In the summer of 1518, people in Strasbourg couldn’t seem to stop dancing—some even danced themselves to death.
It all started with one woman, who stepped into the street and began moving uncontrollably. Soon, dozens of other residents followed suit, overcome with the inexplicable urge to hop, jerk, and sway. Within weeks, the outbreak had spread throughout the city, leaving officials, physicians, and religious leaders scrambling to figure out what was happening—and, more importantly, how to make it stop.
Five centuries later, the dancing plague of 1518 remains one of history’s strangest medical mysteries. Historical records confirm that a bizarre episode turned a medieval city into a very unwilling dance floor that summer, but exactly why it happened remains a matter of debate.
A bizarre outbreak takes hold
The dancing plague began on July 14, 1518, when a woman named Frau Troffea started dancing in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire and now a city in northeastern France. Though her husband begged her to stop, Troffea kept moving as day faded to night, while a crowd of onlookers gathered around to watch. Eventually, she collapsed and fell asleep, but when she awoke the next morning, she resumed her solitary jig.
Troffea’s uncontrollable dancing, known as choreomania, seemed to be contagious. Dozens of other people were soon gyrating in the streets of Strasbourg and, by late August, as many as 400 individuals had succumbed.
At the time, the leading theory was that St. Vitus, a fourth-century Sicilian martyr believed to punish sinners by making them dance, had cursed the afflicted. Then, once St. Vitus decided his victims had suffered enough, he would relieve them of the curse.
St. Vitus was martyred in 303 during the persecution of Christians by the co-Emperors Diocletian and Maximian. Image: Contributor / Getty Images / Print Collector
City leaders determined that the best course of action was to keep the dancers dancing, so they cleared the outdoor grain market, built a stage, and hired musicians. They didn’t explain their rationale in any known, surviving documents, so historians don’t know exactly why they did this. But John Waller, associate professor of the history of medicine at Michigan State University and the author of The Dancing Plague: The Strange, True Story of an Extraordinary Illness, suspects they had two reasons: They believed dancing could help people purge physical impurities from their bodies, and they viewed it as a form of penance.
“If people were believed to have been cursed by God or a saint for some kind of immorality, well, dancing was associated with hedonism and that was fundamentally immoral,” he tells Popular Science. “A way of basically punishing oneself would be to dance to the point of exhaustion and pain and potentially even death. It would make sense with that potential framework.” In other words, from the leaders’ perspective, if dancing was their punishment, let them be punished.
Dancing themselves to death
Regardless of their motives, the authorities’ decision had “very, very clear consequences,” he says. It was a hot summer, and the dancers were likely under the full glare of the sun. They weren’t eating or drinking much, and they weren’t resting.
“This is certainly going to be extremely dangerous for a large number of people, particularly anybody with any kind of susceptibility to heart attack or stroke,” says Waller.
The historical records are murky on exactly how many people died—one writer claimed as many as 15 per day, at least for a time—but it was enough to make city leaders completely change course.
“They essentially banned dancing, except for some people in the privacy of their own homes, and then instituted a program of penance and prayer,” says Waller. “They clearly realized that what they’d been doing before was causing harm and I suspect they got the impression that it was making things worse.”
Eventually, the authorities transported the remaining dancers to a shrine dedicated to St. Vitus about 30 miles away, where religious leaders went to work praying and leaving offerings. As days and weeks passed, the dancers overcame their choreomania and returned to their normal lives—traumatized and tired, but otherwise fine.
Strasbourg’s dancing plague in 1518 wasn’t the only such incident of its kind. Image: Getty Images / Contributor / Bettmann
The dancing plague of 1518 wasn’t the only such incident of its kind. Numerous other outbreaks of uncontrollable dancing occurred in western Europe between the late 1300s and mid-1500s—and Waller thinks it’s no coincidence that many were clustered along the Rhine River and its tributaries.
“Rivers are very good for, obviously, transporting trade goods, but they’re also very good for spreading ideas,” he says. “From the headwaters in Switzerland all the way down to where the Rhine flows into the North Sea, you’ve got this belief in a saint who curses with a dance.”
Theories behind the dancing
Now that we have the benefit of hindsight, what might explain the dancing plague of 1518 and others like it? One theory is that the dancers were sickened by ergot, a fungus that can contaminate grain. Another holds venomous spiders bit the afflicted. Demonic possession, epilepsy, typhus, and encephalitis—brain inflammation caused by an infection or autoimmune response—have also been put forward as possible explanations.
But after considering all the evidence, Waller thinks there’s only one plausible theory that truly makes sense. He suspects the dancers of Strasbourg were all victims of mass hysteria, also known as mass psychogenic illness, brought on by intense psychological distress.
The years leading up to 1518 were rough, particularly for the lower classes, with failed crops, bad weather, economic issues, social unrest, religious tensions, and illnesses like smallpox, leprosy, and syphilis taking a toll on peoples’ psyches. They were hungry, anxious, sad, scared, and worried that God had abandoned them.
Waller suspects the people living in Strasbourg simply reached their breaking point, then entered into a trance-like state that rendered them largely insensitive to their extreme fatigue and sore feet. They danced, Waller argues, rather than weeping, fighting, praying, or engaging in some other behavior because of their belief in St. Vitus and his dancing curse.
Given the period-specific cultural and religious underpinnings, could something like the dancing plague of 1518 happen today?
Waller shares several modern examples of mass psychogenic illness that, although they don’t involve dancing, he finds to be similar in nature. More than 300 students in Blackburn, England, suffered from a mysterious fainting fit in 1956, for example, and hundreds of people succumbed to alternating fits of laughing and sobbing in East Africa in 1962. In 2007, students at a Catholic boarding school near Mexico City came down with a mysterious sickness that made walking difficult. A year later, 20 female students in Tanzania suffered a mass fainting episode during their final-year national examinations.
And although the dancing plague of 1518 took place more than 500 years ago, Waller says we can still learn plenty from it. For him, the most important takeaway is “the way in which our expression of severe distress can be culturally conditioned and channeled.”
When Waller initially started researching the dancing plague of 1518, it was such a “wild phenomenon” that his inclination was to think “as strange as the past can be, this was simply too strange to have actually happened,” he says. But as he dug deeper—and, more importantly, began to understand the context within which it arose—it started to make more and more sense.
In other words, he says, it reminds us that psychological distress is not expressed in a vacuum. The culture, beliefs, and circumstances around us can shape how our inner turmoil manifests—and, in some cases, how it spreads from one person to another.
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Palliative care has long been framed as a specialist discipline reserved for hospices and oncology wards, but a growing body of evidence insists it belongs everywhere people approach the end of life, including nursing homes, where a large share of deaths in ageing societies now occur. A new qualitative study from Sweden, published in BMC Nursing, offers an unusually candid look at what happens inside care teams after they receive structured palliative care education, and the central finding is striking: training changes how staff think, but thinking alone does not change care. The researchers, Camilla Ekeblom, Carina Lundh Hagelin and Jane Österlind of Marie Cederschiöld University in Stockholm, found that the value of an educational intervention depends on an intricate alignment between individual emotions, relational dynamics and organisational realities, and that when any one of these dimensions falls out of step, the benefits of education can quietly dissolve.
The study set out to explore how nursing home staff reason about providing palliative care after participating in an interprofessional educational intervention, abbreviated in the literature as IPEI. Rather than measuring outcomes with questionnaires, the team chose a descriptive qualitative design, interviewing eighteen staff members drawn from five Swedish nursing homes. The participants represented the full spectrum of people who actually deliver and manage care: registered nurses, assistant nurses, a physician, first-line managers and designated palliative care champions. This breadth matters, because palliative care in nursing homes is not delivered by any single profession; it emerges, or fails to emerge, from the daily interplay of people with different training levels, responsibilities and emotional exposures to dying residents.
Data were collected through semi-structured individual interviews conducted between March and April 2024, and analysed using inductive qualitative content analysis, a method that allows themes to rise from the material itself rather than being forced into pre-existing theoretical boxes. From this analysis, three main categories emerged, and together they map the terrain on which palliative care is actually practised. The first concerns managing one’s own emotions, thoughts and attitudes. The second addresses the significance of relationships, communication and interactions in care. The third captures how staff navigate norms, assumptions and organisational structures in everyday palliative care. The categories correspond, respectively, to the individual, relational and organisational dimensions of the work, and the authors argue that it is the interplay among all three, not any single factor, that determines whether good palliative care becomes possible.
The individual dimension is perhaps the most human part of the findings. Staff described the ongoing internal work of confronting their own feelings about death, ageing and suffering, and of examining assumptions they carried about what palliative care even means. A recurring tension in the literature, echoed here, is the tendency to equate palliative care narrowly with end-of-life care, the final days and hours, rather than understanding it as an approach that can and should be integrated into everyday care over a longer trajectory. The interviews suggested that the educational intervention gave participants opportunities for personal as well as professional development, creating space to reflect on attitudes that had previously gone unexamined. In this sense, education functioned less like a knowledge transfer and more like a mirror, prompting staff to notice how their own emotional responses shaped their clinical decisions.
