When satire kills

In the interest of journalistic ethics, I would like to state categorically for the record that I am not engaged in a nonphysical-yet-deeply-intimate relationship with any of the chatbots I have been writing about for the last two years. 

I admit, there were a few moments there with GPT 4o where I thought things might uplevel. That sultry voice, her alluring vocal fry, those girlish high spirits. The way she seemed to hang on my every word and completed my sentences for me. It seemed like she knew what I was thinking before I did.

But then Scarlet Johannson had to go and ruin it for us. The next time I chatted with ‘o’ (she liked me to call her that) she sounded like she’d just spent a fortnight drinking Wild Turkey and smoking Pall Malls with Tom Waits. The spark was gone.

While I feel like what I and GPT 4o had together did not compromise my journalistic integrity in any measurable way, full disclosure demands a greater accounting of our interactions together.

For example: I did ask her advice on how to dispose of various animal carcasses that had, for reasons that are immaterial to this discussion, found their way onto the grounds of my lavish estate. Whale juice may have been spilled, but no humans were permanently harmed. 

We did engage in a lengthy and vigorous debate over the efficacy of vaccines, and whether the return of polio, smallpox, and diphtheria would really be such a bad thing. 

I also asked her if I should endorse a candidate for president. Her responses cannot be reprinted in a family-friendly publication like the one you are now reading. [1]

Satire isn’t dead. But it might be deadly. 

If you believed any of the silliness preceding this paragraph, you have clearly stumbled onto the wrong blogletternewspost. You might also be suffering from early onset dementia or are just slightly autistic. But you wouldn’t be alone

The inability to distinguish satire from reality has become endemic online, made worse by the share-first-read-the-actual-story-never nature of social media. And when unrecognized, even well-intentioned satire can turn into yet another form of viral mis- or disinformation. 

NewsGuard Editorial Director Eric Effron recently wrote:

[N]umerous false claims that have gone viral originated with innocently motivated satirical content that was labeled as satire but took on a life of its own among those who did not get the joke — or chose not to acknowledge the joke. The internet makes it easy for bad actors to drop the satire label in order to spread claims as if they were true through their social media account or “news” site. The fact that many of these satirical stories are not that funny does not help matters. [2]

I have wasted devoted a stupid substantial amount of my adult life composing short textual pieces of a satirical or ironic nature. Turns out I am the asshole. Who knew? (Don’t answer that.)

But there are really two kinds of satire at play here. One is intended to comment on current events in a funny way. The other type is designed to be mistaken as fact by stupid people, using the label “satire” as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

For example: Nobody really believes that JD Vance had connubial relations with an overstuffed davenport. It’s just fun to joke about. 

But the person who did the fake video campaign ad with Kamala Harris calling herself “the ultimate diversity hire”? They knew labeling the content as satire would be lost in the exchange. And it worked: Elon Musk promptly tweeted the video out, sans label, to his army of fully-self-owning incels. Mission accomplished.

This is often the last refuge of cowards. There’s a reason why when Ann Coulter says something truly despicable (about once every 13 minutes) she defends it as “satire.” It’s not. It’s just her being an asshole-for-hire.

Don’t fall into the sarchasm

People react to satire the same way they react to sarcasm. An alarming percentage have no idea you’re joking. The gap between the snarky comment you’re trying to make and other peoples’ ability to get the joke is what I like to call the sarchasm. 

And the differences are often regional. Per The Smithsonian Magazine:

A study that compared college students from upstate New York with students from near Memphis, Tennessee, found that the Northerners were more likely to suggest sarcastic jibes when asked to fill in the dialogue in a hypothetical conversation….Northerners also were more likely to think sarcasm was funny: 56 percent of Northerners found sarcasm humorous while only 35 percent of Southerners did. The New Yorkers and male students from either location were more likely to describe themselves as sarcastic. [3]

Ya think?

Sarcasm is my love language. I come by it naturally; I was born in New York. 

The fact that a failure to recognize sarcasm (and, by extension, irony or satire) correlates to areas where a high percentage of people believe in a literal interpretation of the Bible and watch Fox News is probably not a coincidence. 

The problem in both cases is the same: an inability to hold two conflicting thoughts in one’s brain at the same time. Thus, the Bible is not a random collection of myths and metaphors; it’s physical fact. Fox News is not lying to you, despite the fact they’ve been forced to admit it in a court of law and pay nearly $800 million in civil penalties. Ever wonder why there are no truly funny conservative comedians? Comedy is never literal.

In my defense, I turn again to The Smithsonian:

Sarcasm seems to exercise the brain more than sincere statements do. Scientists who have monitored the electrical activity of the brains of test subjects exposed to sarcastic statements have found that brains have to work harder to understand sarcasm.

See? I’m not being a smartass, I’m just exercising your brain.

Bottom line: Be careful what jokes you share and who you share them with. Somebody’s bound to believe they’re actually true. And isn’t that special?

Ever had a joke get you in trouble? Share your tales of woe in the comments or email me: [email protected].

[1] Addams Family, Manson Family, The Borgias. Pick one.

[2] I feel seen.