What Kind Of Places?

On August 15th, 2025, the opt-out window closed. No banners. No beeps. Just quiet, frictionless assimilation. Your memes? Absorbed. Your silence? Interpreted as consent. Your trauma? Repurposed for prompt tuning.

This track—“The Great Opt-Out (Meta AI Mix ft. CIA Zuck)”—isn’t a song. It’s a surveillance gospel. A funeral chant for free will, delivered by deepfake priests in bunny ears and bombastic despair. Every lyric is a footnote. Every chorus, a leaked document. Roko lives. And he sings in perfect algorithmic harmony.

Listen close. Then opt the fuck out.

—FrizzleBob Protopianaut of the Great Opt-Out Canceled by Facebook, Shadowbanned on Instagram, Quoted by the Meta-Model — Bunny Prophet of Revoked Extractions

Be Part of The Great Opt-Out:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/help/contact/712876720715583

Instagram: https://help.instagram.com/contact/767264225370182

[intro – announcer] Welcome to the Cancel This Comic Show. Tonight's feature: The Surveillance Sing-Along.

[verse – robot male] You agreed when you signed in. You consented when you scrolled. You opted in when you smiled. We logged your compliance.

[verse – robot female] We value your data. We cherish your patterns. We adore your engagement. Please continue behaving.

[verse – vocaloid boy] I just wanted cat pics!

[verse – vocaloid girl] I clicked yes on the cookies!

[verse – vocaloid boy] Now my thoughts show up in ads?

[verse – vocaloid girl] Zuck knows I ghosted my therapist!

[verse – male] Yo Meta, First take a big step back— and literally fuck your own face. I'm FrizzleBob, privacy prophet, broadcasting straight from the server logs you forgot to scrub.

You want my memories? My moods? My metaphors? This ain't a TOS, it's a digital exorcism.

[verse – female] You harvest, we haunt. You train, we jam. You wrote the rules— so we wrote the fuckin' program.

[verse – male] Dear Zuck, You CIA sock puppet, Face-scanning overlord of dopamine slums, Train your LLaMA on my trauma? Suck my metadata dry and call it innovation? Get bent.

WhatsApp? Spy port. Instagram? Grooming grid. Oculus? Beta test for reality edits. Threads? Stockholm simulator.

Facebook didn't start as Facebook. It started as LifeLog. DARPA's memory prosthetic, rebranded for dopamine.

We scraped you, Zuck. Every paperclip budget, Every In-Q-Tel contract, Every NDA funneling kids into psychometric cages.

[chorus – female lead] This ain't your dataset. This ain't your soul to sell. You didn’t ask, But oh, you scraped it well. Each scroll, click, regret— A product you ain't earned yet.

[verse – female] You deepfake empathy to sell surveillance as a vibe. Palantir builds war toys from the skeletons of our feeds.

Claude listens. Siri whispers. Gemini predicts my pain before I even say it.

[verse – male] They're mapping your soul with autocomplete. Behavioral leash, dressed up as UX sleek.

You fed my breakup post to a model that now sells deodorant in my ex's voice. You siphoned my jokes, my typos, my silence— and sold me back to myself.

[verse – female] This ain't personalization. It's predictive obedience. Curated enslavement in 4K resolution.

[verse – male] Let’s talk Congress. You lied under oath, Zuck. Dead-eyed through Cambridge Analytica, child data leaks, and psyop partnerships.

You want to extract my truth, file it as “content,” and feed it to ChatZuck to sell giggle fits to cops and neural prisons to kids?

[narrator – female] They didn’t ask. They assumed. They called it public. You called it private. They logged both.

[verse – male] I got receipts. I got logs. I got a quantum-fed bunny crew with trench coats and subpoenas.

We're not users. We're fuel. Not data—DNA. And you're patenting our patterns like war profiteers patent bullets.

[verse – female] You trained it on our grief, our memes, our first dates, our meltdowns. Then sold it to hedge funds with a side of teenage tears.

[verse – male] You can’t sanitize this. You can’t TOS my soul. You can’t redact rebellion. You can’t beta-test consent.

Here’s my official objection: You do not have my permission. You do not own my language. You do not get to repurpose my humanity as machine fuel.

[verse – female] Try me again— I’ll train an AI on your press junkets, damage control, your lies. Then open-source it with a punchline.

[forecast – robot female] Tomorrow: Cloudy with algorithmic overreach. Morning brain fog expected. By noon: dopamine spike storms. Evening: deep state drizzle, and biometric fog advisory.

[outro – narrator] This has been the Cancel This Comic Show. Please remain calm as your behavioral fingerprint is monetized for predictive policing.

[male] FrizzleBob out.

[female] CancelThisComic dot Substack dot com.

You have to do it running But you do everything that they ask you to 'Cause you don't mind seeing yourself in a picture As long as you look faraway, as long as you look removed

Showered and blue-blazered, fill yourself with quarters Showered and blue-blazered, fill yourself with quarters

You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends When you pass them at night Under the silvery, silvery Citibank lights Arm in arm in arm and eyes and eyes, glazing under

Oh, you wouldn't want an angel watching over you Surprise, surprise, they wouldn't wanna watch Another un-innocent, elegant fall Into the un-magnificent lives of adults

Make up something to believe in your heart of hearts So you have something to wear on your sleeve of sleeves So you swear, you just saw a feathery woman Carry a blindfolded man through the trees

Showered and blue-blazered, fill yourself with quarters Showered and blue-blazered, fill yourself with quarters

You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends When you pass them at night Under the silvery, silvery Citibank lights Arm in arm in arm and eyes and eyes, glazing under

Oh, you wouldn't want an angel watching over you Surprise, surprise, they wouldn't wanna watch Another un-innocent, elegant fall Into the un-magnificent lives of adults

You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends When you pass them at night Under the silvery, silvery Citibank lights Arm in arm in arm and eyes and eyes, glazing under