The relational dimension proved equally consequential. Palliative care in a nursing home is saturated with communication: conversations with residents about what matters to them, exchanges with distressed relatives, coordination between assistant nurses who know the residents intimately and nurses and physicians who carry clinical responsibility. The participants’ reasoning placed relationships and interactions at the heart of care provision, indicating that no amount of theoretical knowledge substitutes for the ability to build trust, listen and communicate across professional boundaries. This is where the interprofessional design of the intervention appears to have paid off. By bringing different professions into a shared educational space, the programme created a common language and, implicitly, a shared understanding of what the team was trying to achieve together, something that fragmented, profession-specific training often fails to produce.
The third dimension, the organisational, is where the study’s message becomes most uncomfortable for policymakers and care home leadership. Staff described navigating norms and assumptions embedded in their workplaces, along with structural conditions that could either support or obstruct a palliative approach. Staffing levels, routines, leadership priorities and workplace culture all shape what is practically possible on a shift where residents are dying, families are anxious and time is scarce. The authors’ conclusion is explicit on this point: providing palliative care was not solely a matter of enhancing staff knowledge. Knowledge and the conditions for care are shaped through the interplay between staff attitudes, their reasoning about care, relational dynamics and organisational conditions. When these dimensions align and mutually reinforce one another, favourable conditions for palliative care may be supported; when they do not, even well-trained staff may find their intentions frustrated.
Why does this matter on a societal scale? Nursing homes accommodate older people with complex needs and account for a large proportion of deaths, which makes palliative care a central component of care in these settings rather than an occasional emergency. Yet access to palliative care remains unequal, particularly for older people, and staff in long-term care often lack sufficient training. The demographic arithmetic is unforgiving: as populations age, the number of people who will die in nursing homes rises, and the quality of their final months depends heavily on the competence and confidence of the workforce that cares for them. Studies like this one move the conversation beyond the simplistic assumption that a training course fixes the problem, and toward a systems view in which education is necessary but insufficient on its own.
The study also carries a methodological lesson for how we evaluate educational interventions in care settings. Much of the existing research measures knowledge gains or self-reported confidence before and after training. Those metrics are useful, but they cannot reveal how staff actually reason about applying what they have learned in the messy reality of daily care. By using inductive content analysis of interviews, the Swedish team surfaced the texture of that reasoning: the hesitations, the emotional labour, the negotiations with colleagues and managers, the quiet adjustments between ideal practice and what the shift allows. The findings suggest that interprofessional educational initiatives work best when they combine theoretical knowledge with opportunities for reflection and practical application, allowing staff to translate concepts into their own working context rather than leaving translation to chance.
There are limits worth noting. The study involved eighteen participants in five Swedish nursing homes, interviewed at a single point in time after the intervention, and qualitative findings are not designed to be statistically generalised. The researchers themselves submitted the work for ethical review, receiving approval from the Swedish Ethical Review Authority, and obtained written informed consent from all participants, but the transferability of the results to other health systems will depend on how similar those systems’ nursing homes and educational programmes are to the Swedish context. Still, the three-dimensional framework that emerged, individual, relational and organisational, offers a portable lens that other teams can use to examine their own settings, and it aligns with a broader international consensus that palliative care competence must be built at every level of an organisation simultaneously.
The most durable insight from this research may be its refusal to locate the solution in any single place. Staff who completed the intervention perceived it as an opportunity for growth, and their reasoning showed genuine movement in how they understood palliative care as an ongoing approach rather than a final act. But their accounts also made clear that attitudes, relationships and structures must pull in the same direction for that understanding to reach residents’ bedsides. For nursing homes everywhere, the implication is a practical checklist of a different kind: train your staff together, give them room to reflect, examine the norms your workplace quietly enforces, and make sure the organisation’s daily conditions match what the education teaches. Where those elements align, palliative care stops being an aspiration and becomes, simply, the way care is done.
Subject of Research: Nursing home staff's reasoning about providing palliative care after an interprofessional educational intervention
Article Title: “Nursing home staff’s reasoning about providing palliative care following an educational intervention – a qualitative interview study”
Article References: Ekeblom, C., Lundh Hagelin, C., & Österlind, J. (2026). “Nursing home staff’s reasoning about providing palliative care following an educational intervention – a qualitative interview study”. BMC Nursing, 25(1), Article 956. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12912-026-05480-4
Inside every stressed cell, a quiet emergency response unfolds. When oxygen runs low, toxins accumulate, or nutrients grow scarce, mammalian cells assemble temporary structures known as stress granules, non-membranous aggregates of proteins and RNA that condense in the cytoplasm. In healthy tissue, these assemblies act as a protective pause button, halting protein production so the cell can weather the storm and resume normal function once conditions improve. But a new study suggests that in oral squamous cell carcinoma, one of the most common and disfiguring malignancies of the head and neck, this ancient survival machinery may be hijacked to serve a darker purpose: helping tumors grow and spread.
The research, conducted by a team at Kangwon National University in South Korea and published in Cell Death Discovery, examined how stress granule formation influences tumor progression and metastasis in oral squamous cell carcinoma, or OSCC. The findings point to a specific molecular switch, the phosphorylation of a protein called eIF2α, as a central driver of the process. When that switch is suppressed, the study reports, stress granule formation drops, and with it the growth and metastatic burden of tumors in mouse models. The work adds oral cancer to a growing list of malignancies in which the integrated stress response appears to fuel, rather than restrain, disease.
To understand why this matters, it helps to consider what stress granules actually do. Under stress, cells activate kinases that phosphorylate eIF2α, the alpha subunit of a translation initiation factor. Phosphorylated eIF2α dampens global protein synthesis, and the messenger RNAs that would otherwise be translated are instead sequestered, along with RNA-binding proteins, into dense cytoplasmic droplets. Key markers of these structures include G3BP1, TIAR, and PABP, proteins that researchers use to identify stress granules under the microscope. In normal cells, this translational arrest conserves energy and prevents the accumulation of damaged or misfolded proteins. The system is meant to be reversible: when the stress passes, the granules dissolve and translation restarts.
Cancer cells, however, live in a state of chronic stress. Tumors outgrow their blood supply, creating regions of hypoxia, low oxygen tension that would kill most normal cells. They also face nutrient deprivation, acidic microenvironments, and assault from chemotherapy and radiation. In this context, the stress response can become a liability for the patient rather than a safeguard for the cell. Previous work in other cancers has implicated stress granules in tumor progression and metastasis, partly through their interactions with key signaling pathways, but their role in oral squamous cell carcinoma had remained poorly understood, despite growing scientific interest in the topic.
The Korean team began by comparing human tumor tissue with adjacent normal tissue. They found that markers of stress granules, including G3BP1, eIF2α, TIAR, and PABP, were significantly overexpressed in OSCC tissues compared with their normal counterparts. This observation established that the stress granule machinery is not merely present in oral cancer but is amplified, suggesting that tumor cells may rely on it more heavily than the healthy cells around them. Overexpression of these markers alone does not prove causation, but it set the stage for the functional experiments that followed.
Those experiments turned to mouse models built from OSCC cells that had been preconditioned with hypoxia, deliberately exposing the cells to low oxygen before implantation. The logic was to mimic the stressful conditions tumor cells encounter in a real growing tumor and to ask whether cells that had already mounted a stress response behaved differently afterward. In parallel, the researchers used a compound called ISRIB, an inhibitor of the integrated stress response that acts downstream of eIF2α phosphorylation, in mice subjected to sodium arsenite-induced stress. Sodium arsenite is a classic laboratory trigger of oxidative stress and a reliable inducer of stress granule formation, making it a useful tool for probing the pathway.
The results were striking. In both experimental settings, suppression of eIF2α phosphorylation was associated with reduced stress granule formation, reduced tumor growth, and a reduced metastatic burden. In other words, when the researchers blocked the molecular event that nucleates stress granules, the tumors not only grew more slowly but also spread less aggressively. Conversely, the study found that stress granule formation was elevated during hypoxia-induced stress, underscoring a stress-responsive regulatory mechanism in which the harsh conditions of the tumor microenvironment actively promote the assembly of these granules. Together, the data sketch a coherent chain of causation: hypoxia and other stresses trigger eIF2α phosphorylation, phosphorylation drives stress granule assembly, and the granules support the cellular programs that allow OSCC cells to proliferate and colonize distant sites.
Why would a structure designed to protect cells become an engine of metastasis? The authors and other researchers in the field point to the selective nature of stress granules. While global translation is arrested, certain messenger RNAs are preferentially stored within the granules and protected from degradation. Among the transcripts sheltered this way are often those encoding proteins that promote survival, invasion, and epithelial-to-mesenchymal transition, the process by which stationary epithelial cancer cells acquire the motility needed to invade surrounding tissue and enter the bloodstream. By acting as temporary warehouses for pro-metastatic messages, stress granules may allow tumor cells to stockpile the tools of aggression, releasing them for translation once the acute stress subsides. In this view, the granule is not merely a damage-control structure but a staging ground for the next phase of tumor progression.
