Late last year we wrote about a new startup that was flooding the internet with AI-generated podcast slop. Featuring fake hosts having fake discussions, the startup proudly stated it was creating about 3,000 new AI-generated podcasts every single week. The owners of the startup (who called critics of AI slop “Luddites,”) stated that because they cost so little to produce, even selling 30 episodes for a dollar nets them a tidy profit when scaled up appropriately.
That this results in an internet positively full of lazy mass-produced cack — and what that does to the public interest, authentic creators, and informed consensus — doesn’t really enter into it.
Not to be outdone, Amazon appears poised to join the AI slop podcast race. The company announced this week that it had begun mass producing AI-generated podcasts featuring two fake experts having conversations about all sorts of stuff. More specifically, Amazon is reformatting Alexa+’s extended answers on different topics and turning them into “podcasts.”
During this process, Jeff Bezos owned software will express manufactured opinions on all sorts of things, from the death of monoculture to the health of the U.S. recording industry:
“In an example clip shared by Amazon of the new Alexa Podcasts feature, the two AI-generated hosts discuss “the latest music releases.” A male Alexa+ narrator says more than 50% of music listening now comes from unsigned artists. “The monoculture is just gone,” a female-voiced Alexa+ narrator chimes in. The male Alexa+ host says there has been “stoner metal,” indie pop and experimental hip-hop music “all dropping on the same Friday,” and adds, “That’s not chaos — that’s the healthiest the music ecosystem has ever been.”
Cool.
For some reason the Variety story didn’t quote the best part of the shared Amazon example clip; namely where software in a female voice informs you that there’s no gatekeeping anymore and authenticity rules the day:
“There’s no gatekeeping anymore. If you make something real people are going to find it, and the algorithm is working for artists in a way it wasn’t five years ago.”
Clearly concerned that people would accuse them of creating yet more lazy and quickly automated engagement slop in the era of AI obituary scams, Amazon is pinky swearing that journalists will play a central role in fact-checking the content:
“Seemingly to dispel the notion that these “podcasts” will be AI audio slop, Amazon emphasized that it has deals with major news organizations to ensure “accurate, real-time news and information.” Those include the Associated Press, Reuters, the Washington Post, Time magazine, Forbes, Business Insider, Politico and USA Today; publications from Condé Nast, Hearst and Vox Media; and more than 200 local newspapers across the U.S.”
You know, all the places that have been hollowed out by layoffs and mismanaged into the ground by incompetent billionaires who have no idea how anything works and are keen to produce a giant badly automated engagement ouroborus that shits money without needing to pay human beings a living wage (or health insurance).
In effect they’re using software automation to algorithmically hijack and repackage the informed expertise of other people, then reselling it to you as something new. With some lip service to the idea that there are enough journalists left to maintain factual quality control over large language models prone to errors, plagiarism, and all sorts of disastrous fuckery at scale.
I desperately want to believe that as we accelerate into the era of badly automated mass engagement slop, there will be a value premium placed on authentic expertise. That the bland homogenized vibe coded half-assed sameness being plattered up at impossible new scale will usher forth a renaissance for real connection, genuine skill, actual talent, and human expertise.
But then I remember what most people buy at the grocery store. And the kind of people dictating the contours of both large language models and our increasingly consolidated, authoritarian-friendly media gatekeeping systems. And I quickly have my doubts that authentic expertise and connection has any meaningful chance of being heard above the din.
Since the New York Times published its semi-viral big profile of Medvi last week — the “AI-powered” telehealth startup that it breathlessly described as a “$1.8 billion company” supposedly run by just two brothers — I’ve had multiple friends and family members send me the article with some version of the same message: “Can you believe this guy built a billion-dollar company with AI? Why haven’t you done this?” The story is making rounds, and giving people the impression that with a ChatGPT account and a little bit of marketing know-how, you too could be raking in millions every month.
The problem is that most of the story is utter nonsense.
