The Hidden Crisis of AI Written Journalism

In an era when microwaves have Bluetooth and your fridge has a Twitter account, it should come as no surprise that artificial intelligence has now taken over the sacred art of writing. That’s right—machines are out here punching keyboards like caffeinated monkeys, cranking out news articles, opinion pieces, and even the occasional breakup text.

And we’re letting them.

Gone are the days of sweaty reporters typing furiously in a smoky newsroom, slamming phones down and yelling “I need that quote by deadline!” Now we just slap a question into a magic box and poof—a perfect 800-word piece with three citations, a headline that slaps, and a pun in the last sentence.

Shameful.

You used to have to earn your byline. You had to major in journalism, fail to pay off your student loans, and survive on bagels and sheer willpower. But now Chad from accounting can “write” an article during lunch just by typing “Why cats are better than dogs” into an AI chatbot while eating a gas station burrito. Journalism, folks!

Let’s be honest—AI-written content is lazy. It’s the intellectual equivalent of copying someone’s homework and changing a few words. Sure, it sounds smart. Sure, it’s well-organized. But where’s the blood? The tears? The existential spiral at 2AM when you wonder if your entire article is pointless? That’s journalism, baby. AI doesn't spiral—it just outputs.

And don’t get me started on how terrifyingly good it’s getting. You can’t even tell anymore! Is that thoughtful editorial in your local newspaper written by a 57-year-old Pulitzer nominee with a pipe and a thesaurus, or was it drafted by a toaster with WiFi?

The worst part? Readers don’t seem to care. They just scroll, click “like,” and move on to the next AI-generated listicle about the “Top 10 Ways to Reheat Pizza Using Moonlight.” No questions asked. No fact-checking. No accountability. Just dopamine and doomscrolling.

Meanwhile, human writers are out here developing carpal tunnel, having full emotional meltdowns over adverbs, and rewriting the same sentence fourteen times until it “feels right.” And what do they get? Replaced by a glorified calculator with a vocabulary.

If we keep going down this road, we’ll have bots writing every news piece, obituary, and wedding announcement. Next thing you know, your vows are generated in iambic pentameter by a server in Utah. “I take thee, Janet.exe, for richer, for processor.”

This is why we must resist. We must protect the sanctity of hand-crafted articles—each paragraph a labor of love, procrastination, and existential dread. We need stories written by people who cry in the shower and submit drafts at 11:59PM with three typos and a wine stain on the keyboard.

So the next time you read something and think, “Wow, that was surprisingly coherent and efficient,” ask yourself:

Was this written by a human? Or was it just really well-programmed disappointment?