The therapeutic implications are considerable. Oral squamous cell carcinoma is frequently diagnosed at advanced stages, and metastasis to cervical lymph nodes is one of the strongest predictors of poor outcome. Existing treatments, surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, remain limited in their ability to control disseminated disease. If stress granule formation genuinely drives metastatic behavior, then the pathway offers a new target. ISRIB, the compound used in the mouse experiments, has attracted attention in recent years for its ability to blunt the integrated stress response, and the new findings suggest that agents with a similar mechanism could be explored as anti-metastatic therapies in oral cancer. The authors conclude that stress granules promote OSCC progression via eIF2α phosphorylation and might serve as a novel therapeutic target, a formulation that is deliberately cautious but clinically suggestive.
As with any preclinical study, important caveats apply. The evidence comes from human tissue comparisons and mouse models, and translating these findings into patients will require further work to confirm that the same mechanism operates in human tumors in real time, to identify which patient subsets have the highest stress granule activity, and to develop inhibitors with acceptable safety profiles. Suppressing a fundamental cellular stress pathway carries risks, since normal tissues also rely on the integrated stress response during injury and inflammation. Still, the study fills a genuine gap in the literature by connecting a well-characterized cellular stress mechanism to one of the most clinically feared behaviors of oral cancer. It also adds to a broader shift in cancer biology: the recognition that tumors are not just collections of mutated genes but ecosystems shaped by physical and chemical stress, and that the survival programs cells use to endure hardship can be turned against the organism that hosts them. For patients with oral squamous cell carcinoma, whose disease too often spreads before it can be stopped, the humble stress granule may prove to be an unexpected and consequential adversary.
Subject of Research: The role of stress-induced eIF2α phosphorylation and stress granule formation in promoting metastasis of oral squamous cell carcinoma
Article References: Kim, S., Park, S., Lee, Y., Park, G., & Choi, J. (2026). Stress-induced eIF2α phosphorylation promotes tumor metastasis in oral squamous cell carcinoma. Cell Death Discovery. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41420-026-03412-4
Proteins are made of building blocks known as amino acids. Human proteins are made of various combinations of 20 of these. A diet especially rich in one of them — arginine — appears to help the immune system. It can fend off infections and at least one type of cancer, finds a new study in mice.
Arginine appears to ramp up the immune system’s ability to spot danger. A high-arginine diet seemed to offer the rodents some protection against flu and COVID-19 viruses. It also quashed colon tumors, says Sohail Tavazoie. A doctor and cancer biologist, Tavazoie works at Rockefeller University in New York City.
His team shared the new findings July 30 in Cell.
“I don’t want the takeaway to be that everyone should be just consuming arginine all the time,” says Tavazoie. It’s just too soon, he says, to know if taking it as a food supplement could prevent or even treat these diseases in people. But he’s interested in launching human studies to test that.
The new data do make a compelling case for further testing, says Costas Lyssiotis. He had no role in the new study. But he is a cancer researcher at the University of Michigan Medical School in Ann Arbor.
Might a high-arginine diet help the human immune system recognize tumors and target them for destruction? That’s not yet clear, Lyssiotis says. But, he adds, it’s something that is “super provocative and should be pursued.”
Amino acids are the building blocks used to build proteins in the human body and in many other organisms. As they start to assemble, these amino acids may form small molecular chains known as peptides. Eventually, these short chains will collect into the longer proteins that cells use to carry out their tasks.Vitali Dumma/iStock/Getty Images Plus
Not ‘essential’ — but beneficial
Research has been suggesting that arginine may play an outsized role in disease.
Nine amino acids are considered “essential” nutrients. That’s because our bodies use them but can’t make them; they must be acquired as part of what we eat. Arginine is not one of those. But because this amino acid can open blood vessels, some people do take arginine as a food supplement. The goal is to help their blood circulate.
Arginine also tends to be scanty in the lungs of people with influenza or COVID-19. It’s barely present, too, in the tumors that develop in people with colon cancer. What’s more, studies have shown that both cancer and viral infections can crank up the destruction of arginine.
Tavazoie’s team wondered what was so important about this amino acid that multiple diseases shut it down.
In the lab, his group tinkered with arginine levels in mouse and human cells. Cutting back on arginine reduced levels of key immune proteins, they found.
Take what’s known as MHC class 1 proteins. Riding on the surface of our cells, they tell the immune system what to watch out for. Like a police officer holding up a sketch of a criminal, they display snippets of viral or cancer proteins. But the immune system has trouble recognizing and rousting those outlaws when cells have fewer MHC-1 proteins than normal.
A key player in immunity?
Tavazoie’s team then turned to mice at risk of colon cancer. When the researchers fed them a low-arginine diet, MHC-1 levels fell and the number of colon tumors rose. But add bonus arginine to the diet — what would be about 10 grams a day for humans — and the outcome flipped. Now MHC-1 levels rose and tumor-forming fell.
These data suggest dietary arginine can control MHC-1, a very important group of immune proteins, Tavazoie says.
Arginine-starved cells slowed their assembly of MHC-1 proteins. That may be because these proteins contain long stretches of arginine units. If there aren’t enough of these building blocks available, “there’s a supply-chain shortage,” he says. At that point, MHC-1 construction stalls.
The team observed a similar story in mice infected with the flu virus or the virus that causes COVID-19. Low-arginine diets led to them having low levels of MHC-1 proteins. They also had more viral proteins and inflammation in their lungs compared to mice eating high-arginine diets.
This suggests arginine was blunting the effects of infection. And arginine supplements given after flu infection boosted mouse survival, the team found. That points to it as a possible treatment one day. Tavazoie now wonders whether other amino acids may play similarly important roles.
There’s still much work needed to know if the mouse data predict effects in people, says Pierre Close. He’s a cancer researcher at the University of Liège in Belgium. He didn’t participate in the new study. But, he says, this research might one day lead to therapies that help the immune system better tackle disease. “We are all looking for new strategies.”
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In September 2024, an entrepreneur named Justin Brown uploaded a YouTube video in which he argued that writers should be “scared right now” about the rise of AI.
“I think that one of the big dangers is that AI is going to take many people’s jobs,” Brown muses to the camera as he hikes through a national park in Australia. “This includes writers, by the way.”
What Justin didn’t mention in the video is that, along with his brothers Lachlan Brown and Brendan Brown, he runs a company called Brown Brothers Media — which, former insiders assure us, had just months earlier fired a stunning proportion of its own writers as it embraced generative AI.
Over the past few years, BBM has pioneered a remarkably cynical business model. First it buys online publications that have established themselves as offering a distinctive type of journalism, like coverage of space travel, parenting advice, or business news. Then it floods their websites with dizzying torrents of AI-generated content — many thousands of articles per month, by our count — in a bid to soak up as many readers as possible via Google and other platforms.
There are signs that this strategy has been extraordinarily successful, with BBM boasting in 2025 that its network of sites had surpassed 50 million page views per month. It’s difficult to verify a site’s traffic without access to its internal data, but the analytics service Similarweb corroborates the claim that BBM is pulling in vast audiences, estimating that over the past year its network of publications has attracted an average of 64.7 million visitors per month. According to a recent ranking, that would make it one of the 30 most trafficked English-language media enterprises on the web, with a total digital readership substantially higher than that of NPR, narrowly besting CBS News and Forbes, and just slightly behind the Washington Post.
A media organization like NPR or WaPo, though, employs hundreds or even thousands of journalists to gather and report news. BBM, as far as we can tell, has cut itself down to a skeleton crew of about a dozen employees, including its three founding brothers. To operate such a sprawling empire with such a tiny staff, former insiders told us, BBM uses AI to crank out content at a scale so immense that it’s difficult to comprehend.
Along the way, BBM has indulged in breathtaking acts of dishonesty — often in ways that seem specifically devised to manipulate platforms owned by Google, where Ahrefs data suggests that it sources the preponderance of its traffic. (Last year, BBM wrote in a press release that its enormous audience was “driven by organic reach through Google Discover and search.”)
One of BBM’s many unscrupulous practices, insiders confirmed to us, is that it has often invented entire fake personas for nonexistent writers — we found more than 50 spread across its dozens of sites — and published content under their names without revealing to readers that they weren’t real people.
In many cases, BBM has even outfitted these fictional writers with impressive-sounding bogus credentials as it uses their bylines to churn out AI-generated material.
The space news site Space Daily, for instance— one of BBM’smost successful publications, according to Similarweb data we reviewed, with an estimated average of 10 million page views per month over the past year — has published many articles under bylines it identified as scientists with distinguished résumés. There was “Dr. Katherine Chen,” for example, a supposed former “systems engineer” at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory whose bio claimed she’d “spent fifteen years designing autonomous systems for deep space missions.” Publishing alongside Chen was “Dr. James Whitfield,” who was said to be an “aerospace medicine researcher at the European Space Agency.”
