Oops!

Mark Zuckerberg made me do it. (This post was not fact checked)

I hit the publish button a bit too often yesterday, and now three Syncopated Justice posts have landed in your inbox. Three good ones, I’d say—but that wasn’t the plan. I aim for two posts a week. This week, though, the LA fires sparked an unplanned, breaking-news piece I was compelled to write.

Yes, I do have plenty to say, but I don’t want to overwhelm anyone. My apologies for the barrage—it won’t happen again, I hope. Substack’s scheduling system is unforgiving. Once you hit send mistakenly, it’s out there for good.

Still, I can’t help but wonder: should this become a daily blog? Do I have that much to say, that much to write about? Probably. But I don’t want this blog to become my full-time focus. I write Syncopated Justice, I’m working on a challenging film about life and death, and I’m enjoying life here in Guanajuato with my partner Sherrie. That feels like enough. At seventy-five, I’m not looking for a 9-to-5 job—or a 24/7 one. But I do spend, perhaps, too much time online.

When Sherrie and I were in Guatemala last month, perched in the land of volcanoes and modern Mayan culture, I realized something horrifying: in the middle of our vacation—a break from the grind—I was on my phone. Not doom-scrolling, mind you. Just checking. Why? Because God forbid I miss something. What exactly? I couldn’t tell you. But the compulsion was there, gnawing away at my tropical bliss like a termite in a wooden beam.

A few weeks earlier, I’d spiraled into the depths of TikTok. I mean really spiraled. That app is a vortex, a black hole of human curiosity. One second, you’re watching a guy make a perfectly crafted omelet, and the next thing you know, you’re learning the mating rituals of penguins. An hour gone—poof. Then another. My time is too valuable, so I deleted the app cold turkey. Goodbye, algorithm.

But then came Facebook—dear, toxic Facebook—like a smirking ex who shows up just when you think you’re clean. From thousands of miles away, its cesspool nature was clearer than ever. It’s the ultimate cocktail of human nonsense: stupid pet tricks, cosmic quotes from people who can’t spell, political rage-fests, and updates about your third cousin’s gallbladder surgery. All under the guise of “staying connected.” Connected to what? A horde of people you barely know and will never see again?

I had over 5,000 friends and 10,000 followers. Then I bailed, jumped ship without a word, and not a single person noticed. No missing person’s report, no one knocking on my door—nothing. When I finally abandoned Zuckerberg’s sinking barge of trash, the silence was deafening. Not a single Hey, Bret, you okay? Not even a sloppy 2 a.m. drunk DM.

Breaking an addiction often comes with withdrawal symptoms. Sweats, shakes, cravings. But leaving TikTok and Facebook? Nothing. Not a single pang of regret. TikTok, soon to be banned in the U.S. (because it’s apparently too effective at stealing our data), barely crosses my mind. And Facebook? Well, let me tell you, that place is about to get even nastier.

The Zuck—Mark Zuckerberg himself, the beige overlord of the digital swamp—has officially decided to axe fact-checking on his platform. That’s right. In his infinite wisdom, he’s throwing open the floodgates for lies, propaganda, and chaos. Elections? Health crises? Climate change? All fair game for misinformation now. And why not? It’s good for engagement.

Here’s how this will go:

• Misinformation will spread like wildfire. People will believe the Earth is flat, vaccines are mind-control devices, and the moon landing was staged in a Wendy’s parking lot.

• Facebook’s algorithm will keep feeding users what they already believe, creating echo chambers of madness. Flat Earthers to the left, anti-vaxxers to the right, and chaos everywhere else.

• Health misinformation—snake-oil cures, pseudoscience—will thrive. And the next pandemic? Good luck.

Meanwhile, Zuckerberg isn’t just stopping at misinformation. No, he’s adding a new twist: AI bots. These aren’t your friendly, helpful bots. Oh no. These are designed to interact. To hook you. To keep you on Facebook for hours while they vacuum up every scrap of data you leave behind. The longer you stay, the more you buy—and the more the Zuck rakes in. Why does a guy with that much cash need a haircut that looks like it was done by a lawnmower? Talk about a bad rug. Mysteries abound.

Here’s the thing: Zuckerberg doesn’t care. About truth, about people, about democracy. Facebook is just a tool to him—a soulless machine built to generate profit, no matter the cost to society. And the cost? Well, it’s already stacking up. A fractured, misinformed public. A digital wasteland of lies. And you, the user, stuck in the middle, trying to make sense of it all.

It’s a dark road we’re barreling down, and Facebook is behind the wheel—a Mar-a-Lago regular with access to billions of phones worldwide, grinning like a lunatic and driving a runaway train with no brakes. I was lucky to jump off before the wreck got any worse.

Now, my social network is populated with real people—actual, breathing, functioning humans I can look in the eye. People who laugh at my jokes because they truly think I’m funny, not because some algorithm decided my content needed a boost. It feels like I’m living again, not just surviving in a curated digital echo chamber.

Thanks for bearing with me. Back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

Here’s what’s coming up: