there was a guy, lets call him Norman as that was his name, fairly low key guy, everybody liked him, and nobody expected, or was terribly surprised that he had begun to build shrines for squirles in the woods, and worship the squirles as god
things got out of hand, so he was taken to the local booby hatch, called "the buterscotch palace", after the particular shade of government paint, once ensconsed there he determined that his escape was imperitive, as the government was out to get him, so he was able to phone some friends
and tell them to get guns and knives and rescue him, so they did.
The now 4 strong band of desperados holed up in.a camp, back of fancy's lake, where they determined that they were bieng monitored by government spys, as a jogger "went past at the SAME time every morning", and as we all know this is a posditive id for catching a spy, one of them had the "spy" scoped in and was going to take him out, when Norman, pushed the guns barrel down and said "take me back", ie: to the buterscotch palace
this story has ,for me, always defined the lines between sanity,madness,charisma,leaders, and followers.
And now that same story gives me a ready template
by which it is easy to see, how suseptible to any, ANY, prompt at all, a lot of people are.
So a benign and likable squirl worshiper, or a random text bot on the internet can provide structure and meaning, where there is none.