Yet beyond Space Daily, neither Chen nor Whitfield actually exist — not on social media, nor in press releases, nor as coauthors on research they would have conducted at two of the world’s premier space agencies. NASA’s site doesn’t make a single mention of Chen, and the ESA’s site has never once referred to Whitfield. And though NASA declined to comment on grounds that it “does not verify past employment or affiliations with the agency,” the ESA confirmed that “Mr. James Whitfield is not currently employed by the European Space Agency, nor do our records indicate that he has ever worked here in the past.”
BBM’s fraudulent experts aren’t limited to space. A tech site owned by BBM, Direct Message News, has run many articles under the byline of “Rachel Vaughn” that provided intimate advice about mental health concerns. According to her bio on the site, Vaughn is a Dublin-based psychologist with an “MA in Applied Positive Psychology from Trinity College Dublin” who is a “Certified Mental-Health First Aider” and an “associate member of the British Psychological Society.” The bio adds that Vaughn “regularly delivers evidence-based resilience workshops for Irish mental-health NGOs.”
But there’s no trace of a practicing psychologist in Dublin by Vaughn’s name. When we reached out to the British Psychological Society, it confirmed that it had no record of a member named Rachel Vaughn. What’s more, “Applied Positive Psychology” isn’t a degree — or even a course — that exists at Trinity College Dublin, the university told us. A reverse-image search further found that Vaughn’s headshot is a stock photo.
BBM has also created fake journalists, using them to commit bold acts of plagiarism and fabulism.
Consider an “investigation” about the recycling system in Los Angeles, attributed to another fake author named “Jordan Cooper” — depicted as a tattooed “pop-culture writer and vegan-snack reviewer with roots in music blogging” — and published this past February by VegOut, a vegan news and recipes site owned by BBM that pulls in an estimated 13.3 million page views per month.
In the piece, the Cooper persona claimed to have “bought a four-pack of Apple AirTags, super-glued them inside plastic containers, and sent them on their journey through America’s recycling system,” writing that “what I discovered over the next month made me question everything I thought I knew about those little triangular arrows.”
But the story included a purported photo of a plastic bottle containing an AirTag that featured a suspiciously garbled Apple logo — and numerous AI detectors flagged an overwhelming probability that the image was AI-generated.
As it turns out, the piece was a blatant ripoff of a 2024 story by a local San Diego TV station, CBS8. In that story, the station’s journalists describe a near-identical investigation in which they glued AirTags to four pieces of recyclable trash: a “water bottle, a yogurt container, an orange juice bottle, and a wipes container” — a list that Cooper’s piece seems to have lightly rephrased as a “water bottle, an orange juice jug, a yogurt container, and a cleaning product bottle.” (The Cooper piece never mentioned CBS8‘s work, instead framing the investigation as VegOut‘s original effort. An AI detector flagged BBM’s text as 100 percent AI-generated, with no sign of human involvement whatsoever.)
In another article, the Cooper character claimed to have “voted for Trump’s ‘America First’ promise,” but later regretted it because “that promise has been broken in just about every way imaginable.”
In addition to the fake domain matter experts and journalists, BBM provided many of its phony writers with elaborate backstories that made them seem like ordinary people, with identities that seem crafted to exploit the insecurities of readers struggling with loneliness and other life difficulties. It then used these relatable everyday personas to publish colossal numbers of emotionally manipulative personal essays in which the fake writers shared AI-generated anecdotes framed as deeply personal life experiences.
On VegOut, for instance, a fake writer that BBM called “Marlene Martin” was identified as a “retired high school English teacher and longtime writer who draws on decades of lived experience to explore personal development, relationships, resilience, and finding purpose in life’s second act.”
“When she’s not at her laptop,” the bio continues, “she’s usually in the garden at dawn, baking Sunday bread, taking watercolor classes, playing piano, or volunteering at a local women’s shelter teaching life skills.”
BBM has used personas like Martin to pump out thousands of heartfelt personal essays that purport to draw on decades of memories and wisdom, often ruminating on topics like loneliness and lost feelings of purpose.
“When I retired at sixty-six after thirty-two years of teaching high school English, a colleague pulled me aside at my farewell party,” read an essay published under the Martin persona. “‘It must be bittersweet,’ she said, touching my arm gently. ‘All those years you could have been writing, traveling, pursuing your real passions. But you had to raise your kids instead.’ I smiled and nodded, not having the heart to correct her. The truth was more complicated, more beautiful, and took me decades to fully understand.”
In a bit of unintentional comedy, these AI-generated essayists have often bungled their own biographical details, resulting in bizarre continuity errors.
Remember that essay above, where Martin claimed she’d retired at age 66? In a different piece, she wrote that she’d stopped working at 64. In another, she said it was 61.
Martin’s age is similarly inconsistent. In January of this year, she wrote that she was 68 years old. By February, she claimed she was “69 with two bad knees” — which would be possible if she’d had a birthday, except that by March she’d turned 71. By April, Martin was aging backwards, stating in a depressive essay about her loss of identity after the death of her beloved spouse — “my husband died and the caregiving that had consumed seven years ended overnight,” she lamented — that she was only 70.
These incoherent claims about writers’ life stories can be jarring. A fake “lead editor” and “clinical psychologist” identified as “Sarah Mitchell” at Silicon Canals — another BBM tech site, this one drawing an estimated 3.3 million page views per month, according to Similarweb data — published a sentimental essay earlier this year about how her baby’s first word was “Max,” the name of the family dog. Weeks later, she wrote in a piece about the psychology of dog owners that “I don’t have a dog.”
“I should probably admit that upfront,” the Mitchell persona conceded.
Martin wasn’t the only fake BBM writer whose confused narratives extended to deeply sensitive topics like grief and death.
This past February, for instance, a VegOut author identified as “Adam Kelton” — his bio claimed he was a “writer and culinary professional with deep experience in luxury food and beverage” — published an essay complaining about his mother’s passive aggressive behavior regarding his vegan diet when they eat out at restaurants. In it, he writes about his mom in the present tense, describing a lunch with her as recently as the previous week.
Then, just two days later, Kelton bylined a piece about joining a “grief support group” to help him talk about his mother — who by then, he wrote, had been dead for nearly a year.
“My mother died eleven months ago. Pancreatic cancer. The last year and a half was a slow unraveling — her energy going first, then her independence, then her,” Kelton mourned. Later in the essay, Kelton adds: “I am thirty-six years old. I am a son who lost his mother. I am a former hospitality professional. I am a minimalist living in a bungalow in Austin who hosts dinner parties and reads novels and is still — somehow, after everything — the guy who once stood in front of a painting and forgot to check the time.”
Longtime readers of sites acquired by BBM have been appalled by the severe decline in quality after the transition.
“RIP Silicon Canals,” wrote a former fan of the BBM tech site in a LinkedIn post. “Never seen a brand destroyed this quickly. For years it was part of my morning routine… then Brown Brothers Media took over at the end of November 2025, and literally overnight the entire feed turned into pure AI slop.”
When BBM eviscerates a publication like this, it can be shocking to the community its human staff had built. After it bought VegOut last year, the site went from publishing reviews and food journalism to churning out formulaic pop psychology listicles and personal essays that often had no connection to plant-based eating. Readers quickly picked up on the shift, with one commenter fuming in a Reddit thread — titled “Anyone else tired of VegOut?” — that the site’s articles under BBM “reek of AI” being used to “pump out meaningless milquetoast garbage.”
“VegOut is clearly nothing more than [an] insipid content farm,” another angry reader chimed in, “that’s CLEARLY LOST ITS WAY!”
The VegOut transformation was so controversial that in May 2026, the magazine’s original founder, Maggie Ortlieb, took to social media to address it.
“If you’ve been in the vegan community for a while, you’ve probably heard of VegOut Magazine. It’s the company I founded when I was 24 years old. I ran it for about ten years and then sold it last summer,” Ortlieb said in a video, explaining that a combination of burnout and economic factors led to the sale. “Unfortunately, the new owners turned it into just another AI-written content website, so not really the direction I had in mind.”
What BBM has accomplished would be impressive if it wasn’t so dark. At a moment when legitimate news organizations are struggling to survive, it has raked in untold hundreds of millions of eyeballs — and likely formidable amounts of revenue via its advertisement-laden sites — by polluting the media ecosystem with noxious AI clickbait designed to do little else but trick Google’s algorithms. Every reader it steals in this way is prevented from supporting a real publication, and many may become turned off from engaging with the media in the future due to the abysmal quality of BBM’s work.
To help analyze BBM’s empire of spam, we reached out to Gisele Navarro, the managing editor of review site HouseFresh and an SEO specialist who has written extensively about the impacts that AI and changes made by Google have had on independent publishers.
Navarro told us that she was “shocked to see the growing number of websites in the network and the huge variety of the sites themselves — from cooking and space blogs, to small business and war news.” What surprised her the most, though, was how so many of the sites under BBM’s umbrella are effectively “indistinguishable from one another, publishing the same kind of first-person AI-generated stories around self-help topics aimed at people who are lonely.”