Let’s start with the headline number itself. The NYT admits — buried deep in the piece — that Medvi “has not raised outside funding” and “has no official valuation.” A company’s value is typically established by investors, an acquisition offer, or public market pricing. Medvi has none of those. What it has is a revenue run rate — a projection based on early-2026 sales extrapolated across a full year. Calling that a “$1.8 billion company” is like calling someone who found a twenty on the sidewalk a “future millionaire.” Any business reporter should know the difference. Even the NYT tips its hand:
Medvi is technically not a one-person $1 billion company, since Mr. Gallagher hired his brother and has some contractors. The start-up, which has not raised outside funding, also has no official valuation.
“Technically not” doing quite a bit of heavy lifting there.
But the misleading valuation is almost the least of it. Even if you accept revenue as the relevant metric, how sustainable is that run rate for a company that just got an FDA warning letter, is facing a class action lawsuit for spam, has a key partner being sued over allegations that a major product doesn’t actually work, and is operating in an industry that regulators are actively trying to rein in?
Oh, wait, did the NYT forget to mention all of those things? They sure did! Not to mention the legions of fake, apparently AI generated doctors and patients who keep showing up in Medvi advertisements. Yes, the NYT eventually alludes to some of that, but it claims these were mere “shortcuts” that were fixed last year (they weren’t).
That said, you can feel the pull of the narrative that seduced the NYT: a scrappy founder with a rags-to-riches backstory, two brothers taking on the world, AI tools stitching it all together, Sam Altman himself anointing the achievement as proof that his prediction of a “one man, one billion dollar company, thanks to AI” was correct.
It’s a hell of a story. The problem is that almost none of it holds up to even the most basic scrutiny, and the fact that the New York Times — the New York Times — fell for it (or worse, didn’t care) is an embarrassment. As much as I’ve made fun of the NYT for its bad reporting over the years, this is (by far) the worst I’ve seen. They didn’t just misunderstand something, or try to push a misleading narrative, they got fully played on a bullshit story that any competent reporter or editor should have realized from the jump. This one stinks from top to bottom.
Medvi’s success has very little to do with “AI” and quite a lot to do with fake doctors, deepfaked before-and-after photos, misleading ads, probable snake oil, and the kind of old-fashioned deceptive marketing that has been separating marks from their money for centuries. The only thing AI really “turbocharged” here was the company’s ability to generate bullshit at scale. Oh, and also the NYT somehow missed out on the FDA already investigating the company, as well as the multiple lawsuits accusing the company and its partners of extraordinarily bad behavior.
Let’s start with what the NYT actually published. Reporter Erin Griffith’s piece reads like a press release that the NYT re-formatted as a newspaper article:
Matthew Gallagher took just two months, $20,000 and more than a dozen artificial intelligence tools to get his start-up off the ground.
From his house in Los Angeles, Mr. Gallagher, 41, used A.I. to write the code for the software that powers his company, produce the website copy, generate the images and videos for ads and handle customer service. He created A.I. systems to analyze his business’s performance. And he outsourced the other stuff he couldn’t do himself.
His start-up, Medvi, a telehealth provider of GLP-1 weight-loss drugs, got 300 customers in its first month. In its second month, it gained 1,000 more. In 2025, Medvi’s first full year in business, the company generated $401 million in sales.
Mr. Gallagher then hired his only employee, his younger brother, Elliot. This year, they are on track to do $1.8 billion in sales.
A $1.8 billion company with just two employees? In the age of A.I., it’s increasingly possible.
And then, because no AI hype piece would be complete without the requisite papal blessing from San Francisco:
In an email, Mr. Altman said that it appeared he had won a bet with his tech C.E.O. friends over when such a company would appear, and that he “would like to meet the guy” who had done it.
Altman “would like to meet the guy.” Well of course he would! The NYT hand-delivered him the perfect anecdote for his next AI hype session. The reporter seemingly solicited that quote to validate a pre-existing thesis: “Sam Altman was right about one-person billion-dollar AI companies.” The fact that the company is a dumpster fire of regulatory violations and consumer fraud was, apparently, a secondary concern to the “Great Man and A Great AI” narrative of innovation. This piece was built around a thesis — Sam Altman was right — and then a company was located to prove it.
To its minimal credit, the NYT does kind of acknowledge — eventually, if you make it past the thirtieth paragraph — that things weren’t entirely on the up and up:
Medvi’s initial website featured photos of smiling models who looked AI-generated and before-and-after weight-loss photos from around the web with the faces changed. Some of its ads were AI slop. A scrolling ticker of mainstream media logos made it look as if Medvi had been featured in Bloomberg and The Times when it had merely advertised there.
