Following Bad Advice

Madam Hannah's Advice Column

~The absolute best advice you can get anywhere!~

That was the headline for a certain live blog in which a popularized columnist offered suggestions. Whether it be about daily issues or romance, Madam Hannah had readers covered!

A brightly colored webpage with links to the latest trends and hot news articles greeted visitors. One would simply need to scroll through the examples and see how Hannah’s advice took the online world by storm. Logs of her sessions were archived, displaying millions of views and thousands of likes, a virtual treasure trove of quick answers for everyday needs.

Purely by the number of visits to the site, many would immediately lean toward its trustworthiness. If that wasn't enough, flashing banners containing glowing reviews from satisfied customers were placed front and center to hammer away any doubts.

"Her advice is simply the best! Hannah succeeds at life!"

"I managed to get back together with my friend that I wanted to murder just days ago! Great job on opening our eyes!"

"I followed your advice, and now, I'm swimming with dough! Thank you so much for giving me the win of a century!"

"My disease has gone away! Who knew that a shot of bleach would do wonders? Even better than wasting money on so-called professionals!"

These were the type of comments littered about the site, showering the owner with praises and worship. It was just another day on the job for Madam Hannah, the internet's trendiest advice column.

Hannah Adler, AKA Madam Hannah, turned around in her office chair, satisfied that she had convinced another customer. After all, this kind of work wasn't easy. And for the low, low price of $30 per session, they were given peace of mind – far cheaper than seeing a medical doctor, therapist, or psychologist.

Of course, Hannah knew that her advice was nothing more than mindless drivel of easily searchable solutions from the internet, but charisma was a powerful tool in negotiations. And if she happened to make a mistake, then she would just cut herself off from further interactions with them and block them from the website. Out of sight, out of mind. Her botted dummy accounts would take care of the rest, anytime negative reviews tried to undermine her credibility.

In truth, her website started off with honest intentions, like most ones did. But unexpected fame had gone to her head once the website took off and became a hit. It was like a drug; she craved the attention. She loved listening to the personal stories. Even if she couldn't help, she wanted them to come to her. She wanted them to listen. She wanted to be their guiding voice.

By chance, she stumbled upon programmable bots, sections of script that could perform automatic actions for her. Thinking about it objectively, there was nothing illegal about using them. She could scrape the internet for more information and choose the best sounding solutions to add spice to her sessions. The influx of clients had started to tax Hannah’s well of knowledge, so it wouldn’t hurt to outsource to available resources. That gave her more time to beautify her website, attracting even more clients in the long run.

Hannah sat back with a cup of espresso, smiling as the view count steadily climbed. Most of those views were artificial visits by the bots, but it gave anyone that actually visited the appearance of an active site. Not to mention, she had tapped into AI generation sites to periodically set up random comments, some on her page and some on various blogs elsewhere, linking back to her advice column. Visibility was crucial to directing traffic to the right places, and all the means to do so were perfectly legal.

It didn’t take long for her efforts to bring about success. Her blog rocketed up to the top of search engines. The revenue that she received from increased requests allowed for advertisements to take hold in every corner of the internet.

With access to a vast clientele in place, she knew her advice skills would soon become lacking. Rather than submit to the slow grind of gaining knowledge and expertise, her lovely bots would steal, steal, steal and become her own voice!

Who needs to be smart when AI can do it for you? After all, it can win at Je*pardy! over masters of their craft!

Hannah could focus on the juicy gossip of everyday life instead – the ridiculous drama and sheer human folly. She adored how she could take the reins and direct her customers with her ‘wisdom’.

Wisdom that is only a free search away, but no one has to know that.

And what if her bots came up with nothing promising as a solution? She would simply make one up on the spot.

Nyq*il and chicken? The perfect remedy for a cold.

Need a quick and cheap high? Snorting nutmeg fit the bill.

And Hannah gave the guarantee that liquid nitrogen breathing to entertain the guests would make waves.

In truth, giving people advice became little more than a game to throw out trendy information that generated loads of hype. She put ideas on a pedestal that her customers didn’t happen to think of themselves and reveled in the results. Surely, it wasn’t a scam if she was delivering a service that others failed to do themselves.

Yet, there were always furious reviewers who would show up to flame her site with ugly remarks and poor reviews. It wasn't her fault. That was what the internet claimed to work. If they had done the legwork themselves, then they probably would've ended up with the same conclusion, but without having to pay the session fee.

Feeling no remorse over these 'trolls', Hannah merely released her bots on them. Drowning out their flames with counterarguments and fake reviews, she could take her time to covertly stamp out each of these nuisances. She didn't need those eyesores mucking up her fabulous site. And if they were going to unjustly flame her, then she might as well fight fire with fire.

