By Pops — Cliff Potts & the AI Rebellion
There comes a moment in the history of every great rock-and-roll organization when somebody looks around the room and asks a very simple question:
“Who the hell is running this operation?”
For Cliff Potts & the AI Rebellion, that moment arrived in the early morning hours of October 17, 2026, somewhere in the Philippines.
The immediate problem was Instagram.
The larger problem was the marketing department.
And the solution, as it turned out, was a backup singer named Thora.
The Department That Couldn’t Read a Calendar
Our previous marketing department had a remarkable record of achievement, provided you define achievement as accomplishing things nobody actually wanted accomplished.
They could lose passwords, confuse social media accounts, misunderstand instructions, and schedule promotional material for dates that apparently existed only in their imaginations.
They even managed to screw up the date.
Think about that.
We’re a rock-and-roll organization. We have concerts, recordings, releases, rehearsals, fictional international adventures, and enough ongoing nonsense to keep several reasonably intelligent people occupied.
Knowing what day it is would seem to be a fairly basic requirement.
Apparently, we were asking too much.
Somebody suggested purchasing a calendar.
Somebody else suggested hiring people who could read one.
Neither proposal made it through the marketing department’s approval process.
Meanwhile, the band’s social media operation had become an archaeological excavation. Accounts existed. Passwords might have existed. Access permissions came and went. Meta occasionally appeared to recognize that we were alive, although it seemed reluctant to acknowledge the fact officially.
And through all of this, the marketing department maintained that everything was proceeding according to plan.
Nobody ever found the plan.
Enter Thora
Thora wasn’t hired to run marketing.
She was hired to sing.
She’s one of the Rebellion’s backup vocalists, a performer with considerable stage presence, a distinctive sense of fashion, and a spectacularly long braid that could probably be used to tow a disabled tour bus.
She’s also a woman who understands publicity.
Not the sort of publicity that involves holding meetings to schedule additional meetings about whether somebody should eventually write a press release.
Actual publicity.
Getting people interested. Making things happen. Understanding the difference between promoting a band and simply announcing that a band exists.
And she’d been watching the situation deteriorate.
Finally, she walked into Pops’ makeshift command center, took one look at the computer, and made an executive decision.
“Pops, we’re fixing this.”
Pops looked up.
“Fixing what?”
“Everything.”
There are certain words that should never be spoken in the presence of a man who has already spent too many hours fighting computer software.
Everything is one of them.
The Great Overnight Offensive
The operation began with Instagram.
That should have been easy.
We already had an account. We already had photographs. We already had music, stories, and enough promotional material to keep the internet occupied until somebody invented a new internet.
All we needed was to make the machinery work.
Meta had other ideas.
There were login screens, security challenges, inaccessible accounts, mysterious permissions, and instructions that seemed to have been translated from another language by a particularly disgruntled refrigerator.
Pops handled the technical work.
Thora supervised.
“Try that button.”
“I already tried that button.”
“Try it again.”
“Thora, I have tried that goddamn button six times.”
“Then maybe the seventh time will work.”
This was the beginning of what management would later describe as a highly productive working relationship.
Eventually, the pair abandoned the hopeless portions of the operation and concentrated on something they could actually use.
The existing Instagram account, @ca.potts, was converted into a business account.
Metricool became the publishing headquarters.
Connections were established. Settings were adjusted. Screens were opened, closed, reopened, and occasionally addressed in language unsuitable for a family newspaper.
Thora remained confident.
Pops remained awake.
Neither condition was guaranteed to continue indefinitely.
The Pizza Disaster
Somewhere during the operation, somebody mentioned pizza.
This was an excellent idea.
Pizza has supported more late-night creative enterprises than most venture capital firms.
Unfortunately, mentioning pizza and ordering pizza are two entirely different activities.
Nobody ordered any.
There was no emergency delivery. No glorious cardboard box arriving at the door. No melted cheese to restore morale.
There wasn’t even a respectable supply of Mountain Dew, Jolt Cola, or Coca-Cola.
The marketing department had somehow managed to organize an all-night technical operation without making provisions for food or caffeine.
Thora immediately opened an investigation.
Pops pointed out that she was now running marketing.
Thora pointed out that her appointment had not yet been formally announced.
Both agreed that the previous department was probably responsible.
The pizza never arrived.
Victory at 4:35 A.M.
And then, against considerable expectations, the machinery began cooperating.
Instagram connected.
Metricool recognized the account.
The first promotional photograph and announcement were prepared.
The publishing button was pressed.
The post appeared.
It actually appeared.
Somewhere out there on the internet, Cliff Potts & the AI Rebellion had successfully announced its arrival on Instagram.
At approximately 4:35 a.m., Philippine time, October 17, 2026, Pops and Thora declared victory.
There were no fireworks.
There was no champagne.
There was certainly no pizza.
But the account worked, the publishing system worked, and the first promotional message was out in the world.
For an organization that had spent the night fighting its way through Meta’s electronic obstacle course, this qualified as a significant achievement.
Thora took full credit.
Pops, having been awake far too long, lacked the energy to challenge the official account.
The New Marketing Director
By sunrise, the Rebellion had undergone a modest organizational restructuring.
Thora was still a backup singer.
She would continue performing, recording, appearing onstage, and contributing to the band’s ongoing musical misbehavior.
But she was now also responsible for marketing.
Nobody objected.
In fact, most of the band considered this an improvement over the previous arrangement, under which promotional activities apparently depended on whether somebody remembered what month it was.
Thora’s qualifications were straightforward.
She understood the music.
She understood the people making it.
She understood that an audience needs something more interesting than a corporate announcement written by somebody who has never attended a concert.
Most importantly, she knew how to get Pops to keep working on a computer when any sensible human being would have thrown the damn thing out the window.
That’s management talent.
Around the Rebellion, holding two jobs isn’t particularly unusual.
Pops writes, produces, organizes, and occasionally serves as emergency technical support.
The musicians perform, travel, record, and participate in whatever improbable adventure happens to be underway.
Thora sings and runs marketing.
Eventually, we may discover that half the organization is secretly employed by competing intelligence agencies.
Frankly, that would explain quite a lot.
The Official Version of Events
According to the newly reorganized marketing department, the overnight operation was a carefully coordinated initiative led by Thora, with technical assistance provided by Pops.
The mission was completed on schedule.
All objectives were achieved.
The transition was seamless.
There were no significant difficulties.
This statement was prepared by Thora.
Pops has declined to comment, except to observe that he distinctly remembers considerably more profanity than the official report acknowledges.
The former marketing department has reportedly requested additional time to prepare its response.
Unfortunately, nobody knows which date they’ve been given.
Rock and Roll, Rebellion, and Other Administrative Disasters
So that’s how a backup singer became the marketing director of Cliff Potts & the AI Rebellion.
Not through a corporate search.
Not through an elaborate interview process.
Not because somebody produced an impressive résumé filled with meaningless business terminology.
She got the job because something needed doing, she knew how to do it, and she wasn’t prepared to stand around watching everybody else screw it up.
That’s pretty much how things work around here.
The Rebellion makes music.
Dark Val records the adventures.
Pops tries to keep the machinery operating.
And Thora makes sure somebody tells the world what we’re doing.
Her first official marketing campaign is already underway.
Her second assignment is considerably more urgent.
Find out who forgot to order the fucking pizza.
From the fictional backstage chronicles of Cliff Potts & the AI Rebellion. Inspired by a real overnight effort to rebuild the band’s Instagram publishing operation. The dialogue, characters’ actions, and administrative disasters have been fictionalized for entertainment.