I mean… shouldn’t that have raised at least one or two red flags within the NYT offices? Medvi’s website featured a scrolling ticker of media logos — including the New York Times logo — to make it look like these outlets had written about the company, when they hadn’t. A year ago, Futurism’s Maggie Harrison Dupré had even called this out directly (along with Medvi’s penchant for bullshit AI slop advertising).
Just underneath these images, MEDVi includes a rotating list of logos belonging to websites and news publishers, ranging from health hubs like Healthline to reputable publications like The New York Times, Bloomberg, and Forbes, among others — suggesting that MEDVi is reputable enough to have been covered by mainstream publications.
…. But… there was no sign of MEDVi coverage in the New York Times, Bloomberg, or the other outlets it mentioned.
And then, despite this, the New York Times went ahead and wrote the glowing profile that Medvi had been falsely claiming existed. The paper of record became the validation that the fake credibility ticker was trying to manufacture.
And the NYT frames all of what most people would consider to be “fraud” as mere “shortcuts” that the founder later “fixed.” Eighteen paragraphs after burying the admission, it reports:
That gave Matthew Gallagher breathing room to fix some shortcuts he had initially taken, like swapping out the before-and-after weight-loss photos for ones from real customers.
“Shortcuts.” Using deepfake technology to steal strangers’ weight-loss photos from across the internet, alter their faces with AI, give them fake names and fabricated health outcomes, and pass them off as your own satisfied customers — that’s a “shortcut.” Ctrl-F is a shortcut. This sounds more like fraud.
And it turns out those “shortcuts” hadn’t actually been fixed at all. As Futurism’s Dupré reported in a follow-up piece published after the NYT article:
As recently as last month, nearly a year after the NYT said that Medvi had cleaned up its act, an archived version of Medvi.org shows that it was again displaying before-and-after transformations of alleged customers. They bore the same names as before — “Melissa C,” “Sandra K,” and “Michael P” — and again listed how many pounds each person had purportedly lost and the related health improvements they apparently enjoyed.
Even though they had the same names, these people that the site now called “Medvi patients” now looked completely different from the original roundup of Melissas, Sandras, and Michaels. Worse, some of the images now bore clear signs of AI-generation: the new Sandra’s fingers, for example, are melted into her smartphone in one of her mirror selfies.
They kept the same fake names and the same fake weight-loss numbers but swapped in entirely different fake people. What the NYT claims was “fixing shortcuts” appears to actually be just “updating the con.”
In a great takedown video by Voidzilla, it’s revealed that at least one set of original images appeared to have been sourced from Reddit forums on weight loss having nothing to do with Medvi, and even with the modified images it used, it massively overstated how much weight the original person claimed to have lost. And while Medvi later switched out the photos with someone totally different, they kept the same name and same false weight loss claims.
And again, all of this was publicly known information that Griffin or her editors could have easily found with some basic journalism skills. We already mentioned that Futurism article from May of 2025, nearly a full year before the NYT piece ran. That investigation traced the deepfaked before-and-after photos back to their real sources, found that a doctor listed on Medvi’s site had no association with the company and demanded to be removed, and documented the AI-slop advertising. That investigation was widely available. A Google search would have found it.
But the fake photos and fraudulent branding are almost quaint compared to what the NYT chose not to mention at all. Six weeks before the NYT piece was published, the FDA sent Medvi a warning letter for misbranding its compounded drugs. The letter admonished Medvi for marketing its products in ways that falsely implied they were FDA-approved and for putting the “MEDVI” name on vial images in a way that suggested the company was the actual drug compounder. The letter warned:
Failure to adequately address any violations may result in legal action without further notice, including, without limitation, seizure and injunction.
The NYT did not mention this letter. And yes, Gallagher now insists that the FDA letter was targeting an affiliate that was using a nearly identical name, and it was that rogue affiliate that was the problem. But the letter is addressed to MEDVi LLC dba MEDVi, which is the name of his company. If he’s allowing affiliates to use his exact name, then that alone seems like a problem. Indeed, it certainly seems to highlight how this is all just, at best, a pyramid scheme of snake oil salesmen, where Gallagher has affiliates willing to deceive to sell more snake oil.
