The man behind State Snaps, a set of social media pages with over a million followers, has been sentenced to 14 years in prison for getting his cousin to try to steal a domain name at gunpoint.
In what could easily pass as the trendiest Fargo storyline yet if only it had happened a bit further north, Iowan twentysomething Rossi Lorathio Adams II was so intent on acquiring the domain “doitforstate.com” from its stubborn owner that he tracked them down to their home.
This obviously all sounds a bit over the top. But we didn’t realise at first that Adams had been operating under the domain “doit4thestate.com”. We can imagine how, as his empire grew, so did his obsession with replacing that corny number four. How are you seriously meant to build a credible brand known for sharing clips of Iowa State University students rubbing their boobs and jiggling their butts with a domain that isn’t totally earnest?
And so Adams’s cousin was sent into the domain owner’s abode, gun in one hand and easy, step-by-step guide to moving a domain to another GoDaddy account in the other, to correct that undeniably gauche number four once and for all. Shots were fired, but unlike in Fargo, no one dies in this story. Unless you’re reading this in like 2030, when we refuse to delete this post at gunpoint.
There wasn’t much fanfare around Amazon Prime’s midweek maiden voyage into Premier League football coverage. We’d have missed the delectable choice of fixtures altogether had we not opened the app to check on the order status of a used £1.81 hardback of Hugh Cudlipp’s 1976 memoir Walking on the water.
That’s what we love about Amazon: the fast and cheap procurement of out-of-print books with titles that prophesy a Gabriel Jesus brace. It’s hard to care that it only paid 2% tax on £10.9bn UK revenues when you just want to find out how a former Mirror editor felt sacking their old mentor Cecil King for breach of conduct.
As you may have guessed, our evenings are relatively free, so we tuned in. Amazon’s arrow logo, curving into a coy, Anne of Cleves smile that says “I’m extracting all of Earth’s resources, ha” gently nestled inside the scoreboard; and former Manchester City midfielder Nigel de Jong – best remembered for kung fu kicking Xabi Alonso in a World Cup final – was one of many familiar faces in the punditry team. All in all, it felt about as guilt-free as asking Alexa to tell you a joke before saying “Alexa? I love you” in an empty room.
And so, just as Anne of Cleves escaped the guillotine, and Nigel de Jong escaped a red card, Jeff Bezos escaped reproach for seamlessly exploiting one more part of our lives. Cecil King could never.
Elon Musk has explained why the windows of Tesla’s tank-like Cybertruck smashed during a humiliating launch.
Chief designer Franz von Holzhausen cut a gleeful figure as he prepared to throw a steel ball at the armoured glass – but it shattered on impact. “Let’s try another one,” he beseeched his boss in a hellscape fast resembling a space-age boules tournament gone wrong. The second window met the same fate.
The problem was, according to Musk, the order of the demonstration. In retrospect, he said, they shouldn’t have hit the vehicle with a sledgehammer before reaching for their balls.
To Musk – and Von Holzhausen, who’s probably already been sent to Mars without supper for this debacle – we say accidents happen. But see it as a wake-up call; a lesson that cockiness gets you nowhere.
Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. If Musk had his way, the steel ball would’ve bounced straight off the window and into one of Von Holzhausen’s eye sockets; the billionaire’s version of a Love Island hunk being taken out by a cork at an Ibiza champagne party.
It’s time for Musk to get serious, lest a ball through a window is but an apéritif for one of his tunnels crushing a city of commuters – or worse, one of his brain-computer interfaces mistakenly playing footage of James Corden and Kanye West’s Airpool Karaoke.
“You dressed up party lines as a fact-check service. That is dystopian,” Emily Maitlis told Conservative Party chairman James Cleverly on the BBC’s Newsnight after the leadership debate. But like a child who’s worked out the worst a teacher can do is hand him a detention, he gawped back at her with the brass neck of a headteacher’s son whose only after-school plans involved searing the legs off ants with his glasses.
She had a point, though. The governing party’s press office Twitter account shapeshifting into the made-up “factcheckUK” during a debate certainly fell into the category of “not on”.
It reminded us of when US comedian Jaboukie Young-White’s verified account morphed into a doppelgänger of the official Cats movie account in the summer, blending in with the film’s promoted material with a tweet that read: “The cats in Cats (2019) will have realistic spiked penises.”
Young-White’s poetry saw Twitter suspend him, but in this case the Tories got off with a warning: “Any further attempts to mislead people by editing verified profile information – in a manner seen during the UK election debate – will result in decisive corrective action.” Downtime is therefore happy to report the end of Vladislav Surkov-inspired Tory skulduggery in this General Election.
What are the chances of deepfakes poisoning the integrity of the UK’s current General Election? Probably a lot higher now a think tank has created clips of the two frontrunners endorsing each other for the likes of The Telegraph to share under the headline: Jeremy Corbyn urges voters to back Boris Johnson for prime minister in disturbing deepfake video (which at the time of writing is the fifth-highest result when you search their names on YouTube). Whoops!
Less highlighting the threat deepfakes pose to democracy than actually fuelling it, then, research organisation Future Advocacy and artist Bill Posters have unwittingly cast themselves as the younger, more sinister Hitchens brother to JOE.co.uk’s exuberant-but-dead Christopher.
The experiment, however, falls at its final hurdle by failing to use an adequate Corbyn impersonator, leaving him sounding a bit like Alan Bennett standing in for David Walliams in a Dennis Waterman sketch.
Undeterred, the Barclay boys’ mouthpiece, already spending £275,000 a year on Johnson, has tried its luck with a misleadingly lopsided title. But at least it had the decency to annex a clarification that it’s a deepfake right at the end of it – something its readership will surely pick up on before voting Conservative anyway.