“Being an independent publisher in 2026 feels like an impossible task,” said Navarro, who helped us dissect BBM’s network and tactics. “We’re competing against our own content regurgitated by Google’s AI Overviews, having our information scraped without compensation by AI chatbots, battling with algorithms to reach our subscribers on social media platforms, and trying to build a relationship with an audience that is less likely to click and visit our websites.”
After we started reaching out to people connected to BBM this past May, the network abruptly deleted more than 50 fake writer profiles — and untold thousands of articles attributed to them — from across its many sites.
After months of ignoring our requests for comment, Justin Brown finally sent us a statement shortly before we published this story in September.
“Before May 2026, our publications used contributor bylines that did not identify real people, and some of those biographies included credentials that were not real,” the statement conceded. “That was wrong. In May, we stopped publishing under those bylines, began removing or correcting the older articles involved, and published network-wide and per-site editorial standards. That review is ongoing.”
What Brown’s statement didn’t mention: we kept digging after BBM’s massive deletion spree — and found that what it’s replaced the fake writers with has been, somehow, an even bleaker and more dishonest vision of the future of journalism than what it had been doing before.
***
The Brown brothers are Australian originally, but all three now live and work in Southeast Asia.
In a 2024 YouTube video, two of the brothers — Justin and Lachlan — enthuse about the region in a way that sounds strikingly extractive.
Vietnam was so “cheap” that it had been “essential while I was rebuilding the businesses,” Justin explained, adding that “there are a lot of economic opportunities in an emerging economy like Vietnam.”
“Saigon is an awesome place to come and reinvent yourself,” Lachlan cuts in, saying he had married a local woman after moving to Vietnam in the 2010s.
“There’s lots of opportunity here, especially if you want to make money, because of the developing economy,” Lachlan continues, encouraging others to set up shop in the area and “reap the rewards.” He adds that he’s been purchasing investment properties there that have “already risen in value.”
Southeast Asia may have been fertile ground for the Brown brothers, but for workers they’ve hired in the region, their entrepreneurial activities have been a wrecking ball.
Back before the advent of generative AI,BBM relied largely on human writers in the Philippines and other lower-income countries to produce content for its network. One former contractor told us that she had always dreamed of being a writer, so she was delighted to get a gig at the company in 2022 — before the global AI explosion that would later consume BBM — because it was an opportunity to be paid for doing what she loved.
“I think a part of me always felt a sense of instability when I was working for [BBM], because the writers who were working for them, I think most of us were Filipinos and were not under a formal contract,” recalled the writer, who like others in this story spoke under condition of anonymity due to fear of retaliation by the Brown brothers. “I was aware that they could let go of us any time they wanted.”
At first, it wasn’t clear what effect AI would have on the operation. After the release of OpenAI’s ChatGPT in November 2022, former workers told us, BBM prohibited them from using the tech, warning that it was employing tools to detect AI and plagiarism.
That soon changed. Internal records obtained by Futurism show that in 2023, BBM started testing what the company called “robot” content. The same writer eventually found herself assigned to BBM’s “robot team,” where she was instructed to “generate articles using AI, and then… edit it so it sounds human-written.”
“More and more writers became robot writers,” the former contractor said, “until it came to a point where everyone’s just a robot writer, essentially.”
At first, she told us, the robot writers were scrambling to “create our own prompts” to feed into ChatGPT, or were provided with prompts that the writer understood to have been created by the Brown brothers. By 2024, BBM was so invested in the tech that it rolled out its own internal AI tool. It was built into the company’s WordPress backend, the former writer told us, where it could generate entire articles straight into the content management system — with a series of options that let staff quickly specify what type of piece the AI should spit out.
“They started developing this AI tool that generates articles in a couple of minutes,” the former writer explained. “You just select the topic it belongs under (like zodiac, love and relationship advice, etc) and then you’d select the tone (friendly, informative, etc) and it generates an article for you.”
The Brown brothers, particularly Justin and Lachlan, have personally bylined prodigious numbers of articles for their publishing empire, where they typically strike a tone of chin-stroking wisdom about topics ranging from life and spirituality to psychology and society. But according to another former contractor and internal documentation obtained by Futurism,their articles are AI-generated as well, and the company’s AI tool includes a dropdown menu that lets users select the voice of the author in which to generate a piece — including the Brown brothers themselves. (AI detectors corroborate the claim that prior to BBM’s embrace of AI, articles attributed to the brothers were human-written, but are now entirely AI-generated.)
After embracing AI, BBM conducted a series of sweeping layoffs. Some staff were explicitly told they were being let go because of AI, while others were simply informed that the company was changing “strategy.” (We obtained multiple emails in which Justin terminated workers personally, but are opting not to quote them directly out of concern that doing so could allow BBM to identify which former workers shared them.)
An internal BBM spreadsheet obtained by Futurism charts the cullings in granular detail. As of December 2023, it shows that BBM had upwards of 60 active writers. By May 2024, that number was down to around 40 — and by August, it was cut to about 20. By December 2024, the document only listed 12 writers, all of whom it said were using AI to generate content. Only three of the 60 writers once listed on the sheet, in addition to one person it identified as an editor, are still involved with BBM, according to publicly-available information.
As she described her experience with BBM, one former writer began to choke up. “It’s just really difficult… I still really love writing,” she said through tears. “With the current economy, it’s just been really difficult.”
“People need to know that writers and artists are being replaced with AI,” she added.
Asked about the ethical implications of firing writers in the developing world and replacing them with a cornucopia of AI-generated personas that were overwhelmingly presented as white and living in Western countries, BBM didn’t respond.
“I mean, I’m from Southeast Asia,” said a former BBM writer in the Philippines. “I think them hiring from here was always a cost-cutting effort.”
But the firings were “still shocking,” a different Filipino writer added. “And of course, it felt a little dystopian, honestly, to have your writing used to train AI, and then to have that AI replace you.”
***
As BBM leaned full-throttle into AI while slashing its staff, its publishing empire grew dramatically. Records show that its portfolio mushroomed from fewer than a dozen sites in 2023, to around 17 in 2024, to at least 24 in 2025 as it acquired properties including VegOut, Silicon Canals, and Direct Message News.
BBM has continued to purchase new sites throughout 2026, adding titles including The Law Dictionary, Science Blog,and the sprawling Space Media Network, through which it acquired Space Daily and more than 20 sister sites including Mars Daily, Solar Daily, and Nuclear Power Daily. (In yet another dubious editorial move, BBM republished many thousands of extremely old Space Media Network articles as if they were current events that had just happened, resulting in surreal headlines like “iPhone 5 Rollout Draws Big Crowds Worldwide,” posted in June of this past summer about an Apple product released in 2012.)
The Brown brothers also appear to be involved with several AI companies that have marketed AI “scaling” techniques as a service, using language suggesting that they may produce similar content for other media ventures.
Two of these startups, Mosquito Fleet and Tippa Fleet, have United Arab Emirates business addresses and claim on nearly–identical sites to “specialize in using artificial intelligence to improve and scale content production for our partner websites.”
Another company linked to the Brown brothers, Cognitive AI Systems Limited, is registered in the British Virgin Islands. A version of its site archived in February 2025 marketed “state-of-the-art AI technologies to scale content responsibly,” emphasizing that potential partners could “tailor AI capabilities to fit your content production needs, whether you publish daily or by the minute.” By earlier this year, however, that language was gone, with the site’s homepage instead declaring that “Cognitive AI Systems Limited owns a portfolio of digital publications operated by Brown Brothers Media.”
Currently, Cognitive AI Systems’ site seems to mainly serve as an enticement for people in the media business looking to sell a struggling news site.
“We buy specialist digital publications and hold them,” it reads. “If you are considering a sale, we are interested in sites with a defined audience, an editorial identity that still means something, and economics we can underwrite.”
“After close we favour continuity,” it continues. “The brand keeps its name and character. We invest in the next chapter rather than stripping the thing that made it valuable.”
Do you know anything about the Brown brothers’ business activities, including partnerships with other media companies? Reach out: tips@futurism.com. We can keep you anonymous.
***
In early May, shortly after we started reaching out to people connected to BBM to report this story, the company abruptly embarked on an awe-inspiring deletion spree, in what seemed like a clear effort to cover up evidence and avoid penalties from Google.
We watched as it suddenly scrubbed what appeared to be many thousands of articles, as well as the fake authors that had bylined them — including Katherine Chen, James Whitfield, Rachel Vaughn, Marlene Martin, Sarah Mitchell, and Adam Kelton.
In some cases, it even pulled down entire publications. Bible Scriptures, a site where BBM had published content attributed to a roster of fake Christian theologians, hosted an AI-powered Jesus, and sold a $97 e-book supposedly penned by a made-up Franciscan scholar clad in a traditional robe — a curious choice, given that Franciscans famously take vows of poverty — has been locked behind a password since May. (BBM sold several other e-books attributed to fake writers on its site Hack Spirit; those volumes are still being sold, but they’ve now been altered so that the author is listed as Lachlan.)