Separately, on March 20, 2026 — thirteen days before the NYT piece ran — a class action lawsuit was filed against Medvi in the Central District of California alleging that the company uses affiliate marketers to blast out deceptive spam emails with spoofed domains and falsified headers. The complaint alleges Medvi is responsible for over 100,000 spam emails per year to class members. The lawsuit seeks $1,000 per violating email.
The NYT did not mention this lawsuit either, even as it was yet another bit of evidence that either Medvi is up to bad shit, or it has a bunch of out of control affiliates potentially breaking laws left and right to increase sales.
A Drug Discovery & Development review conducted on April 3 of MEDVi’s website, Facebook advertising and public records found a pattern of apparent AI-generated personas, including some presented with medical titles, alongside marketing practices that appeared to go beyond the issues identified so far by regulators. A search of Meta’s Ad Library for “medvi” returned more than 5,000 active ads, many of them running under fabricated physician personas. One Facebook page for “Dr. Robert Whitworth,” which ran sponsored ads for MEDVi’s QUAD erectile dysfunction product, was categorized as an “Entertainment website” and listed an address of “2015 Nutter Street, Cameron, MT, 64429,” a location that does not appear to exist. Other ads ran under names including “Professor Albust Dongledore” and “Dr. Richard Hörzgock,” used AI-generated video testimonials and recycled identical scripts across multiple fabricated personas. In several cases, the page displayed a doctor headshot while the ad itself featured an unrelated person delivering a patient testimonial.
After public scrutiny following the article, those fake doctor accounts started disappearing. In fact, Medvi’s own website fine print acknowledges the practice:
Individuals appearing in advertisements may be actors or AI portraying doctors and are not licensed medical professionals.
Seems like maybe something the NYT should have noticed?
Oh, and that same Drug Discovery and Development article highlights how other snake oil sales sites are using the same named doctors… but with totally different images.
Same names… different people. Drug Discovery and Development has a bit more info about Drs. Carr and Tenbrink:
MEDVi’s current site lists two physicians: Dr. Ana Lisa Carr and Dr. Kelly Tenbrink. Both are licensed doctors who work together at Ringside Health, a concierge practice in Wellington, Florida, that serves the equestrian community. Neither is identified on MEDVi’s site as being affiliated with Ringside Health. On MEDVi’s site, Dr. Tenbrink is listed under “American Board of Emergency Medicine.” Dr. Carr is listed under St. George’s University, School of Medicine, her medical school. The Florida Department of Health practitioner profiles for both physicians state that neither “hold any certifications from specialty boards recognized by the Florida board.” A search of the American Board of Emergency Medicine‘s public directory, which lists 48,863 certified members, returned no current affiliation for Dr. Tenbrink.
Did the NYT do any investigation at all? Serving the equestrian community?
Even the few real doctors Medvi claims to work with turn out to be questionable. From Futurism’s article from last May (again, something the NYT should have maybe checked on?):
We contacted each doctor to ask if they could confirm their involvement with MEDVi and NuHuman. We heard back from one of those medical professionals at the time of publishing, an osteopathic medicine practitioner named Tzvi Doron, who insisted that he had nothing to do with either company and “[needs] to have them remove me from their sites.”
Then there’s what a class action lawsuit filed last November against Medvi’s main partner, OpenLoop Health, alleges about the actual products being sold. The NYT frames OpenLoop as basically making what Gallagher is doing possible, noting that while Gallagher has his AI bots creating marketing copy OpenLoop handles: “doctors, pharmacies, shipping and compliance.” You know, the actual business.
So it seems kinda notable that way back in November of last year, this lawsuit was filed that claims that the compounded oral tirzepatide tablets — one of Medvi’s key offerings — are essentially pharmacologically inert when delivered as a pill. Tirzepatide (marketed as Zepbound by Eli Lilly) is an FDA approved weight-loss drug as an injectable. But OpenLoop and Medvi have apparently been selling it in pill form. And Eli Lilly says that there are no human studies, let alone clinical trials, involving any tirzepatide pills.
