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Your guide to f**king with internet algorithms

THEY harvest your data, sell it on and use your every click to advertise you stuff, all perfectly targeted. Until you f**k with them. Here’s how:  

Pretend you live in America

Filling in your home town on your social media profile? Instead of putting Northampton put Miles City, Montana. Not only will it feel thrillingly transgressive, you’ll get ads for spray-on cheese, assault rifles, fanny packs and exhortations to vote Hiram C Wafflebacker III for circuit court judge.

Lie about your age

When asked for your date of birth, pick one in the 1940s. Being bombarded with products and emails for incontinence aids, stairlifts and funeral plans is a great reminder of your mortality and stops you wasting cash on Lego.

Watch YouTube videos you hate

Instead of watching the latest blockbuster, spend a weekend absorbed in videos you couldn’t give a shit about. Pick a video about injection pump air compressors or a tutorial about the Sicilian Defence in chess. Watch the algorithms struggle to cope by bombarding you with ads for inflatable chess erotica.

Say random words while Siri or Alexa is switched on

We’ve all had the experience of talking about a Shetland pony then suddenly getting shitloads of adverts for Shetland ponies. Mess with them by dropping words like ‘halberd’, ‘taramasalata’ and ‘corduroy parachute’ into conversation. Amazon will lose money trying to sell your data to the Halberd Marketing Board and corduroyparachutes.com.

Buy stuff you don’t want

Amazon knows exactly what people want based on their previous purchases. Undermine them and f**k over Jeff Bezos by buying stuff you don’t want then flogging it on eBay. Sure, it’ll cost you, but it’ll be worth it to piss those all-knowing algorithms off.

A MacBook at every table: six locations with air-con currently occupied by wankers

ADVICE to stay at home in the heatwave has been ignored by insufferable twats migrating in search of air-con. Here’s where you’ll find them:  

Every table in every cafe

Unable to focus on their arthouse screenplay at home, insidious cool-hunting creatives have overrun coffee shops, smugly occupying any flat surface with a silver MacBook. Anyone popping on for a drink risks hearing their moneyed drawls discussing their process.

Every machine in every gym

Idling on an exercise ball is more suited to a soft play centre than a gym. But these gym goers are here for the breeze, lounging against the leg press like they’re waiting for a bus. Brazenly defying the one purpose of the place, they have come to not sweat and they gaze at your physical activity in disgust.

Every seat in every cinema

The heatwave has ruined the mindless, tranquil act of staring at a large screen by filling the room with chatty bastards banging on about how cool it is. Their incessant wittering makes these air-con seekers more annoying than Minions 2: The Rise of Gru. 

The chilled aisle of every supermarket

Shuffling up and down the freezer aisle like zombies desperate for a touch of chill, barricading it Les Misérables-style with their sudden need to slowly examine exactly how many types of cheese this Lidl sells. The temptation to shove them in as they lean delightedly into the freezer is hard to overcome.

Every exhibit in every museum

Tourists, couples, families – anyone who wants summer excitement without summer weather is treating any indoor building as an icy holiday camp where their kids can escape heatstroke by doing a 50p quiz about Roman Britain and couples can stretch out on the benches in front of our industrial heritage. Culture at its finest.

Every desk in every office

The pandemic ended pointless co-worker interactions forever, until this week when all workers remembered offices are climate-controlled and decided Jacob Rees-Mogg had a point. But is it worth it to spend all day talking to twat colleagues about how hot it is and reciting the horrors of their commute as if they were Mad Max and the A5103 was Fury Road?

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