animals as authors and presupposes a human author. Similarly, in administrative decisions and its Compendium of U.S. Copyright Office Practices (3d ed.), the Copyright Office has reaffirmed that it “will not register works produced by a machine or mere mechanical process that operates randomly or automatically without any creative input or intervention from a human author.”

Dr. Thaler’s petition to the Supreme Court challenges this position. He argues that the Creativity Machine—even operating autonomously, as he described—should be recognized as the author of its images, and that he as its owner should be recognized as the owner of the resulting copyrights.[1] 

On that point, the lower courts were right to reject Dr. Thaler’s claim under current law. Our current understanding is that machines are not sentient agents; we believe currently lack consciousness, intent, agency and, thus, the capacity for authorship as the law understands it. Granting authorship to a machine would potentially upend basic tenets of copyright, from ownership to duration to transfer. 

Still, Dr. Thaler’s case exposes a genuine tension: while the law correctly requires human authorship, the Copyright Office’s enforcement of that principle has drifted toward overbreadth.

The Copyright Office’s Overcorrection

In its recent guidance on “Works Containing Material Generated by Artificial Intelligence” (March 2023), the Copyright Office took a hard line: if a work’s “traditional elements of authorship were produced by a machine,” then the work lacks authorship and is not registrable or protectable. Only the portions “conceived and executed” by a human author may be registered.

In practice, this position has resulted in a number of well-publicized denials of registration.  When artist Kris Kashtanova registered their graphic novel Zarya of the Dawn, the Office later revoked the registration in part, finding that the images produced using Midjourney lacked human authorship. The decision recognized Kashtanova’s creative arrangement of images and text but excluded the images themselves. According to the Office, the images were the visual output of the generative AI technology as opposed to the product of human authorship, despite evidence of Kashtanova’s comprehensive involvement in the production and editing of the images. Similarly, the Office refused registration of Jason Allen’s Midjourney-generated digital image Théâtre D’opéra Spatial. To create the image, Allen had entered 624 distinct prompts and further edited and upscaled the image using Photoshop and Gigipixel AI. However, the Office found that because “Midjourney does not treat text prompts like direct instructions,” the traditional elements of authorship were executed by the machine rather than Allen himself. The Office noted that Allen could have disclaimed the machine-generated portions of the work and sought registration for the human contributions, but Allen did not do so.

The Office’s approach, while administratively neat, is too blunt. It treats “AI-generated” as synonymous with “AI-authored,” collapsing important distinctions. Most creators using generative tools are not ceding authorship to the machine; they are directing, refining, and curating outputs through a process that remains human.

This is particularly evident in “prompt engineering,” an emerging art form in itself. Skilled users like Jason Allen often iterate dozens or hundreds of times, adjusting phrasing, style parameters and seed values to achieve a desired effect. They select among results, modify them, and integrate them into broader works. This process resembles—and can even exceed—the level of creative control exercised by photographers, editors, or art directors in traditional media.

If the photographer in Burrow-Giles was deemed the author of a photograph taken by a camera—a mechanical device that merely recorded the scene the human envisioned—then a human who uses an AI model as a tool of expression should likewise be recognizable as an author, at least in some cases. The tool may be complex, but the authorship often remains human.

Automatic Public Domain Status Is Too Harsh

Under the Copyright Office’s current position, any work lacking sufficient human authorship is not protected by copyright and therefore enters the public domain upon creation. That might seem appropriate where a human plays zero creative role, but it is overly punitive where the person’s creative contribution is substantial but intertwined with contributions from a generative AI system.

This automatic forfeiture creates perverse incentives. It encourages creators to obscure or minimize their use of AI tools. It also risks undermining investment in AI-assisted creative processes, as the output would be immediately free for anyone to copy.

Moreover, “no protection” is not the only doctrinal option. Courts have long recognized frameworks such as joint authorship, derivative works, works-made-for-hire,[2] and compilations—one or more of which might accommodate human-machine collaboration without granting authorship to a machine. A balanced solution would recognize that the human directing and curating AI output is the author, while the generative AI platform is simply an assistive instrument.

A More Coherent Approach

A revised framework should include three principles:

  1. Human Creativity
    Copyright should attach when a human imposes meaningful human creativity on the expressive elements of the work. Such control or contribution may occur through the design of prompts, iterative selection, post-processing or other involvement—any process through which the human authentically shapes the final expressive result.
  2. Instrumental View of AI
    Generative AI systems should in most cases be regarded as instruments, akin to cameras, synthesizers, or design software. The mere use of a generative AI system should not automatically negate authorship in the output, so long as the human user contributes to the expression through substantive choices and direction.
  3. More Permissive Registration Process
    The Copyright Office does not need to burden applicants with identifying exactly which parts of their creative works are attributable to generative AI tools, just as it does not require disclosure of other software tools used in the creative process. If a defendant were to wish to challenge the (human) authorship in a particular work, the better place for that type of dissection would be infringement litigation.

These principles align with both the constitutional purpose of copyright—“to promote the progress of science and useful arts”—and the pragmatic need to allow the law to adapt to new creative technologies. The alternative, a blanket exclusion of AI-assisted works, could effectively freeze copyright in an outdated view of authorship and potentially chill the use of AI and stifle its potential.

Dr. Thaler’s Role in the Debate

To his credit, Dr. Thaler has escalated this issue. By pressing his claim to the Supreme Court, he has compelled legal and cultural institutions to confront what “authorship” means in an age when machines can contribute to creative processes in novel ways. His arguments may fail in court, but they should succeed in drawing attention to the gaps in current policy.

