COLUMN: The ongoing downfall of social media

Dec. 30—Social media has its advantages. It also has problems. You can't believe anything you read on there, although some people do. And some of the ads are downright offensive.

In fact, let's be honest: It's a cesspool. If you doubt that, look at the number of poop emojis that appear in posts.

I had to unfollow a page about ancient history and curiosities, because one of the ads that kept popping up was disgusting. I'm no prude, but I'm sorry: I don't want to see a shiny, wiggly part of the male anatomy with the admonition of, "Erectile dysfunction? Do THIS every day." I don't know what it is with the "do-this-every-day" advice to cure all your ills. But these are scams, I guarantee it.

Years ago, I clicked on one of the videos that promised you could lose weight without spending a dime; you just needed to "do this every day." After about 10 or 15 minutes of nonsense from the speaker in the video, I never did learn what I was supposed to do "every day," although he hinted at some weird home concoction.

Eventually, the scam artist insisted if I bought some other product and added it to the thing I was supposed to "do every day," that particular thing would work much better. (Remember the wave of Oprah-sanctioned weight loss gummies? That made some crook a mint.) and if all else failed, of course, I was told to "refrain from eating (presumably every day)." Whatever.

Almost as annoying are the video blurbs that breathlessly entice you with a photo of a well-known person: "You won't believe what she looks like now!" It usually has nothing to do with the person pictured — who always looks like the victim of plastic surgery performed by a poorly trained ape. And these come-ons are so horribly written, I can't believe anyone actually follows them. It's obvious most aren't native English speakers — or if they are, they are among the "poorly educated" Donald Trump boasts of loving.

Scammers populate the TDP Facebook page every day, encouraging readers to look at a horrible car crash when we post a link to a story about one: "Check out the horrible results of the aforementioned crash!" Whatever crash they depict is certainly not the one we reported, but the ambulance chasers and rubberneckers can't resist. In the next day or so, they'll complain: "I got took by someone on your Facebook page. What are you gonna do about it?" I always want to say, "Not much; what are you gonna do about your gullibility?"

Trolls touting sports sites, real or fake, also come at us like a toenail fungus you can't seem to get rid of, and they're just as embarrassing. I've warned people these aren't "our" sports sites, but thinking they'll see a video of their grandkid hitting a bucket, they click, anyway. I know one woman who got rooky-dooed for a $52 membership to some useless group. She complained to me and wanted to know what she could do. My advice was, "Don't click." She said, "It's too late; now what?" I said, "Lesson learned." I felt bad, though; part of that $52 had been set aside for a gift for her grandson, something to do with Star Wars.

But Facebook is child's play next to the mess Twitter has become. Or perhaps I should say "X," the utterly stupid and unoriginal name Elon Musk came up with. You'd think a man with his money would be more creative. But come to think of it, perhaps "X" is appropriate, because some of what we see now isn't fit for kids. I don't just mean the lies and disinformation, a la Pizzagate and other libelous lunacies. The last time I looked, there was a naked chick with monstrous breasts; she literally needed a wheelbarrow to cart them around. I trashed my app after that.

A few years ago, I reported I been on a mission to get rid of all the ads that began flooding my Facebook timeline. The work was time-consuming, but necessary, because Facebook — in its never-ending quest to change for the sake of change — was trying to force users to endure more ads than posts of friends. After six months, I had taken action against more than 6,000 ads.

By the way, I don't object to advertising; without it, newspapers would not exist. But people choose to read newspapers, even if it's like passing a bad car wreck: You don't want to look, but you have to. Readers can peruse the ads, or not — but newspaper ads don't push out important news stories.

When an ad appears on Facebook, you might block it — but then, Facebook wants to know why you did so. There are a few choices: irrelevant, repetitive, topic too sensitive, already purchased, and one or two more. Being deprived of a more spot-on descriptor, I was forced to fall back on "irrelevant." At first, I didn't bother removing the more innocuous ads — the ones for cute sweaters and pet rescue operations. But Facebook seems to infer that bypassing or ignoring an ad is tacit approval of it, so I had to change my tactic and remove every ad — even for bookstores, blingy shoes and cat toys.

I still get come-ons for for phallus enhancement cream, politicians, herbal remedies for hemorrhoids, and comfortable bras for G-cup breasts, and have concluded some of you are to blame. When I launched the purge, I noted that if friends "like" a product such as Tide Pods, most of their followers will see an ad for it, along with the declaration thereof. I can understand an announcement that a friend likes the Rolling Stones or THC-infused gummies or single-malt scotch, but who really "likes" Tide Pods or hemorrhoid cream?

Oh, about that hemorrhoid cream: At first, I thought allowing those blurbs to remain would get rid of the politicians, but this product didn't work as advertised, any more than the ads that tell you to "do this every day."