The Conservatives’ doctored version of Keir Starmer’s Good Morning Britain interview left out our favourite bit: an arms-folded Piers Morgan insisting he’s “absolutely fine” with 26 billionaires owning as much as the planet’s poorest 50% because the likes of Bill Gates have given a lot to charity.
That’s not to have a pop at Bill Gates. His foundation does in fact part with about £4bn a year, which makes him one of our nicest billionaires. But when you realise Gates’s net worth increased by almost £14bn in 2019, Morgan’s unbounded commitment to spouting fawning casuistry for rich, powerful men is plain for all to see.
Even Harry Enfield’s Tory Boy would struggle to defend the rate at which Gates and every other major tech billionaire saw their wealth swell this year (punch-drunk divorcé Jeff Bezos aside). Their philanthropy might well extend further than that pathetic Waitrose token kingmaker routine of yours, but this isn’t as much about the goodness of individual billionaire hearts as it is about a system that lets Bezos stay on top by paying his workers starvation wages.
So while Morgan dreams of one last Miami Beach stroll with Rupert Murdoch, or titters over handing Donald Trump an Arsenal shirt, us non-sycophants will continue to raise our eyebrows over the existence of a maligned yet resilient community: billionaires.
The world of entertainment has come down on Netflix like a ton of bricks for trialling a feature that allows content to be watched at different speeds.
We don’t know. Is this really such a big deal? Netflix’s latest glitzy addition, Steven Soderbergh-directed The laundromat, is a fine example of an experience that would be improved with the option to slow things down to absorb information-heavy lectures about shell companies before breezing through every last ambling, tangential narrative strand you’re never getting back. Come to think of it, the timing of that release is suspicious.
But whether we think Netflix is intentionally commissioning films so incompatible with real time that users embrace functions designed to warp it is irrelevant. We’ll happily watch whatever moving colours and shapes Netflix’s bottomless chum bucket has for us at any speed.
Aaron Paul, the 40-year-old who recently reprised his role of a 25-year-old for the Breaking bad film, is a real authority on the concept of time, and he thinks playing with the speed destroys his art. How he’d deal with a movie night with our tea-brewing, dishwasher-loading, piss-taking parents and their feverish use of the more widely accepted pause function is anyone’s guess.
Liverpool may be flying high at the top of the Premier League table right now, but when they get home after a hard-fought 90 minutes, their fans are the most likely to have had their personal data leaked, their bank accounts raided, and their Facebook status changed, according to new data from the National Cyber Security Centre (NCSC)
Based on information gleaned from the website HaveIBeenPwned, the NCSC has just released a list of the most frequently hacked passwords, including such gems as 123456, qwerty, Pokemon, Blink182 and Slipknot, in its third annual report.
The NCSC also revealed some of the most laughably insecure football-related passwords, and found a total of 280,723 entries in the HaveIBeenPwned database using Liverpool, compared with 216,677 misguided Chelsea fans, 179,065 people who thought Arsenal would have their back, 59,440 betting that Manchester United would keep their personal data safe, and 46,619 people who reckoned Everton would somehow keep out the bad guys.
What does this tell us? A lot of you are idiots and you’re all going to get hacked if you don’t take your personal security seriously.
But more importantly, Downtime now has conclusive proof that in cyber security (the only thing that matters), Everton has the edge over Liverpool every time.
A robot hand has been taught by OpenAI to successfully solve a Rubik’s Cube in an average time of four minutes.
“So what?” you ask, being the unbearable Rubik’s Cube expert you are. It’s true, mere mortals have been known to make light work of the puzzle in less than four minutes, and it was only last year a machine with zero chill did it in under a second. Well if you’d just let us finish, we’ll tell you why this one’s special.
You see, the thing about this robot is that during the testing stage, developers discovered it could withstand what’s known as plush giraffe perturbation. Finally, we have your attention.
That’s right. For the first time on record, an automated hand has overcome the challenging conditions of being nuzzled by a soft toy giraffe to crack Hungarian sculptor Ernő Rubik’s ubiquitous 3D puzzle. Sincerely, we never thought we’d see the day.
It’s funny to think that before 1974, the Rubik’s Cube wasn’t a thing. It’s a bit like popular phrases. It’s easy to assume the classic mithering phrase, “We can put a man on the moon, but we can’t…” has been around since Roman times, but obviously we’ve only had that one since we put a man on the moon. The next generation will think the same about “We can solve a Rubik’s Cube under plush giraffe perturbation, but we can’t…” And here you are beholding its coinage.
Coleen Rooney has detailed the detective work that went into unmasking Rebekah Vardy as the alleged mole of her private Instagram account.
Adopting the standard celebrity statement release protocol of sharing a screenshot of some text bashed out on the Notes app, she explained how she devised her plan. She blocked everyone but Rebekah, her prime suspect, from viewing her Instagram Stories, then fabricated news stories about herself to see if they continued to get leaked to Brexity comic book The Sun. And, in Coleen’s words, “you know what, they did!” That’s it, really.
Cue the most fascinating mutation of social media: the pally comments from random public figures. England women’s team manager Phil Neville replied on Instagram with a simple prayer emoji, while notorious reality TV bully and OG WAG Danielle Lloyd opted for a trio of rat emojis.
It’s the highlight of the app. Nothing makes you feel better during your morning poo than perusing, say, the digital guestbook of vulgar inner-circle solidarity extended to Ellen DeGeneres for her defence of hanging out with George W Bush (four applause emojis from former footballer Robbie Keane). You never knew you were morally superior to Robbie Keane before this morning, did you? They all poo, too.