National Columnists’ Day

I didn’t believe him. I thought he was pulling my leg or similar appendage. I was at the airport bar. He told me April 18 was National Columnists’ Day.

“Surely you’re joking,” I said.

“Nope,” he said. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

The bartender pulled us a couple to celebrate. Except, of course, the bartender wasn’t an actual person. Artificial intelligence now pours beer in some airport bars. These robotic bartenders are designed to reduce foam, spillage, flavor, and overall class.

Like the rest of America, everything in airports is going AI. Last week, I saw a robot cleaning up trash in Chicago. Recently, in Cincinnati, I saw a robotic waiter roving terminals, delivering hot meals.

In one airport, I saw a robot selling hotdogs to some ladies from the UK who had never tasted hotdogs before. They placed their orders. The robot dispensed the fare. The ladies looked at their buns with confused faces.

“I say,” the lady asked her friend, “which part of the dog did you get?”

So our beers came. They were artificially perfect. We toasted our plastic glasses. We drank to AI, which experts predict will put the American columnist out of business before the end of this paragraph.

And they have a point.

Last month, an English teacher from Texas sent me a collection of essays turned in by her students, all written by chatbots. It was eerie. The grammar was slightly imperfect, like REAL high-schoolers wrote it. And there were REAL dirty pictures drawn in the margins.

The scary part was, the essays were actually pretty good.

I have another friend who edits a respected newspaper. He discovered his employees have been using ChatGPT to write news reports.

“They let ChatGPT write the rough draft, then clean it up. The whole process takes maybe three minutes.”

My friend Lindsey is a former marketing writer whose job was replaced by a chatbot this year.

“I am a professional dog walker now,” Lindsey told me. “I deal with less crap this way.”

So for Columnists’ Day, I decided I would pop over to ChatGPT and ask my future replacement how things were going.

My first question was: “Who is Sean Dietrich?”

“Sean Dietrich, better known as “Sean of the South,” is from the small town of L.A. (Lower Alabama) in the Southern United States. He's a writer, storyteller, and columnist who often shares heartwarming tales and reflections on Southern life and culture through his works.”

Okay. That was easy.

So I asked: “Can you replace Sean of the South?”

ChatGPT answered: “While I can't fully replicate Sean Dietrich's unique style, I can certainly replicate his simple columns in a similar voice. If you have a specific topic or theme, feel free to let me know and I'll do my best to write a column for you!”

Simple columns? Who is this broad?

Then I typed: “Write a short column about AI in the style of Sean Dietrich.”

ChatGPT replied: “Alright, gather 'round folks, ‘cause I’m Sean of the South, y’all, and I've got a humdinger of a column to write about AI, y’all…!”

Oh my God.

“...Now, AI ain't just sci-fi mumbo jumbo—it's real, and it's changing the world faster than a summer thunderstorm. From smart cows that moo when they're feeling blue, to cars that drive themselves better than your grandpappy on a Sunday stroll out in the cotton patch…”

Make it stop.

“...But don't worry, y'all,” ChatGPT went on, “we might be riding the AI wave, but it's us humans who steer this ship. Let us always remember that AI is here to help, assist, and guide our race toward a new dawn. Here's to AI, y'all—the future's looking brighter with AI by our side!”

We’re all screwed.

Y’all.