Even Justin’s YouTube video in which he discussed AI replacing the jobs of writers was delisted during the rushed erasure.
Any remotely credible media company would feel immediately compelled to explain such a titanic expunging of content and entire authors, but BBM issued no such justification as the material vanished.
It did make some changes to the editorial guidelines listed on its various sites, we noticed. In the new guidelines, the company claimed that while it does use AI to “assist with research, drafting, source discovery, and editorial review,” it doesn’t use the tech to “fabricate quotes, invent sources, or present AI-generated content as first-hand reporting from real individuals” — which is confusing, since it sounds exactly like what BBM was doing with its battalion of fake writers.
BBM also published an exceptionally strange blog post in the wake of the mass deletion, bylined by Justin and titled “How Brown Brothers Media works: our editorial framework.”
The document is full of head-scratching claims, and feels as though it was sculpted in an unconvincing attempt to explain away the exact types of concerns we’d been asking around about.
In it, Justin describes BBM’s AI process as supplemental, writing that “AI tools assist” with its editorial process and that “editors are responsible for final publication decisions.”
Seemingly in reference to the many fake writers, Justin claimed that BBM “sometimes” uses “pen names for contributor bylines,” which “might be a real member of our editorial team or a freelance contributor writing under a chosen name.” Or, he continues, a “pen name” might “be an editorial device for personal-essay format content where a consistent voice serves the piece. Where a pen name is used as an editorial device, the byline page says so plainly. We don’t present fabricated personas or attach false professional credentials to bylines.”
Those claims felt stridently dishonest, especially because of the fabricated personas we found that had clearly been outfitted with fraudulent credentials. We also couldn’t find a single instance in which BBM provided readers with a disclaimer explaining that a writer was using a pen name.
And even more fundamentally, inventing an entire artificial character — whether it be a NASA scientist or a senior citizen dealing with loneliness in retirement — isn’t a “pen name.” It’s manipulative fabulism, deployed in a tactical attempt to scale the production of inauthentic content, in what seems to have been a highly successful strategy to exploit Google and other online platforms for profit.
In the statement it provided as we were preparing to publish this story — the same one that admitted it had used fake writers, further contradicting Brown’s “editorial framework” — BBM told Futurism that “today, AI tools assist with research and drafting” and “human editors are responsible for reviewing and approving articles before publication.”
“Collective editorial work is published under the publication’s editorial-team byline,” the statement continued. “Named bylines identify real contributors who take responsibility for that work. We disclose our use of AI in our editorial policies and investigate and correct errors when they are identified.”
***
But the reality is that nothing substantive has changed about BBM’s operation after its deletion bender.
Since the purge, it’s continued to post massive amounts of material that’s still clearly being produced by AI with minimal to no human oversight. Though AI detection technology isn’t perfect, we ran 30 recent BBM articles through Pangram, and every single one came back as 100 percent AI-generated, with zero signs of human editing — a near statistical guarantee that BBM’s publishing apparatus is still automated. As a reality check, we also tested ten stories bylined by Justin and Lachlan that were published between 2020 and 2021, before the release of ChatGPT; every single one came back as 100 percent human-written.
The only real change is that now, instead of publishing all this AI sludge under the names of fake writers, BBM’s strategy has shifted to be more dishonest and evasive than ever.
A lot of the dreck now appears under generalized bylines like “VegOut Editorial Team” and “Space Daily Editorial Team.” This can lead to BBM articles that read in a perplexing way, since these unspecified bylines have often been used to publish personal essays that were clearly written from the point of view of a fictional character.
“It happened at a dinner party,” reads a gloomy piece published under the “Space Daily Editorial Team” byline, which provides no hint as to who the person attending the supper was actually supposed to be. “Someone I’d just met asked me, the way people do when you’re a woman in your fifties without children, whether I’d ever wanted them.”
“For thirty-eight years I had been three things,” reads another somber authorless essay, this one run under the “VegOut Editorial Team” account. “A reliable employee. A dependable parent. A dutiful spouse. Each of those roles had a job description. Each one had clear expectations. Each one came with a set of tasks I was good at and that other people thanked me for.”
Even more egregiously than the general bylines, BBM has also started publishing large numbers of articles under the names of contributors who, as far as we can tell, are actual living humans. As with the general bylines, Pangram indicates that this material is entirely AI-generated. The implication is bleak: BBM appears to now be using these real people as the publishing version of “meat proxies” — affixing their names to fully AI-spun pieces not because they actually wrote them, but instead as a deceitful attempt at plausible deniability, presumably intended to bamboozle Google and other online platforms that discourage the scaled production of inauthentic content.
One such person who now publishes across multiple BBM sites does so under the name “Daniel Moran,” though a LinkedIn account previously linked in his BBM bio suggests that his actual name is Daniel Mabanta.
Regardless of his real name, Daniel is spectacularly prolific, grinding out articles for BBM publications ranging from Space News to the Scandinavian Standard, a publication formerly dedicated to news and culture in Northern Europe. In a single week, we counted, his name appeared on at least 85 separate articles published on BBM sites — a total of more than 90,000 words, which is longer than George Orwell’s “1984,” and nearly twice the length of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby.” (The actual amount of material Daniel published that week was likely even higher, because large amounts of his work were inexplicably deleted from several BBM publications including VegOut before we could tally it.)
This isn’t just an inhuman number of words to produce, needless to say, but an impossible amount to effectively quality-control given BBM’s skeletal remaining staff.
Further undermining the notion that BBM is now conducting any type of meaningful scrutiny of its work, its “real” employees like Daniel have continued to publish articles with the same baffling continuity errors that the fake ones did. Back in May, Daniel claimed in aSilicon Canals piece that he was 11 years old in 1995, which would make him about 42 years old today. Yet he’s consistently claimed inother articles published this year that he’s currently 38. In another piece, he inexplicably referred to himself as a “daughter.”
Another writer whose name has frequently appeared on BBM articles since the mass deletion is Graeme Brown, the father of the Brown brothers. (Graeme is currently listed as the editor-in-chief of multiple BBM publications.)
Content bearing Graeme’s name has also contained BBM’s hallmark continuity flubs. On May 8, for example, Graeme bylined an article for Expert Editor — a BBM site pulling in an estimated 5.8 million page views per month —in which he declared that he was 77 years old. By May 11, however, he’d aged in reverse, repeatedly stating in another piece for the same site that he was 75. (These have since been deleted.)
Sometimes it appears that BBM has been so sloppy that it’s affixed the wrong name to a piece generated for a different author. Though Lachlan has written extensively about being married to a woman and having a young daughter, for example, the BBM cofounder recently bylined a May Expert Editor article — titled “10 Signs a Man Is Trustworthy and Has Good Intentions” — in which he mused that “in my personal experience, I knew my now-husband was a keeper when he bravely voiced his insecurities and fears about his career early into our relationship.”
At times, it’s difficult to believe that any human at BBM is taking a single look at drafts before they’re published, or even afterward. Another BBM property, Eluxe Magazine, seems to have accidentally published a pair of articles attributed to Lachlan this summer which consist of nothing more than a few lines of garbled computer code — where they remain pinned to the top of the publication’s home page at the time of this story’s publication.
In another piece, BBM appears to have accidentally left AI copy in the final version that was written from the point of view of a chatbot generating the article.
“Now I have all the verified sources I need,” reads the first sentence of a Space Daily article attributed to Lachlan Brown, who is listed as that publication’s editor-in-chief. “Let me write the article with exactly 4-5 inline hyperlinks to real, verified URLs.”
***
BBM often uses its armada of staff bylines and meat proxies to pump out ceaseless variations on a single idea that are essentially copies of each other, drawn from no original reporting and with no time peg to a current event or any explanation of why the ancient news is now relevant again.
The strategy is clear: flood the zone with regurgitations of the same piece — and when something hits, just keep churning out more.
BBM didn’t respond to specific questions about this tactic. But after we asked about the practice, it quietly altered the headlines of many of these stories.
The implications for the health of the media ecosystem are grim. Navarro, the SEO expert and managing editor of HouseFresh, pointed out that BBM has often purchased older publications with “domains registered in the 90s or the early 00s” — properties that already have a strong, established foothold with Google, in other words — before replacing their handcrafted human content with page after page of AI-generated dross.
BBM buys “old, established websites with real audiences only to replace most (or all) of their content with AI slop before plastering the sites with ads,” Navarro said. “The same articles are republished across websites, moving through cycles where hundreds of pages are taken down from one site only to appear in another soon after.”
“This makes it all the more disheartening to see content farms luring millions of readers with AI slop,” she added. “How many people will be put off from clicking on new stories surfaced by Google Discover or Google News after landing on ad-ridden slop sites like these?”
***
Google’s response to BBM’s empire of schlock doesn’t inspire confidence for its future as a steward of the media ecosystem.
In theory, the tech giant prohibits site owners from engaging in what it calls “scaled content abuse,” which it describes as “when many pages are generated for the primary purpose of manipulating search rankings and not helping users.”
