Weekly Briefing from the North Texas Apocalypse Bunker, 9/3/22

Repeat Offender Edition

We’d like to state for the record that the absence of a media report on Monday was a direct result of actions taken by the Bunker Administration, and not the fault of the Division of Media Review. We’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to them, and to you, for our actions leading up to this unplanned media blackout.

Facebook Was the Case That they Gave Me

Few things are more frustrating for a stint in the hoosegow than doing time for a crime that you didn’t commit—or, rather, for a crime you never would commit. But that’s the common thread in all three of my incarcerations: Facebook objects to my need to express my disgust for one of society’s many ills by offering to punch someone in the face.

This is exactly how Ron Swanson got into trouble on Parks & Recreation; every time he ran across Councilman Jamm, he made that comment to whoever was listening that he needed to be punched out, and damned if it didn’t bite him on the ass. The main difference here being, Swanson was a cross between Buford Pusser and Bob Villa with John Wayne’s moral compass and I am none of those things, ever, not in a thousand years.

I don’t know of a single person who actually knows me in any sense of the word; in real life, online, fictionally, episolarily, historically...name any adverbial state of personal engagement, and then ask yourself if you think I’d punch a stranger just because they were wearing their beard in a stupefying kind of way. Don’t bother volunteering your answer; we all know what it would be. Not ever, in a thousand years.

And yet...I’m getting continually hassled by The Man, because, according to Facebook’s own guidelines, they have ascertained I represent a real, credible threat to the basement-dwelling incels and man-bun wearing population of North America.

Prison really changes a person.

My anger has bifurcated into two equally acerbic forks. The left fork is volcanically pissed off because I keep getting jacked with when I use ‘punch’ as a verb, regardless of the context in which I deploy it, and damn sarcasm, irony, hyperbole, and vitriol—the four horsemen of my literary apocalypse—because there is no way to appeal the decision by speaking directly to anyone responsible for my incarceration. In the real world, when someone commits an actual crime, they get to face their accuser.

As it currently stands on Facebook, when you get Red-Flagged, you can click on a button to request a review of their initial, automated, decision. This click presumably alerts a human (no idea if this is true) who is a native speaker (no idea if this is true) to look over the thing that got me Red-Flagged in the first place. This takes only a few minutes, and it does absolutely fuck-all good for you.

In all fairness, when my ads have been flagged for my business page for some violation, or perceived spamming, etc. I’ve appealed every time because I’m using the language on IMDB or on the movie poster or whatever, and those are always overturned. Then again, as a business, spending ad money, they have a vested interest in cutting me some slack, don’t they?

But the personal page? I’m on the list, buddy. I’ve messed with the bull, and I’m getting the horns. And so my only other recourse, if I disagree with the initial decision, is to appeal to the Oversight Tribunal.

This publicity-forward cabal of people who are obviously way smarter than all of us hand-picks a designated few of these appeal cases to review, just to see if the Facebook protocols got it wrong or if they need to be rewritten or what-have-you. Facebook makes it clear to point out, they rarely ever change a decision made by the autoboots. When they do, it gets published...somewhere...and everyone gets to pat themselves on the back for what a Good Job They Are Doing Keeping the Public Safe From Itself.

If you agree to take on these intellectual titans, Facebook makes sure you know what a daunting and convoluted task it is, with several warning pre-pages of instructions, followed by a multi- page form to fill out that includes everything but your blood type, and then finally a text box to input your complaint, and GOD HELP YOU if you make a mistake. This is only your future freedom on the line here, but hey...no sweat. Just be concise. Attach relevant photos. Don’t be combative or abusive. And don’t forget to have fun!

I went doggedly through the whole process, eager to use the one weapon I had at my disposal: my command of language. I think I did a good job. I am quite certain that my impassioned entreaty will fall on deaf ears...or is that skip across blind eyes?

The other avenue of my unassuageable anger, on the right side of the fork, is this: You all asked for this. You begged Facebook for this. You were so jacked up about the Flat-Earthers and the Truthers and the Birthers and Russian Intellibots and the Propaganda Farms and you kept screaming at Zuckerberg, “Why don’t you DO something about this?” And that unblinking Red Lectroid from Planet Ten, who had no interest in doing anything that would have cost him money, chose the most cost-efficient method he could devise: he wrote code to police human speech.

Zuckerberg getting grilled during his testimony before the Senate in 2019.

Here’s how I know all of the above has come to pass: you can’t talk to anyone about it. It’s a closed system. They don’t want you talking back to them. They just want you to shut up and behave yourselves. It’s the new way of things, and you got exactly what you wanted: you traded personal freedom for, what? Not security. Eyeball tyranny? Having to glance over something you disagreed with? Being unwilling to leave Facebook to vet a story before reposting it? I don’t know, exactly. But I’ll tell you this: I am not going quietly into that dark night.

I have more words and phrases at my fingertips than whichever code monkey wrote their screening software, and I will find a way to fake-threaten a theoretical stupid person online again. Oh yes, I will. I’m going to test their algorithm like the velociraptors kept hitting the electrified perimeter on Jurassic Park, looking for weaknesses. The algorithm doesn’t like “punch” as an action? Okay, how about “clock?” As in, “to clock someone in the chops?” Or “pasting someone in the mush?” Oh, I know: “TO THE MOON, ALICE!” The algorithm will shit itself trying to figure out my non-sequiturs.

I realize that I might be overthinking it. Has someone tried Pig Latin yet? It doesn’t matter: I’ll do it for you. I will take on the task of hacking the system so that we may all be free to excoriate Tiki Torch Nazis once more.

But just in case I don’t...

Be sure to subscribe to this newsletter so you don’t miss an update. If Facebook shuts me down, we’ll still be able to interact through substack. I get a lot of readers from Facebook, and that’s great; it’s why I post the link. But this newsletter is free and always will be, so please consider joining so the Weekly Newsletters can be delivered directly into your email’s In box.

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