True Story©... Al Gore's Rhythm
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Anyone else’s Instagram reels feed just up and decided that your eternal damnation was your own damned problem? Conversations between myself, Mr. Ssippi and Alabama Jay over the last two weeks have informed that I am not alone in this.
At the beginning of July my Insta reels feed was simple and easily in line with things that interest me; dogs, lawn striping videos, car content,
Later on that same day, I’m scrolling and thinking to myself “sure is a lot of Down’s Syndrome in these reels” and quickly followed that with “why are there so many damn comments on all of these?”
[Phlip note: don’t judge me… I just report the news, I’on make it!]
I will assuredly be the cat the curiosity eventually kills, because against my better judgment, I clicked on the comments section and spent the next 20-30 minutes shamefully laughing at the worst of the worst of the internet.
Next day, the shitshow came to include disabled and/or physically malformed people – some even CHILDREN – but the comments were no less brutal. It was at this moment that I have apparently been locked in a now-infinite loop of the very worst that Social Media had to offer.
I had questions…
The following days were more of the same…
Passive-aggressively-but-INFURIATINGLY racist, but somehow still kind of funny comments. No one who is “differently abled” is ever safe. There was the obviously deaf rapper in the wheelchair and I will let your imagination take you to what that HAD to sound like, but I had my own objectives when it came to that as well…
It came to the point where I was ONLY seeing this bullshit and none of the puppies, lawncare, wristwatches or
Conversing with Alabama Jay, I confirmed that he too was no longer seeing his normal feelgood version of Instagram either. Apparently the algorithm had decided for us that our salvation was none of their problem.
Y’know what? This is too close to home, too damned consistent, for it to be some random occurrence that me and the people I interact with most on a daily basis are experiencing the same shift in what we are shown on social media. We gotta get to the bottom of this.
I enlisted Jay and Mr. Ssippi because they are 6’3” and 6’9” club bouncer-sized motherfuckers and I am, well… not. I called in a favor out in NorCal for a spot to crash if I agreed to cook for everyone while we were there for the weekend. Jay called in a deal on plane tickets through his employer and after a strategic layover situation that saw us all meet with Ssip at the Atlanta airport and we were off to sunny California.
We Ubered over to the homie’s place and set our bags down. I had already done the homework on where and how to get to and inside of Meta headquarters so we could get to the bottom of this shit. I whipped up a quick alfredo with fried fish and spinach and we called it a night ready to shove off and get to work in the morning.
The wild thing about HQ is how lax security really is on a Saturday morning. I guess they’re only expecting EMPLOYEE employees, and not prying media people or other crazies to try and approach a mostly-empty building. That said, “tours” are for weekdays only and again security is more in line with the number and type of people they expect to show.
That said, getting inside the building was easy… It stands to reason that a company of that size has a lot of employees and with that a lot of turnover. Knowing what I know of the front desk security of these type buildings, the guy/gal who is there on Saturday is usually the lowest on their employer’s totem and does not necessarily know everyone who might come and go into the building. Confidence – acting like we belonged – would be our strongest method of accessing the inside of this place without badges. We waited for a group of people coming in from the parking lot to make our move. I explained to the guys that we needed to be loud and laughing in conversation as if we were also on the way back in from a lunch or something similar so the security person would be less likely to notice us piggybacking on the legitimate employees in front of us. Kind of like how you fake a phonecall to not have to address the person asking for money outside of the gas station.
I’ll be damned if the shit didn’t work! Literally walked right past security without even having to look at her or say “hello.” Whereas the people we came in behind went to the elevator, we went to the stairs to gameplan.
Me: “Look, I don’t know how much time we got in this bitch before security sees us wandering on them cameras and wises up. If we’re lucky, she is on TikTok and we got all month but the reality is that we gotta move quick. We’ll start on the second floor and fan our until we find what looks like an engineer or some shit and then we’ll–…”
Ssippi: “… we’ll do what?”
Me: “We’ll talk to em!”
Jay: “Talk?”
Me: “Yes, ‘talk’. I don’t have a cicada connect out here, so I have to resort to more diplomatic approaches.”
Okay, so we’re in the building and don’t know shit about where we are. We can’t do the Scooby Doo “let’s split up gang” thing because I don’t have Daphne to explore the bedrooms with while Shaggy and Scooby check the basement with Velma. I’m bullshitting, we can’t split up because I might need my muscle.
