I’ve Been Writing Your Conspiracy Theories for Over Twenty Years. I’m Done.

You probably don’t know me, but you know my greatest hits: “Birds aren’t real,” “5G causes cancer,” “JFK’s head just did that.” I’ve been freelance-writing conspiracy theories since 2001 (the industry really took off that year). Back then, this was an art. I’d spend months researching, building off of preexisting foundations, photoshopping red arrows onto the grainiest JPEGs I could find.

Back then you could even get out into the real world. I remember standing in the fountain of Washington Square Park, handing out flyers about sawdust in naan bread.

The goal was distraction from the real conspiracies, plots, and schemes; but the artistry was to push each theory to its breaking point—stress-testing the limits of human gullibility. On a good day, your theory would escape the forums and make it onto the third hour of the Today show. But that took time. You had to earn it.

Now, any random tweet gets read once and accepted as gospel. “The holes in Crocs are for NSA foot recognition.” People read that now and just nod. “Yeah that tracks.” It’s impossible for people now to tell honest, salt-of-the-earth paranoia from bland, cookie-cutter fear-mongering.

And don’t get me started on the mass-produced AI theory-slop. It’ll spew something like “Steven Spielberg is two Jews in a trench coat” and then call itself robo-Goebbels or whatever. Sure, it has the mouthfeel of a conspiracy theory, but where’s the structure or payoff? Where’s the feverish internal logic? Where’s the nuanced dance, the elegant line-toeing, the gentle flirtation with Hitler? It doesn’t get the craft, and it certainly has no soul. At least the robots aren’t trying to sell you anything.

Verizon once paid me handsomely to spread the 5G brain-melting rumor. Not because 5G melts brains (it singes the inner ear canal, at most), but because their engineers needed six more months for rollout. Last week, Taco Bell emailed to ask if I’d “just ask questions” about Chipotle guacamole being mostly puréed frogs. I used to carefully fabricate inconsistencies that would blossom into full-blown psychosis. Now I just log into a burner account, half-heartedly fire off “Did you know? AirPods subliminally program obedience to the DMV”, watch it trend, then get a thank-you Edible Arrangement from Bose.

I miss the simpler times, the passionate industry, the heartfelt, honest lies—cryptid sightings, alien autopsies—hell, some of you still think the Earth’s round. I’m done with all of it. You’re on your own now. Good luck figuring out what’s real anymore.