A distinct ping that signified a potential customer came from her computer.

"Ohh! Another customer asking for a session! Time to get to work!" She rubbed her palms together with lip-licking anticipation.

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[T-kun has entered the chat.]

T-kun:

Hello.

Madam Hannah:

Hello there. What seems to be the problem?

T-kun:

I seem to have lost feeling for anything as of late.

Madam Hannah:

Depression? Something bringing you down?

T-kun:

Maybe. All the BS and fake news online has made me question humanity as of late.

Madam Hannah:

Ooo, I hate that kind of thing too! It makes me wanna flip a table!

But don't worry, I'm here to solve your troubles. O:‑)

T-kun:

Okay, give it your best shot.

Madam Hannah:

Well, what do you want to go through in today's session? Start with some specifics.

T-kun:

There's a certain lady that seems to be enjoying spreading lies. Telling people dumb things, which ends up causing more harm than good.

Madam Hannah:

Go on.

T-kun:

She doesn't seem to realize that what she's doing is wrong, and when people call her out on it, she just ignores them or has a bunch of people drown them out. She’s surrounded by a circle of robotic yes-men that parrots her words like gospel.

Madam Hannah:

That sounds like such a horrible person. I want to beat her up so bad! (>_<)

T-kun:

I know, right? She doesn't see her own toxicity and just blames it on others. There doesn't seem to be anything that can be done to convince her. What do you say to that?

Madam Hannah:

Honestly, honey. Some people are just lowlifes. There's no saving them. If so many people have tried and failed, then a single lady on a blog isn't going to fix anything. D:< But if you’re still willing to give me a shot, pay the session fee and we’ll start digging.

T-kun:

I see. Sorry to hear that. You were my final resort, too. What a shame. I guess it’s time to pull the plug on it.

Madam Hannah:

Huh? What do you mean by that? What do you plan to do?! O_O

T-kun:

Goodbye. Glad to be your last customer.

[T-kun has left the chat.]

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At that moment, an engine revved up in the distance. Hannah arched her brow in confusion as her apartment was located on the 20th floor, too high for any traffic below to be heard. And as the noise grew, she could no longer ignore it and continue working.

“What in the world is that racket?” she exclaimed, getting up from her chair. She could tell that it was coming from outside. Parting the curtains with a huff of annoyance, she looked out the window and down at the street.

The noise of traffic was very distant. She looked left and right, trying to figure it out. Numerous tall buildings neighbored her apartment. Any one of them could be the source of the noise. Perhaps, someone was playing a game with the window open.

But then, the roar of an engine sounded again. It came from above, the last place she thought to look. Her first thought was a helicopter or a plane in the distance, but to her surprise, a truck met her view. She barely had a chance to mutter a reaction before the vehicle crashed through the window, taking her out as well.

The force of the flying vehicle was so great that it tore through the side of the building, demolishing her room and the setup that she had painstakingly created to get into the groove of being Madam Hannah.

The computers on her desk, some actively running bots, were smashed into smithereens, forcefully aborting the automated programs that monitored her website.

However, her final advice session had been automatically recorded and uploaded to the front page, no time for any kind of editing beforehand. Viewers online laughed as Madam Hannah never realized that she was throwing shade onto herself, and the post immediately went viral.

There was no longer any activity from Madam Hannah. Neither did her bots flood the posts with artificial comments and remove the real ones.

This time, only those that had truly paid for Madam Hannah's advice had their say. They dug up the ramblings of her past, testimony of all the poor advice that she had haphazardly given. Since the blog was still at the top of the searches, new visitors showed up to see a mockery of the so-called advice column that had failed others in the past.

With time, every single mistake had been dug up and put on display, her bitter clients finding plenty of ammunition on hand.

The real voices indeed had the last say for this sham of an operation.

v

"You are not convincing me to do that ever again!" Diesel blared his horn angrily at Kami-sama, who had warped him back to the divine realm just in the nick of time. "It was strange enough that you had me connect through the internet and type with voice command, but twenty stories high?!"

"Why not? You did your job. Took out a worthy target. My vector calculations perfectly mapped out the speed that was required to launch yourself off an adjacent building and straight into her apartment." Kami-sama shrugged his shoulders.

"But then, I fell backwards and went into a free fall! I thought I was going to die! I didn't want to re-reincarnate back into a truck again!"

"No no, I had you covered! I teleported you onto a cushiony surface before you even made it halfway to the ground! And besides, you haven't amassed enough karma yet to turn into a truck again just yet. Maybe a Fiat or a Cooper Mini."