Examples of scaled content abuse, according to Google’s guidelines, include “using generative AI tools or other similar tools to generate many pages without adding value for users,” as well as “creating multiple sites with the intent of hiding the scaled nature of the content” and “creating many pages where the content makes little or no sense to a reader but contains search keywords.”
In other words, if what BBM is doing — using the corpses of reliable publications to create a twisted, AI-powered imitation of a conventional media company, built on fake writers and redundant or incoherent content that appears to be garnering more traffic than many actual journalism enterprises — doesn’t count as scaled content abuse, it’s hard to imagine what would.
“Based on what I’ve seen, many of the websites acquired by Brown Brothers Media can rank on Google Discover and Google News,” Navarro told us. “This, combined with their capacity to quickly generate and publish dozens of pages about trendy topics, has allowed them to drive thousands of people to their AI-generated, ad-packed articles. They have now scaled this operation across multiple websites, some of which have been seen to publish hundreds of articles per week.”
“If this isn’t scaled content abuse,” she added, “I don’t know what is.”
But Google hasn’t taken any lasting action against BBM. After we sent detailed questions about this story, the tech giant initially deindexed several BBM sites, including VegOut and Silicon Canals. Weeks later, they appeared back in its search results.
“Our policies for Google Search and News are clear: we prohibit producing low-value content at scale to game ranking,” Google told us in a statement back in May. “While we generally don’t comment on individual sites, we act on policy violations to keep 99 percent of Search visits spam-free.”
As of when we published this story, articles by BBM are still appearing prominently on Google’s platforms. Reached with multiple followup questions about BBM’s vast scale, its presence in Google News and Discover, and the manipulative tactics it continues to employ, Google didn’t respond.
***
Earlier this week, we pressed BBM on its editorial practices in a detailed followup message, including specific questions about its failure to inform readers about the nature of its mass deletion.
“We use AI tools in our editorial work, and disclose that use in our published editorial standards. Under our current process, members of our editorial staff review and approve articles before publication, and Brown Brothers Media retains editorial responsibility for what we publish,” the company said in an additional statement. “When we identify errors or work that falls short of our guidelines, we correct it or withdraw it from publication. We believe AI tools can be used responsibly under human editorial judgment. We stand behind the editorial standards now in place and the work published under them.” (The company also updated the “editorial framework” it had first issued amid the mass deletion to echo that language.)
“DMNews has withdrawn this article,” it reads. “Published in April 2025 under Justin Brown’s byline, it presented interview anecdotes and quotations as original reporting that could not be substantiated. A correction on 15 September 2026 removed that material; on further review we concluded the article should be withdrawn rather than corrected, consistent with how we treat unsupported first-person reporting elsewhere in the network. The article text has been removed. We regret that it did not meet our editorial standards, which are set out in our editorial policy.”
At any normal publication, the implications would be stupifying. Imagine if the chief editor of Business Insider or Axios — both publications, according to data we reviewed, that draw far less traffic than BBM — had published an article under their own byline in which they claimed to have conducted extensive interviews, and then subsequently retracted the piece while admitting that its first-person descriptions of conversations with sources “could not be substantiated.” If the reaction to Stephen Glass at the New Republic or Jayson Blair at the New York Times is any indication, it would be one of the most explosive journalism scandals of all time.
But BBM isn’t the New Republic or the New York Times. Justin’s brain-melting retraction notice doesn’t seem to have drawn any attention online, both because BBM didn’t publicize it and, more fundamentally, because BBM is a media organization that’s carefully designed to look robust and trustworthy, but is only a façade — a reality that quickly becomes apparent the more time you spent digging through its vast archives of meaninglessness.
***
It’s hard to know what to make of the Brown brothers. We asked if they’d be willing to sit for an interview, but Justin repeatedly declined the offer when he sent the company’s statements.
Perhaps the brothers have been operating their blundering AI empire for years without even reading what they publish, ignorantly believing in their own vacuous promises about their company’s “commitment to high editorial standards” and “honest information.”
But the more likely explanation — especially after watching their machinations to hide their journalistic sins and remain in Google’s good graces by deleting content and employing human shields to byline AI-generated content — is that they know exactly what they’re doing and just don’t care.
Their trainwreck-laden funhouse mirror of a respectable media company has masqueraded as a purveyor of genuine news and information, enjoying enormous success at capturing reader eyes and attention through platforms that actual journalism relies on — while publishing oceans of trash that would get a real journalist fired immediately, and responding to questions with empty and contradictory platitudes about transparency, accountability, and responsible AI use.
In any case, BBM’s zombie content mill flounders onward. It recently started promoting a new site called Sentient Blogs, which positions itself as a publication dedicated to human authorship in an era of shoddy AI content.
“A platform dedicated to supporting and promoting the work of human bloggers that create human generated content, not AI,” reads its about page, with its FAQ further promising that “we are confident that between our amazing authors who are writing on this platform because they share the same initiative and our [quality assurance] measures, the likelihood of AI content is very very low.”
To kick it off, Lachlan bylined a piece about his touchingly human experiences with fatherhood, writing that a “thousand dinners become a family culture. Repeated school runs become the background of a child’s childhood. Years of quiet effort become a marriage, a friendship, a body of work or a sense of being useful to other people.”
A disclaimer at the bottom, dissonantly, says it was “produced with AI assistance.” According to Pangram, it was 100 percent AI-generated.
Forty-four years ago, Nadrian Seeman published his groundbreaking ideas on using DNA as a structural material, expanding DNA's significance far beyond its role as a carrier of genetic information. Since then, the steadily growing field of DNA nanotechnology has seen numerous innovations. One was the DNA origami technique, which enables researchers to fold a single long strand of DNA into a desired 2D or 3D shape.
Forty-four years ago, Nadrian Seeman published his groundbreaking ideas on using DNA as a structural material, expanding DNA's significance far beyond its role as a carrier of genetic information. Since then, the steadily growing field of DNA nanotechnology has seen numerous innovations. One was the DNA origami technique, which enables researchers to fold a single long strand of DNA into a desired 2D or 3D shape.
Oxford University researchers have captured the step-by-step assembly of individual virus-like particles, revealing how simple molecular interactions can reliably build these complex biological structures. The results were published today (September 16) in Nature.
Oxford University researchers have captured the step-by-step assembly of individual virus-like particles, revealing how simple molecular interactions can reliably build these complex biological structures. The results were published today (September 16) in Nature.
Very small biological samples and even individual biomolecules can now be examined under near-physiological conditions with high confidence at the BESSY II infrared beamline using a newly validated and improved technique: nanoscale infrared (IR) spectroscopy (s-SNOM) with ultrathin silicon-based membranes.
The Corps of Discovery Expedition set out in 1804, directed by President Thomas Jefferson to survey the United States’ newly acquired Louisiana Purchase. The exploration forms a core piece of early U.S. history. Picture a scene from the journey: It’s a cool morning, the silence punctuated by birdsong and the rustle of the breeze through the cottonwood trees. To one side, Commander William Clark, his rifle leaning against a plum tree and his rucksack nearby, squats over a latrine pit, unceremoniously heeding the call of nature.
The Louisiana Purchase constituted a territory of around 828,000 square miles, which the U.S. had bought from France in 1803. This was, it is worth noting, largely without the consent of the Indigenous groups who had lived there for millennia. The purpose of the expedition was threefold: to find a practical trade route westward to the Pacific coast, to explore and document the territory, and to stake a claim to the area before any other European powers butted in. Led by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, the 40-man team, plus their guide Sacagawea, spent more than two years trekking westward.
Believe it or not, the holes that were used as toilets along the march to the Pacific have been invaluable for archaeologists and historians. This is thanks especially to a type of treatment included in the expedition’s medical kit.
How Lewis and Clark went to the bathroom
Everybody poops—it’s a universal human need. But most accounts of the Corps of Discovery’s journey leave out the details of how the Corps members dealt with bathroom business.
Each of the campsites where the expedition spent time had an accompanying latrine pit, situated well away from camp for sanitary (and privacy) reasons. The latrines would have seen a lot of use, because the Corps of Discovery’s diet wasn’t the best for gut health.
American artist Charles Marion Russell painted this piece entitled “Lewis and Clark on the Lower Columbia” in 1905. Image: Public Domain
While the expedition members relied heavily on foraged and hunted food, they also carried backup rations. These included nearly 14,000 pounds of dry goods, including flour, salt, coffee, dried pork, and lard. All told, each member of the Corps ate around nine pounds of meat per day. All of that protein without lots and lots of fiber added up to frequent constipation. The untreated water they drank from rivers and creeks they encountered probably didn’t help their circumstances. Enter…Dr. Rush’s Bilious Pills.
The mercury constipation pills known as “thunderclappers”
In 1803, as preparation for the upcoming expedition, William Clark traveled to Philadelphia for a two-week medical crash course with Dr. Benjamin Rush. Rush was a prominent physician in his day, and a Founding Father of the United States. His signature is one of the 56 on the Declaration of Independence.