All of that seems like the kind of thing reporters from the NYT should point out.
What we actually have here is a marketing operation that used AI to automate the production of deceptive advertising at a scale and speed that would have been harder to achieve otherwise. Snake oil salesmen have existed forever. What AI gave Matthew Gallagher (and, I guess, his affiliates) was the ability to crank out fake doctors, fabricated testimonials, and deepfaked before-and-after photos faster than any human team could — and to do it cheap enough that a guy with $20,000 and no morals could build it from his house. That’s the actual AI story the Times should have written.
Being good at deceptive marketing while selling weight-loss and erectile dysfunction drugs online has been a thing since the dawn of email spam. The only novelty here is the tools used to do it. The New York Times just wrapped that up in a neat bow and presented it as the proof of Sam Altman’s big promises for AI.
For what it’s worth, Gallagher has been whining about all this on X, per Futurism’s Dupre:
Though Medvi has yet to respond to our questions, the company’s founder, Gallagher, has spent the last few days on X defending his company. He complained in one post — seemingly in reference to criticism — that “the most low t [testosterone] guys” are “the loudest online” and the “Karens of the internet.” In another post, he wrote that it’s “actually a little crazy the number of people who form a whole opinion from a headline and then publicly wish horrible things will happen.”
Ah yes. The guy complaining about “low t guys” and “karens on the internet” for questioning his “AI business” skills, sure is a trustworthy kind of business person that deserves a NYT puff piece.
The real issue now is what the New York Times plans to do about this. A standard correction noting a few missing details won’t cut it. The entire premise of the article — that this company represents the exciting realization of AI’s business potential — is nonsense. Every element of the narrative is tainted: the growth story is built on deceptive marketing, the product claims are contradicted by the FDA and the manufacturers of the actual drugs, the “$1.8 billion” figure is a projection with no valuation to back it up, and the company is currently facing legal action on multiple fronts. The entire article should be retracted.
The NYT says it “was given access to Medvi’s financials to verify its revenue and profits.” Great. They verified that a company engaged in widespread deceptive practices was, in fact, making money from those deceptive practices. Congrats to the NYT for auditing a snake oil salesman and presenting your findings as if he were an upstanding pharmaceutical salesman.
So to my friends and family members wondering why I haven’t built my own billion-dollar AI company: apparently the missing ingredient wasn’t AI — it was being willing to run a deepfake-powered spam operation selling potentially inert pills to desperate people. The AI just made the lying faster. And the New York Times made one guy appear respectable.
It is no secret that large language models (LLMs) are being used routinely to modify and even write scientific papers. That’s not necessarily a bad thing: LLMs can help produce clearer texts with stronger logic, not least when researchers are writing in a language that is not their mother tongue. More generally, a recent analysis in Nature magazine, reported by Science magazine, found that scientists embracing AI — of any kind — “consistently make the biggest professional strides”:
AI adopters have published three times more papers, received five times more citations, and reach leadership roles faster than their AI-free peers.
But there is also a downside:
Not only is AI-driven work prone to circling the same crowded problems, but it also leads to a less interconnected scientific literature, with fewer studies engaging with and building on one another.
Another issue with LLMs, that of “hallucinated citations,” or “HalluCitations,” is well known. More seriously, entire fake publications can be generated using AI, and sold by so-called “paper mills” to unscrupulous scientists who wish to bolster their list of publications to help their career. In the field of biomedical research alone, a recent study estimated that over 100,000 fake papers were published in 2023. Not all of those were generated using AI, but progress in LLMs has made the process of creating fake articles much simpler.
Fake publications generated using LLMs are often obvious because of their lack of sophistication and polish. But a new service from OpenAI, called Prism, is likely to eliminate such easy-to-spot signs, by adding AI support to every aspect of writing a scientific paper:
Prism is a free workspace for scientific writing and collaboration, with GPT‑5.2—our most advanced model for mathematical and scientific reasoning—integrated directly into the workflow.
It brings drafting, revision, collaboration, and preparation for publication into a single, cloud-based, LaTeX-native workspace. Rather than operating as a separate tool alongside the writing process, GPT‑5.2 works within the project itself—with access to the structure of the paper, equations, references, and surrounding context.