If the Creativity Machine operates autonomously without human selection, curation, or control, Dr. Thaler’s own case may be an extreme example. However, most real-world creators are not operating at that extreme. They are collaborating with and controlling generative AI tools. In that sense, Dr. Thaler may be wrong about his own claim, but right that copyright law needs to evolve to reflect the reality of human–machine creativity.

[1] It is interesting to note that, in his appeal to the District Court of the Copyright Office’s denial of his application, Dr. Thaler introduced new facts, namely, that he “provided instructions and directed his AI to create the Work,” that “the AI is entirely controlled by [him],” and that “the AI only operates at [his] direction.” The District Court refused to consider these newly-asserted facts, because it was bound only to review the decision of the Copyright Office based on the record that was actually before the Office at the time of the Office’s final decision. It is unclear whether the new facts would have mattered. Based on the Office’s current position regarding AI outputs, the application likely would still have be denied.  However, this information suggests that there may have been sufficient human authorship present in the applied-for work.

[2] Dr. Thaler has asserted that work-made-for-hire is in fact an appropriate framework, with the Creativity Machine as the putative employee/creator and himself as the employer/commissioner. This position has received recent favorable attention; on October 31, 2025, a group of scholars filed an amicus brief in support of treatment of AI-generated works as works-made-for-hire, among other points.  Ivan Moreno, Academics Back IP Rights For Generated Art At High Court, IP Law 360 (Nov. 3, 2025) https://www.law360.com/ip/articles/2406913.

Growing up, my mom had a rule: you have to make your own Halloween costume from whatever we had at home. This worked fine until the year I wanted to be He-Man. Unfortunately, we couldn’t use household items to harness the power of Grayskull. Eventually, my mom gave in and bought the costume. I’m still working on the homemade version, but the gains just aren’t coming at the gym. Maybe less blogging and more bench pressing would help.

With that DIY background, I’ve always been fascinated by the technology hiding in Halloween costumes. And as you can imagine, the world of spooky season is crawling with patents. Every year, inventors dream up new ways to make costumes brighter, safer, gorier, or just plain cooler. Behind every glowing pumpkin and motion-activated skeleton, there’s probably an inventor and a patent attorney, grinning somewhere in the dark.

While some of us are busy finding last-minute costumes, some inventors are busy filing claims. Take U.S. Patent No. 6,854,131, titled “Illumination and Halloween Costume.” This invention adds light-emitting and reflective elements so kids can stay visible while trick-or-treating. It’s part safety device, part costume, proof that when you add a functional twist to a familiar product, you can cross the line from art project to patentable invention.

Even the candy buckets have risen from the IP grave. U.S. Patent No. 6,619,810 protects a “Halloween Treat Carrier Including Glow-in-the-Dark Material.” This invention is a reminder that sometimes the smallest tweak, such as adding photoluminescent material, can breathe new life into an otherwise ordinary object. Novelty doesn’t always mean inventing something new from scratch; sometimes it’s about seeing the familiar through fluorescent eyes.

For those who like a little more blood with their innovation, U.S. Patent No. 6,093,475 discloses a “Bleeding Costume Element.” Picture a transparent mask or chest plate with an internal fluid pump that circulates fake blood. This invention is half horror prop, half engineering experiment, and a textbook case of how adding a mechanical feature can make even a gag item a serious piece of IP.

And because no Halloween is complete without flashing lights and jump scares, U.S. Patent No. 6,035,447 covers a “Halloween Mask with Flash Device.” Think of it as a wearable strobe effect: dramatic, modular, and reusable. A frightfully good example of early user-customizable tech long before “modular design” was trendy.

My personal favorite is U.S. Patent No. 6,904,612, a “Weather and Climate Adaptive Halloween Costume.” This gem combines insulation and ventilation panels so trick-or-treaters can stay warm in Minnesota or cool in Miami without sacrificing their spooky aesthetic.

The claims read like bedtime reading for patent nerds:

(a) a flexible garment base portion made of plush fabric,
(b) an insulating layer,
(c) a venting portion functioning as a ventilator,
(d) a hood, and
(e) a plush animal head disposed on said hood.

But there’s one fatal flaw: “a plush animal head.” This limitation narrows the scope to, well, plush animals. So if you made the same costume with an alien head or a vampire head, you might escape infringement, unless, of course, someone argues an alien is an animal. (Patent lawyers have lost sleep over less.)

The lesson? A single word can make your claim a trick or a treat. Draft too narrowly and competitors can design around you. Draft too broadly and the examiner will chase your claim back to the graveyard. The sweet spot, like a full-size candy bar, is hard to get but worth the effort.

Lessons from the Pumpkin Patch

These Halloween patents remind us that innovation doesn’t only live in laboratories, it lurks in closets, garages, and sewing rooms too. And the line between “craft project” and “patentable invention” is thinner than a vampire’s reflection.

Here’s the takeaway for inventors and creative professionals alike:

  • Add a technical feature (e.g., lighting, airflow, motion) and you’re in utility-patent territory.
  • Add a distinct ornamental design, and you’re looking at design-patent protection.
  • Add a recognizable character or logo, and you’ve just summoned the trademark and copyright spirits.

Every creative spark can become protectable IP if you frame it right. The real magic is understanding where your idea fits in the IP cauldron and choosing the right potion to protect it.

So when you see a glowing candy bucket or a bleeding mask, remember: someone had to think it up, build it, and file for it. Even in a world of witches, ghosts, and goblins, there’s nothing scarier than an unprotected invention.

Now I’m off to the gym so maybe I’ll have the physique to pull off a He-Man costume by Halloween 2026… but at this rate, I may have to settle for Orko.