It opened with a panel at San Diego Comic‑Con. Groening stepped up to the mic.
It looked like any other Simpsons promo. Behind him, a banner flickered. Fans leaned forward. Phones came out. But what came next wasn’t a teaser—it was a directive.
He launched into predictions. About Trump. About Mars. About a future where kids rebel against partisan media.
Then came the instruction, casually dropped mid-riff.
Delete Fox News from your remote controls.
At first it sounded like a joke—Groening riffing on a culture war so loud, even Fox couldn’t ignore it.
But moments later people realized it wasn’t a line from an episode. It was a call to action.
His fans paused their popcorn. Twitter alerts went berserk. Reddit threads threaded through his intent, dissecting every word.
He wasn’t promoting a show. He was promoting change.
Now here’s the background worth feeding into every ad slot before the reveal:
Groening is famous for predicting the unpredictable.
Over decades, audiences credited The Simpsons with foreseeing reality. Politicians, pandemics, tobacco bans, skyscrapers falling.
Every viral meme claimed the creators were time travellers. They built fictional worlds, and real ones seemed to follow.
At Comic‑Con, he leaned into it. Delivered lines about Elon Musk crash‑landing on Mars and hearing applause from Earth. Talked about Trump’s death bringing citywide celebrations (until dancing got banned).
The crowd laughed. Because they knew it was satire. Yet they felt it lining up.
Then he pivoted.
Fox News.
The channel his show once aired on. The same channel he mocks in recurring gags—like a helicopter branded “Not Racist, But #1 With Racists.” Or a tagline attacking its viewers for being old and conservative.
At Comic‑Con, Groening glided from jokes about the future into activism.
He said:
“Kids across America will liberate Republican parents from the cult of MAGA.”
He didn’t leave it to satire alone. He explained how: “Grab the TV remote… go to controls… delete Fox News.”
He meant it literally. A parents’ liberation ceremony through remote control.
Social media exploded.
Viewers posted tutorials. News stories ran headlines. Political commentators called it a rallying cry.
Yet behind the noise, many asked the same question: was this joke, or something heavier?
Because for a man who once said “we are time-travellers,” every statement felt engineered for virality.
He even indicted media culture with the flick of his hand.
Fans on TikTok made DIY videos following his instructions.
Redditors posted screenshots of parents’ reactions after someone “deleted” the channel. Some claimed families stayed silent, some fought back.
Amid the internet uproar, critics said deleting news channels isn’t activism.
They questioned if it was virtue signalling disguised as rebellion.
But defenders argued: the rule deletion was symbolic. A cultural eraser. A pushback.
And it was classic Groening: clever, confrontational, pack-audience-full messaging disguised as a gag.
Now let’s layer in the franchise history.
The Simpsons aired on Fox for decades. Parents fought lunchboxes in playgrounds shaped like Homer’s head. Kids watched Maggie suck pacifiers next to Krusty dolls.
Yet the show turned on its own platform. It ridiculed Fox in episodes, in directions and Easter eggs. Fox News often responded publicly to protests about those jokes.
Legal threats were rumored. Fox Entertainment and Fox News were separate, but the tension nearly split them.
Groening once told NPR how Fox News threatened to sue over a news ticker parody: fake headlines, conspiracy questions, a screaming sarcastic commentary on media trust.
That threat was eventually dropped. They realised it was the same parent company’s entertainment arm.
All of that set the stage for the joke to land with weight.
Fast-forward decades. Groening now stands in front of adoring fans telling them to delete newsroom propaganda.
Meanwhile pundits talk about cultural responsibility.
Journalists debate whether deleting cable channels is political discourse or censorship.
Some hailed it as prophetic activism. Others said it was performative.
It didn’t matter. Because the audience was hooked.
The slow build of tension, the padding—role lines earlier described political commentary, future dystopias, the next generation refusing to listen to MAGA messaging.
It led to a climax no one expected: an instruction.
Not politically ambiguous, not satirical alone.
A direct ask.