It includes a number of features that make creating complex — and fake — papers extremely easy:
Search for and incorporate relevant literature (for example, from arXiv) in the context of the current manuscript, and revise text in light of newly identified related work
Create, refactor, and reason over equations, citations, and figures, with AI that understands how those elements relate across the paper
Turn whiteboard equations or diagrams directly into LaTeX, saving hours of time manipulating graphics pixel-by-pixel
There is even voice-based editing, allowing simple changes to be made without the need to write anything. But scientists are already worried that the power of OpenAI’s Prism will make a deteriorating situation worse. As an article on Ars Technica explains:
[Prism] has drawn immediate skepticism from researchers who fear the tool will accelerate the already overwhelming flood of low-quality papers into scientific journals. The launch coincides with growing alarm among publishers about what many are calling “AI slop” in academic publishing.
One field that is already plagued by AI slop is AI itself. An FT article on the topic points to an interesting attempt by the International Conference on Learning Representations (ICLR), a major gathering of researchers in the world of machine learning, to tackle this problem with punitive measures against authors and reviewers who violate the ICLR’s policies on LLM-generated material. For example:
Papers that make extensive usage of LLMs and do not disclose this usage will be desk rejected [that is, without sending them out for external peer review]. Extensive and/or careless LLM usage often results in false claims, misrepresentations, or hallucinated content, including hallucinated references. As stated in our previous blog post: hallucinations of this kind would be considered a Code of Ethics violation on the part of the paper’s authors. We have been desk -rejecting, and will continue to desk -reject, any paper that includes such issues.
Similarly:
reviewers [of submitted papers] are responsible for the content they post. Therefore, if they use LLMs, they are responsible for any issues in their posted review. Very poor quality reviews that feature false claims, misrepresentations or hallucinated references are also a code of ethics violation as expressed in the previous blog post. As such, reviewers who posted such poor quality reviews will also face consequences, including the desk rejection of their [own] submitted papers.
It is clearly not possible to stop scientists from using AI tools to check and improve their papers, nor should this be necessary, provided authors flag up such usage, and no errors are introduced as a result. A policy of the kind adopted by the ICLR requiring transparency about the extent to which AI has been used seems a sensible approach in the face of increasingly sophisticated tools like OpenAI’s Prism.
Copilot may very well be useful to some people; but like most tech companies, Microsoft’s rushed, ham-fisted adoption has been a bit of a tone-deaf mess. And it actively undermines the stuff that LLMs can actually accomplish. This is before you get to the environmental impact of AI, or its quickly-expanding, guardrail-optional use in global military imperialism at the hands of insane autocrats.
This all recently resulted in some fairly significant backlash for Microsoft CEO Satya Nadella. Nadella recently shared a fairly innocuous end-of-year post at LinkedIn.
Most of the short post isn’t really all that interesting or incorrect; he notes that AI is stumbling through a phase where we’re beginning to sort between “spectacle” and “substance,” something that’s likely to result in a big bubble pop this year due the chasm between real-world usefulness and broad tech company misrepresentation of AI (he doesn’t really acknowledge that latter part, of course).
Where Nadella got into trouble was apparently this part, where he fairly innocuously laments the rising criticism of “AI slop.” It was first highlighted by Windows Central:
“We need to get beyond the arguments of slop vs sophistication,” Nadella laments, emphasizing hopes that society will become more accepting of AI, or what Nadella describes as “cognitive amplifier tools.” “…and develop a new equilibrium in terms of our “theory of the mind” that accounts for humans being equipped with these new cognitive amplifier tools as we relate to each other.”
Nadella’s problem here is he dismissively puts the onus on the consumer when it comes to “getting beyond” concerns about AI slop. That dodges any responsibility for the very rich people and companies dictating the entire trajectory of AI to start using it more responsibly.
The press aggregation machine (much of it ironically now badly automated) latched on to Nadella’s demand that people stop calling it AI slop, immediately resulting in people doubling down on AI slop criticism in a way that made “Microslop” trend across the internet.
Automation, broadly, certainly has its uses and is, generally, not going away. The backlash to AI is, in many ways, tethered tightly and unavoidably to a growing disdain for wealth disparity at the hands of the authoritarian-simping extraction class keen on eliminating literally all ethical oversight of industry.
