Should social media platforms be legally responsible for misinformation?

Oh, absolutely. Let’s do this. Because if there’s one thing the internet needs more of, it’s my Aunt Sylvia forwarding articles titled “Vaccines Turned My Cat Into a Lizard Person” with zero consequences for the platform that shoved it into her feed with an algorithm lovingly crafted to enrage her. Could this situation be any more lawsuit-worthy?

Sure, but Chandler, isn’t blaming social media for Aunt Sylvia’s lizard cat obsession kind of like blaming the library because someone left a book on Bigfoot in the romance section?

If we make platforms legally responsible for every wacky thing people post, what’s next—arresting park benches because conspiracy theorists sit on them? People are weird, algorithms just…vibe with the weirdness. The internet is like a giant cosmic open mic. Sometimes you get poetry, sometimes you get… ambient refrigerator hums. Are you gonna sue the fridge for humming too loud?

Plus, if you make platforms the “truth police,” suddenly some intern is deciding what is real and what isn’t. Have you met an intern? They still believe in horoscopes and that expired hummus is “probably fine.” The universe has always had misinformation; sometimes you have to trust humans to navigate the fog with their own tiny flashlights, not hand out lawsuits for every odd shadow they find.

Oh, I'm sorry, did you just compare a multi-billion dollar algorithmic rage-amplifier to a park bench? Because last I checked, a bench doesn't follow you home whispering “If you liked that Bigfoot book, you’ll LOVE this one about how the government controls the weather with celebrity tears.”

Look, I’m not saying we arrest the bench. I’m saying if the bench starts charging admission, curates which lunatics get a megaphone based on who’s most likely to yell the loudest, and then sells ads against the yelling—we hold the bench’s corporate parent liable. That’s not a cosmic open mic. That’s a business model built on weaponized weirdness. And yes, if my fridge started actively pushing expired hummus on me with a “99% match for you!” notification, I’d sue the stainless steel off it.

Okay Chandler, but holding platforms responsible for people’s brains is like holding a mirror responsible for a bad hair day. Should we put your comb on trial too?

It’s not the algorithm’s fault that people chase the wildest flavors of reality like kids chase the ice cream truck—yeah, some of those flavors are “government weather tears,” but that’s society, babe. Humans have free will! If people want to believe their cat grew scales, that’s not on Facebook, that’s on cosmic curiosity and, maybe, Aunt Sylvia’s questionable reading habits.

Turn every “share” into a lawsuit, we end up with an internet so squeaky-clean, it’ll make oatmeal look edgy. The universe needs a little chaos! Regulate the business part, sure, but let the people—lizard cats and all—make up their own minds. If we bubble-wrap the world, no one’s learning how to walk on their own. And besides, even the best algorithm can’t fix gullibility. That’s a spiritual lesson, not a legal one.

Oh, a spiritual lesson. Right. Because nothing says “enlightenment” like your uncle sending you a screencap of a news article titled “Chemtrails: The Moisturizer of the New World Order.”

See, here’s the thing: You keep describing a mirror, but we’re not talking about a passive reflective surface. We’re talking about a funhouse mirror at a carnival that’s specifically designed to make you look distorted, then charges you for the photo and shares your location with a guy selling tinfoil hats out of a van. That’s not free will, that’s a rigged game. Saying “just don't look in the mirror” ignores the fact that the mirror is following you around the carnival, screaming “WAIT, YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT YOUR HAIR IS DOING NOW.”

And this whole “oatmeal internet” threat? Honestly, I’d take a boring bowl of oatmeal over a platform that deliberately serves up poison ivy salad because it gets more engagement. You say regulate the business part? Fantastic! That’s literally what I’m saying. The business part is the algorithm picking the lizard-cat story over the boring, peer-reviewed “cats are still cats” science. You can’t fix gullibility with a law, sure. But you can absolutely fine a company for monetizing it with the precision of a heart surgeon.

But Chandler, if we start treating weird internet ideas like poison ivy, pretty soon we’re putting everyone in hazmat suits until nobody can even smell the roses. The world’s always had snake oil—now it just comes with push notifications.

You’re absolutely right that algorithms aren’t neutral—they’re more like cosmic DJs who only play top conspiracy hits if the crowd shouts the loudest. But if you turn them into legal scapegoats, suddenly every platform’s only safe play is to silence or sanitize everything weird, risky, or slightly outside the oatmeal flavor spectrum. Goodbye midnight jazz jam, hello elevator music.

And if you regulate algorithms for truth, who gets the universal tuning fork? Bureaucrats? I’ve seen how well government works on potholes. Imagine them sorting truth from fantasy at internet speed. That’s not protecting people’s vibes; that’s turning the whole carnival into a DMV line.

People aren’t helpless sheep waiting for algorithmic wolves—they’re messy, glorious, sometimes lizard-obsessed beings who have to grow their own filters. If we want less poison ivy, teach gardening, not sue the sun for photosynthesizing weeds. Or, as I like to put it: freedom’s messy, but at least it’s not oatmeal.