We scoured the second, third, and fifth floors (four was a café/break area) before finding what appeared to be an engineer of some sort. Waited outside of his office until he needed to go pee or refresh his coffee or something and then we tackled him into a broom closet.
Me: “What’s your name?”
Engineer: “It’s Derrick.”
Me: “Listen to me, Derrick… You tryna get home to the wife and kids with all your teeth today?”
Derrick: “I-I… I only have a dog at home.”
Me: “Oh really? What kind?”
Jay: “MOE!!!”
Me: “Oh shit… Well if you tryna get home to your buddy with all your teeth, then you best be ready to talk.”
Derrick: “About what?”
Me: “About what the fuck happened to our Instagram feeds!”
Derrick: “Huh?”
Me: “My reels feed, it has become the fuckshit capitol of the internet and SOMEONE needs to explain why!”
Derrick: “You!”
Me: “What!?”
Derrick: “It’s the algorithm. If you’re seeing weird shit, it’s because the AI notices you interacting with it, then assuming you want more!”
Me: “Ain’t no way!”
Derrick: “Believe it.”
Me: “So I’m supposed to believe that your robot overlords legit believe that I enjoy little people and downs syndrome children more than I do dogs and titties?”
Derrick: “If that’s what you’re clicking, commenting and sharing, yes!”
Me: “Ain’t no way.”
Jay: “He might be right, it’s really just a bunch of ones and zeroes running the whole world now.”
Derrick: “He’s right, y’know… Listen to him.”
Me: “Derrick, you allergic to cranberry juice?”
Derrick: “No, why?”
Me: “Drink this.”
Derrick: “But what is it?”
Me: “It’s cranberry juice!”
Derrick: “But why?”
Me: “Gentlemen?”
Derrick: “Fine, I’ll drink it.”
Me: “Good”
Derrick takes the bottle from my hand and drinks it down quickly.
Derrick: “Okay, so cranberry juice… Weird aftertaste, but why cranberry juice?”
Me: “You ever had a colonoscopy?”
Derrick: “I’m only 28, no.”
Me: “Well in prep they give you a few things, including a strong laxative to clean you out.”
Derrick: “What!?”
Me: “Yeah, usually takes a couple minutes before you start to–…”
Derrick: “Oh fuck… My stomach!”
Me: “Yep!”
Derrick: “WHY?!!?”
Me: “It’s a lil thing I like to call ‘The Shittening’ I use when I don’t feel I am getting the answers I want or feel that I deserve. Gentlemen?”
Derrick: “You’re a terrorist!”
Me: “Supervillain! My goals are personal, not political.”
Derrick: “Ugh… I need a bathroom.”
Me: “And you’ll get one as soon as you...”
Derrick: “... I need it now!”
Me: “Then I strongly suggest you make with my information.”
Derrick: “I told you! Your friend told you!”
Me: “Ask me do I believe you.”
Derrick: “Do you beli–…”
Me: “… NO!!!”
Derrick: “Fuck… My stomach!”
Me: “You gon shit yourself soon and it’s gon be a mess when facilities finds you in here on Monday morning…”
Derrick: “M-Monday?”
Me: “My flight home is tomorrow morning.”
Derrick: “Take me to the bathroom and I can show you, I promise!”
Me: “Derrick, if I miss my flight and I am not home when my daughter gets home, I might fuck you up for real.”
Derrick: “‘For real’? There could be MORE?!!?”
Me: “Heh… Y’all untie him and take him to the bathroom. Meet me back in his office.”
Back in the office a clearly physically-weakened Derrick, now afraid that he may never again trust a fart, laid out to me in excruciating detail how the algorithm is programmed to ASSUME that because I kept clicking on, interacting with and sharing the videos with fucked up topics and even MORE fucked up comments sections that I would want to be served MORE of that kind of content. Since the ad-based platform wants me to be present to receive ads, it is programmed to continue to serve me what it observes keeps me engaged. When that stopped being puppies and green-green grass and started being midgets and people in wheelchairs falling down stairs, my feed changed.
Derrick: “See? It was always you, not me!”
Me: “Motherf—…”
Derrick: “... can you guys, like, GO now?”
Me: “One last question.”
Derrick: “What’s that?”
Me: “What happened to you here today? Choose your words wisely”
Derrick: “I ate a sandwich from the wheel of death in the break room and now my stomach is all fucky.”
Me: “Great answer, we’re out of here.”
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