A great way for billionaires like Nadella to diffuse this growing animosity about their rushed, clumsy, non-transparent, integration of language learning models into everything (whether you like it or not) in ways that aren’t ethical or useful is to, you know, stop doing that. Another great step might be to stop kissing the ass of authoritarians who are actively destroying democracy, civil rights, and the rule of law?
It sounds like many people might be willing to get over AI slop once the billionaires in charge of its development, trajectory, and implementation stop doubling down on AI slop, and stop being tone deaf, irresponsible assholes.
Last year, there was some talk about how AI-generated wacky images—summed up generally as “shrimp Jesus” as an example of one of the most bizarre—were taking over Facebook. It was only a matter of time until this sort of AI slop nonsense went political in some form or another.
Starting last Friday, people began to report that Facebook was being overwhelmed with obviously fake reports of famous or semi-famous people making some sort of “heartfelt” announcement regarding the death of Charlie Kirk. The phenomenon represents a perfect storm: a politically divisive event, genuine public emotion, and AI content generation tools all converging into what can only be described as profitable grief porn. Here are a bunch I’ve collected:
These are just the few that people posted in response to my and Seth Cotlar’s (linked above) threads on Bluesky about this.
What’s particularly insidious about this phenomenon is how it represents the natural evolution of engagement farming. These aren’t random trolls—they’re likely monetized operations taking advantage of Facebook’s ad revenue sharing or affiliate marketing programs. Grief and outrage drive engagement, engagement drives ad revenue, and AI tools have made it trivially easy to manufacture both at scale.
The engagement farmers profit. Meta profits. It’s just the public that loses out.
The template is depressingly simple: take a polarizing figure’s death, generate fake statements from celebrities that will appeal to different political tribes, slap together some AI-generated images, and watch the shares roll in. Each fake post becomes a little cash machine, harvesting clicks from people who want to believe their favorite celebrity shares their political views.
This is “engagement hacking” taken to its logical extreme—using AI to manufacture the emotional responses that social media algorithms reward most handsomely.
Gosh, it sure would be nice if Facebook hadn’t decided to seriously dial back its content moderation and fact-checking efforts, huh? Facebook gets flooded with obviously fake political content about a highly politicized event. It’s almost like having systems to identify and label false information might actually serve a purpose beyond alleged political censorship.
Lead Stories, one of the leading fact-checking orgs that Mark Zuckerberg fired earlier this year, has been keeping busy debunking a bunch of these, but the organization admits that there are too many to cover, and it’s mostly targeting “the most viral ones.”
Eliot Higgins, from Bellingcat, indicated that Russian troll farms were a bit slow to react to the Kirk shooting, but after a couple of days, they went all in, though it sounds like a different kind of campaign than the one people said was flooding Facebook.
This uncertainty points to one of the most challenging aspects of the current information environment: the complete inability to distinguish between foreign influence operations and domestic monetization schemes. When the methods, tools, and even content are essentially identical, attribution becomes nearly impossible from the outside.
The Russian campaigns Higgins describes appear to be more sophisticated influence operations aimed at sowing discord. But the Facebook flood looks more like the work of random opportunistic entrepreneurs who’ve discovered that fake celebrity grief statements are a reliable way to generate ad revenue. The end result—massive amounts of false information flooding the information ecosystem—is the same regardless of motivation.
This convergence of foreign influence tactics and domestic profit motives creates a kind of disinformation perfect storm. Bad actors don’t need to coordinate; they just need to follow the same incentive structures that reward viral misinformation.
I’ve seen a few people online refer to it as “agitslop,” which is a fun portmanteau of agitprop and AI slop. The term perfectly captures how political propaganda has merged with algorithmic content farming—it’s agitation optimized for engagement rather than ideology, slop designed to trigger shares rather than change minds.
I have no idea if anyone is actually believing any of this, though it does blend in with real stories like Coldplay’s Chris Martin actually doing something along those lines (though in more limited fashion).
But it should serve as another reminder that the information ecosystem is full of garbage and nonsense, and everyone needs to be skeptical about what they believe—especially when it confirms what we want to hear about celebrities sharing our political views.