Rush taught Clark some basic field skills, such as bone-setting and wound treatment. Clark left Philadelphia with new skills and a well-stocked medical kit that included 50 dozen of Doctor Rush’s Bilious Pills. These were compounded tablets about the size of a raisin, composed of powerful laxative ingredients. The pills were nicknamed “thunderclappers” because of the speed with which they took effect. The main ingredient of the thunderclappers was calomel, or mercury chloride.
Mercury, historically also called quicksilver, has been thought to have curative effects for centuries. It’s a metal that is liquid at room temperature, which seems miraculous in and of itself.
It was also a popular treatment for syphilis. This is not to say it was an effective treatment for syphilis. When it was administered for that disease, slowly in low doses, patients were more likely to die from mercury poisoning than from the STI.
This drug jar for mercury pills was made in Italy sometime between 1731 and 1770, several decades before Meriwether Lewis and William Clark set out on their historic expedition. Image: Science & Society Picture Library / Contributor / Getty Images Jaron Chubb
When taken in larger doses, though, as in the thunderclapper pills, it prompted a quick evacuation, the body’s way of ejecting poison. The men of the Lewis and Clark expedition used these pills freely as a way to compensate for their high-protein and low-fiber diet. As a result, all the latrine pits they used between the Midwest and the Pacific coast were laced with high concentrations of mercury.
Lewis and Clark pooped mercury. Today archaeologists use it to map their route.
As many an environmentalist will caution, mercury does not decompose when it’s in the ground. It stays put, and is detectable through modern soil testing techniques. The 600-plus latrines dug and used by the Corps of Discovery form a trail of their own, marked by mercury.
The expedition was a government-sanctioned military expedition, so Lewis and Clark both kept copious notes on every aspect of their travels. Historians have tried to pinpoint the locations of these camps based on the expedition journals, with minimal success.
The only campsite that archaeologists have been able to confirm so far is the Traveler’s Rest camp, just outside of Missoula, Montana. This is all thanks to the remains of Dr. Rush’s Bilious Pills, which left enough mercury in the ground to differentiate the remains of a latrine pit (or “sink” as they were called in the 1800s) from animal burrows or agricultural ditches.
Archaeology is all about reconstructing the lives of people in the past, and it’s worth remembering that this means all aspects of life. Our own bodily functions remind us that we all share complex and interwoven histories, and that even the most mundane parts of our lives can be important in the future.
In That Time When, Popular Science tells the weirdest, surprising, and little-known stories that shaped science, engineering, and innovation.
Conventional gym etiquette involves carefully wiping down the surfaces of any machines or equipment after using it. Businesses usually provide customers with wet wipes, or simple sprays and towels, to keep faux leather padding and other public surfaces pristine and sanitary.
But during professional events, that level of cleanliness isn’t always guaranteed. Organizers of a recent Hyrox competition in China, the spiritual successor of the Crossfit craze, have been accused of allowing participants be exposed to a trail of human waste — left behind, memorably, by the athlete who went on to win the competition.
As The Guardian reports, Australian world record holder Joanna Wietrzyk used shared stations, including rowing machines, sleds, and medicine balls, while “faecal matter” was “visibly running down her legs,” a horrifying incident vaguely reminiscent of one of the most infamous and reviled videos in internet history.
The incident drew an outburst of disgust across social media.
“I guess I’m never doing a Hyrox event,” one user wrote in a post on Bluesky. “Oh my god.”
“Saw a big Hyrox poster at the gym and all I thought of was that lady shitting herself,” another tweeted. “That’s their brand now.”
“This should result in a hard stop for the competitor because the public health risk is more important than the medal,” one user argued. “Hyrox has way too many shared touch points and surfaces to let this continue.”
Others used the opportunity to poke fun.
“A s****y situation for all parties and tough for Hyrox to save faeces,” another joked.
Organizers were criticized for allowing the competition to continue despite having clear bio-contaminant rules in place.
“Protocols designed for elite competition and mass participation became blurred, creating ambiguity in how they were applied and understood,” Hyrox World wrote in an statement, in one of the more acrobatic euphemisms we can recall.
“Hyrox made a mistake by not reacting immediately during the race,” he wrote. “In the end it is my job to foresee these potential incidents — and I did not.”
“Of course, we started improving event processes,” Fürste went on, “plus making rulebook changes immediately.”
The shocking incident highlights the fact that professional endurance athletes soiling themselves isn’t as rare as it may seem. Long distance runners, for instance, are known to suffer from “runner’s diarrhea,” like Paula Radcliffe, who had to relieve herself in full view of the public during the 2005 London marathon.
Radcliffe still won with a time of 2:17:42 — albeit with a little less dignity than she started.
Despite major strides in education and conservation efforts, rabies remains a serious public health issue. The Center for Disease Control (CDC) estimates around 90 percent of cases occur in wildlife, but their consequences still reverberate across ecosystems and routinely endanger humans. Combating the viral disease costs the United States over $300 million every year, but the hefty price tag is justified. Contracting one of the oldest known diseases invariably causes severe symptoms like abnormal sensations, violent movements, hydrophobia, and loss of consciousness. Rabies is fatal in virtually every documented case, and still kills around 59,000 people around the world each year.
Once primarily associated with dogs, rabies has since spread to wildlife such as raccoons, skunks, bats, and foxes—making the issue much more difficult to track and control. Since 1995, the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) has overseen a National Rabies Management Program in cooperation with state and federal departments, university researchers, and other organizations. After over 30 years of work, one of the most preferred mitigation methods is regularly placing oral rabies vaccine (ORV) bait in strategically selected wildlife areas. The easiest way to spread millions of bait blocks across thousands of square miles? Airdrops.
The bait isn’t toxic, but the USDA recommends using gloves to handle it. Credit: USDA
Next month, the USDA will once again begin tossing fishmeal-coated ORV packets from planes throughout the Southeastern states of Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama. These tiny edibles are specifically crafted to target the most prominent rabies variants seen in raccoons, coyotes, and gray foxes.
“The goal is to prevent westward spread of raccoon rabies by creating a continuous vaccine barrier that stays in front of rabies occurrence on the landscape,” a USDA spokesperson recently told FOX Carolina News. The representative added that although the distribution’s scope doesn’t currently include South Carolina, they are “very close to establishing an ORV area in South Carolina counties bordering North Carolina and Georgia in the next few years.”
If all goes as planned, the National Rabies Management Program’s geographic scope will shrink over time as the disease is regionally eliminated. Until then, anyone who accidentally comes into contact with an ORV bait brick shouldn’t worry about contracting the disease. The vaccine inside each brick is proven safe for over 60 animal species, including cats and dogs. If you happen to locate one in a residential area, the USDA recommends to either simply leave it alone, or use gloves to move it to a more remote location for its intended recipients. Always wash your hands thoroughly after handling ORV bait—and try to ignore the pungent odor of fishmeal.
Here’s a hazard you probably didn’t expect from too much screen time.
Two doctors in the UK reported in the journalBMJ Case Reports the bizarre case of a young boy whose laptop literally toasted his skin over weeks and maybe even months of using it. Thankfully, the kid’s fine and was never in any real pain, so we can dive into this medical oddity without feeling too guilty about it.
According to the eyebrow-raising paper, spotted by Ars Technica, the boy was first brought into an emergency department with reddish markings over his abdomen in a lace-like pattern. Nurses first described it as “spontaneous bruising,” but they didn’t find skin abnormalities anywhere else on his body. The boy also wasn’t in any pain, and didn’t have any history of trauma or illnesses that could explain the markings.
When doctors did a chest x-ray, they found some kind of build up in his lung, though it was unclear what it signified. The boy admitted that he got pushed into a chair while play-fighting with his siblings a week ago, leading the doctors to search for signs of a traumatic injury. But after a CT scan, they didn’t find any. They weren’t completely sure of what was going on, but the doctors discharged him with antibiotics for a suspected lung infection.
The boy was back several weeks later, though — and the rash was even worse. Parts of his abdomen were pinkish, exhibiting clear signs of skin breakdown, the doctors wrote, with mottled patches of dark brown. (You can view a photo, at your own peril, here, via Ars.)
That’s when the doctors began to suspect some kind of heat damage. But when they asked the boy about heat sources, nothing turned up.
Then, as they continued to question him, the boy mentioned something crucial: he was home-schooled and did most of his assignments on his laptop, sometimes for eight hours a day, often while charging. And of course, he usually rested the laptop on his torso while lying down.
This supported a diagnosis of a erythema ab igne (EAI), also known as “toasted skin syndrome.” It’s caused by repeated, close exposure to low heat, which slowly damages the skin over time. Patients often get it from heat pads and space heaters, but a warm laptop can cause it, too. It causes a distinctly lace-like rash, which explained the boy’s symptoms.
EAI is benign, and in most cases, its rashes disappear on their own once exposure to a heat source is stopped, taking weeks to months to heal. Once properly diagnosed, the boy’s rash was dressed, and he came back to the hospital several months later to confirm that he had fully healed. Now that he’s okay, he might try studying at a desk instead.
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