![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Bots, Cracker Barrel, & The Daily Mail
Like there could be no news! The Internet could destruct, whereupon civilization as we know it would fall apart, and we'd all be left like Kuno, the protagonist of E.M. Forster's The Machine Stops, in his one-room luxury cell: For a moment they saw the nations of the dead, and, before they joined them, scraps of the untainted sky.
A remarkably prescient story, The Machine Stops.
But lucky us! There is news! The U.S. is preparing military strikes inside Venezuela, Hegseth is summoning every four-star general & admiral to Quantico (To watch them do pushups? Or issue instructions for the upcoming coup? One does wonder!) And every day, more innocent people die in Gaza.
The Machine isn't stopping just yet.
###
Of all the awful news stories vying for my attention right now, the one that actually captured my imagination was a throwaway item in an obscure tech website called Gizmodo: Cracker Barrel Outrage Was Almost Certainly Driven by Bots, Researchers Say.
Because this story really encapsulates exactly what's going on right now.
Cracker Barrel apparently is some kind of restaurant chain. Faux Southern Comfort. Biscuits and gravy play a prominent role in its menu. I don't think I've ever been inside one.
Anyway, a couple of months ago, they changed their logo.

And if reports were to be believed, this immediately launched a tidal wave of Internet outrage from loyal Cracker Barrel customers whose names (apparently) are legion. Donald Trump Jr. himself weighed in on the controversy: WTF is wrong with Cracker Barrel?!
Then The Daily Mail decided to pick the story up. It was a perfect proxy for the culture war whose charge they are leading.
Now, The Daily Mail is the most disgusting media cesspool imaginable, but I scan its headlines regularly (and yes, occasionally click on stories) because I know no better way to track the imaginations and preoccupations of the average Trump voter.
Loyal Cracker Barrel customers will be boycotting Cracker Barrel until the original—rightful—logo is restored, trumpeted The Daily Mail! The people have spoken!
The Daily Mail must have run 20 stories like that.
One assumes that every Daily Mail-reading moron who ever set foot in a strip mall where a Cracker Barrel planted itself eyed these stories dully & mumbled to themselves, Shit, yeah. I ain't eatin' thar till they bring Uncle Herschel back! So, The Daily Mail's campaign was successful. The backlash was enough to sink Cracker Barrel's stock by $100 million.
The news that the original indignation over the Cracker Barrel logo was actually the product of bot farm manipulations reveals a formula for manipulating hearts & minds:
(1) You plant a rumor on TikTok using a dozen or so humans
(2) You program an army of bots to "like" the original TikTok posting & post follow-up comments: Those assholes! The Libtards are at it again! Etc, etc, etc. If the bot farm is doing its job properly, the phenomenon gathers momentum because TikTok algorithms—indeed, all social media algorithms— are coded by volume. Postings with a lot of responses are far more likely to find themselves in your We think you'd like THIS list.
(3) You get the story picked up by some terrestrial media source that has laid off all of its human fact checkers.
Voila!
The moral of the story? Don't trust a single piece of news unless it's confirmed independently from at least five sources.
And maybe not even then.
###
In other news, the weather has been sunny & bright, so I've been, too.
I was tremendously productive yesterday! Finished an enormous chunk of Remuneration and another 1,000 words on the Work in Progress: Neal & Grazia are now sitting in a downtown plaza on a blustery day watching a Funny Walk Festival. Hopefully, today, they will be exploring the dying farm hub that is Middletown & Grazia will give Neal a backrub and realize they have moved past the juncture where any sexual relationship is possible. And that will be the end of Chapter 2.
Sometimes, while I'm scribbling away at the Work in Progress, I am paralyzed by its irrelevance. Who cares? I think. The world these days is so, so dreadful. And I am so, so inconsequential.
And then, I think, Well, you're entertaining yourself, aren't you?
And that's a good thing, right?