Porch pirates: 1, Philly: 0 | Weekly Report Card

Philly now has the second-highest package-theft rate in the country, reported the Citizen. According to a USPS Inspector General report, we lost $450 million in deliveries last year, which is a staggering amount of missing moisturizer, dog treats, and whatever-impulse-purchase-you-didn’t-need-anyway.

The stories are peak Philly: Thieves in fake Amazon vests dragging trash cans down Northern Liberties like a pack of Grinches, neighbors negotiating with porch pirates over stolen head-and-neck massagers, and whole blocks swapping Ring footage like they’re running a CSI unit. And still, hardly anyone reports it — because calling 911 over a missing package feels unhinged, and most people assume nothing will happen.

Police say they can’t crack down because no one files reports. Prosecutors won’t release data. Delivery companies quietly eat the losses to keep customers from rioting. And the state’s shiny new anti-porch piracy law can’t do much when the entire system for tracking thefts amounts to a collective shrug.

For now, the only real accountability is getting roasted on someone’s community Facebook group.

Herr’s is celebrating America’s 250th birthday the only way Philly knows how: by asking us to vote on which potato chip flavors best represent freedom, liberty, and unity. Because nothing says “Founding Fathers” like determining whether hot honey BBQ counts as a constitutional value.

The official lineup?

Solid choices, sure. But if you asked Philly what those ideas actually taste like in 2025, it definitely wouldn’t be “cheesy crab dip.” It’d be stuff like:

Voting runs through Dec. 10, and whatever wins hits shelves in June for the city’s 250th birthday party. Silly? Extremely. But honestly, if Philly wants to turn civic values into snack-seasoning discourse, that feels about right.

Sen. Dave McCormick put out the world’s most Pennsylvania campaign commercial this week, inviting New Yorkers terrified of their new mayor — and “tired of losing football teams” — to pack up and head west on I-80. And look, we get the appeal. New York is expensive, the Giants and Jets are tragic, and Pennsylvania can brag about producing at least one functioning football franchise at any given time.

But if he’s talking about Philly? Dave… babe… have you seen this place lately? We’re full. Try finding a parking spot in Fishtown after 6 p.m. Or a house in the suburbs that doesn’t get 12 offers in 24 hours. Even our potholes are standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Also, telling New Yorkers to “come on down” because Pennsylvania has mountains and freedom is a bold pitch when most of them can’t even merge onto the Schuylkill without bursting into tears.

So if folks really want to take him up on this offer, maybe start by checking out Pittsburgh. Lovely city. Plenty of room. Great bridges.

Netflix House finally opened in King of Prussia — because nothing says “immersive fantasy world” like the mall you swore you’d never drive to again. And look, the place is legitimately impressive: Squid Game VR that feels a little too real, a Wednesday carnival, a One Piece escape-room adventure, and photo ops for days.

But here’s the plot twist: the price. Doing all four experiences at the cheapest rate runs $118 a person before taxes. That’s nearly $500 for a family of four. For that kind of money, the golden piggy bank in Squid Game better not be just a prop.

Credit where it’s due: the VR slaps, the staff is Disney-level committed, and superfans will eat it up. But between the Schuylkill, the prices, and the mall chaos, Netflix House might be best for people who already love the shows.

The Sixers’ new City Edition jerseys dropped, and the reaction across Philly has been one collective shrug. Navy blue, gold stripe down the side shaped like the Liberty Bell crack, “Philadelphia” in script — all perfectly fine if your goal is to make something no one could possibly argue about. Which, ironically, is the most un-Philadelphia idea imaginable.

Let’s be honest: This jersey didn’t stand a chance. Not in the year of the AI throwbacks — those black 2001 uniforms walked into the room and immediately made everything else look like background décor. The City Edition is basically the jersey equivalent of a supportive friend holding everyone’s coat.

Reddit nailed it. People called them: “Mid.” “It’s just the 2019 one but navy.” “Should’ve said Philly.” “I like them… but I’ll wait until they’re $39.99 in June.” And my personal favorite: “This feels like Nike forgot about us until the last minute.”

Wearing them only three times feels right. This is a jersey designed to quietly exist. Inoffensive. Reasonable. Mildly attractive. Something you nod at and say, “Yeah, that’s nice,” before immediately remembering you’re only here for the throwbacks.

These aren’t bad. They’re just beige-but-navy — the basketball equivalent of choosing a sensible sedan when everyone knows you really wanted the sports car.

The basement goldfish at the Navy Yard have respawned — and Philly has reacted with the kind of unhinged civic joy usually reserved for Gritty sightings. A year after their murky little pond dried up, the fish have returned, proving once again that in this city, nature not only heals… it adapts to runoff water and becomes indestructible.

Reddit went feral: “Philly’s koi pond.” “Koi jawn.” “Nature is healing.” “This needs to be a protected landmark before it’s turned into condos.” And the best lore drop: “Behind that door is a kingdom… nay, a WORLD of basement fish.”

There are paintings now. Fan art. People offering to dump in buckets of water like it’s a community service project. Someone even called them the “unofficial city mascot,” which feels about right — unexpected, slightly alarming, surviving on vibes and stormwater alone. This is the kind of hyperlocal nonsense that unites the city more than any mayor ever has.

Only in Philly could a three-block alley spark a full-blown identity crisis. Someone on Reddit innocently asked how to pronounce Camac — “K’mack? Kay-mick? Kay-mack?” — and within minutes, the city did what it always does: turned a vocabulary question into a referendum on our collective sanity.

The consensus (if you can even call it that) is “kuh-MACK.” But this being Philadelphia, you also get k’MACK, Kuh-MAK, Cum-ACK, and at least one person who decided all the letters are silent, which honestly feels spiritually correct.

Then, naturally, the thread devolved into arguments about other names no one can agree on — Bouvier, Sepviva, Greenwich — because this city will never miss an opportunity to question its own language like it’s a group project we all forgot to do.

It’s extremely on-brand, and reminiscent of The Inquirer’s big Passyunk investigation — the one where lifelong South Philadelphians confidently pronounced it four different ways in the same grocery store aisle. After 400 years, even linguists basically shrugged and said: “Multiple answers are correct, good luck out there.”

So yes, the “right” way to say Camac is probably kuh-MACK. But this is Philly. Pronounce it however you want — someone will correct you, someone else will correct them, and eventually the whole block will be involved.

Inquirer reporter Tom Fitzgerald has become Philly’s most unlikely breakout star — by calmly explaining the absolute chaos of SEPTA and Greyhound. His latest video on the city’s bus terminal and the PPA had people lining up to be “president of the Tom fan club,” begging for “another Tom vid, expeditiously,” and declaring, “Idk what it is about this guy, but I’d trust him with my life.”

And this wasn’t a one-off — the first “what the f— happened to SEPTA” video is where the cult really formed. That comment section was essentially a love letter: “Tom is the GOAT,” “protect this man at all costs,” “cordially inviting this guy to my family Thanksgiving,” and my personal favorite: “I like this guy, would get a French dip with him.” Philly affection comes in many forms, but that might be the purest.

What’s wild is how united everyone is about him. It’s rare for any city to agree on anything — let alone a soft-spoken transit reporter explaining budget failures and bus equity. But Tom did it. He looked into the camera, delivered the grim truth with perfect dad-energy calm, and the entire region collectively said: King.

More Tom videos immediately, please.