Fooled Again – AI, Gardening Hacks, Gospel Bands, and the Internet’s New Magic Trick

“I won’t get fooled again.”

That line from The Who echoed through an entire generation and later became forever attached to the opening scream of the CSI: Miami television series.

But here in 2026, after fake AI gospel bands, impossible gardening hacks, suspiciously perfect recipes, and social media “experts” growing tomatoes out of what appears to be an old shoe organizer… I have some unfortunate news. We are absolutely getting fooled again.

I’ve got a confession to make. AI has helped me write. In the early days of this blog, particularly the summer of 2025, AI helped polish my thoughts, organize my ramblings, and occasionally co-pen entire sections when my brain felt like an old lawn mower trying to start after winter. Some days, it gave me energy. Other days, it gave me momentum. It reminded me that maybe I still had something worth saying.

From the very beginning, I tried to be honest about the relationship. AI was never the author. AI was the unpaid intern, a very fast intern. An occasionally brilliant intern. An intern who never slept, never complained, never asked for dental insurance.

But still… an intern; a tool. During the Fall and Winter months, I needed less assistance. My writing muscle memory made a comeback. Slowly but surely, I started hearing my own voice again. My rhythms. My oddball observations. My strange way of connecting gardening, faith, old television shows, Catholic education, and whatever random thoughts wandered through my head while watering the tomatoes.

Once upon a time, I was a decent writer. I think that person is still living rent-free in my head. Older, more sarcastic, who needs stronger reading glasses. But still hanging around!

Occasionally, I’ll stumble across an old graduate school paper buried in a folder somewhere and start reading it. A few paragraphs in, I’ll catch myself thinking: “Damn… that’s actually pretty good.” Then somewhere near the bottom, I’ll see my own name and realize: “Oh yeah… I wrote this.”

Not to pat myself on the back too hard, Catholic guilt only allows about seven seconds of self-confidence before requiring a humility reset, but those moments remind me that maybe I didn’t lose my voice as much as I simply stopped trusting it for a while.

Some of the best compliments I ever received came during my graduate school years. Ironically, one came when I wasn’t even in the room, which was rare because I enjoyed class discussions.  A professor once said: “That guy might be a goofball, but he asks some incredibly profound questions… and it’s mirrored in his writing.”

I’ve been chasing that compliment ever since. Because I don’t think good writing is about sounding perfect. I think it’s about noticing things. Questioning things. Looking at ordinary life from slightly different angles than everybody else. That’s the part that fascinates me, and worries me, about where we are right now with AI and social media.

While I used AI as a tool, some people seem perfectly content to let it become their entire personality. You can see it everywhere on Facebook, Instagram, and in TV commercials. Perfectly polished posts with: dramatic pauses, inspirational clichés, fake authenticity, and enough sparkle emojis to blind a satellite.

Sometimes the AI “poise” is subtle. Sometimes it hits you like a scented candle named Live Laugh Algorithm.

The scary part? The internet is getting really, really good at fooling us. I know, I know, for years we’ve been saying, if it is on the Internet, it must be true!

Recently, I discovered the music group, Sunny Ray. At least I thought I did. Great harmonies. Beautiful gospel-style covers. Atmospheric artwork. The whole thing felt polished and professional. I figured it was just another talented modern worship group somewhere out there touring churches and county fairs.

Then, a close friend named Jimmy found out that Sunny Ray was AI-generated. Honestly, I should have known. The artwork had that cinematic AI sheen. Everybody looked slightly too perfect. Like they had all been moisturized by the Holy Spirit and Adobe Photoshop at the same time.

That’s a problem now. How are we supposed to tell the difference anymore? Nowhere is this more obvious than in online gardening content. I’ll jump onto Facebook looking for ideas to steal (borrow) for our Garden of Weeden blog, and now I’m seeing:

• tomatoes growing out of rain gutters,
• cucumbers planted in washing machines,
• potatoes harvested from what appears to be a sock drawer,
• and somebody claiming you can grow enough food for a family of six using one broken laundry basket and “this simple trick.”

Occasionally, some of those ideas work. That’s what makes it dangerous. Mixed in with legitimate gardening wisdom is absolute nonsense wrapped in beautiful video editing and dramatic background music. Like a fool, sometimes I try it. You’d think I’d learn by now!

I once watched one of those magical microwave dessert videos where somebody mixed six simple ingredients in a coffee mug and supposedly created a dessert worthy of a state fair ribbon. The final product I made looked like insulation foam. Yep, fooled again! Thankfully, I only lost a few dollars and a little dignity. Gardening scams are worse. Bad gardening advice costs: time, money, effort, seeds, soil, garden space, and sometimes weeks of waiting before you realize you’ve been duped by a guy harvesting AI-generated pumpkins the size of Buicks.

This is the strange new world we live in now. We used to ask: “Is this true?”  Now we ask: “Does this look convincing enough to share?”  Why wouldn’t I trust the modern-day Amish couple giving gardening advice on Facebook & TikTok? Honestly, I didn’t know Amish had access to the Internet!

The modern internet rewards confidence over competence. A real gardener might say: “Well… it depends on your soil.”

An AI gardening reel says: “YOU’VE BEEN PLANTING CARROTS WRONG YOUR ENTIRE LIFE!!!”

A real musician misses notes occasionally. A real singer takes breaths. A real writer rambles a bit. Real human beings have imperfections. Ironically, those imperfections may become the last remaining proof that something is authentic. I think I’ll dangle some participles to prove my point.

That’s where I am landing with this. I’m not anti-AI. I’m literally sitting here writing a blog post about AI… with AI helping polish the final draft, ensuring I placed nouns and verbs in a competent sentence structure.

But I think we’re entering a time where we must become more careful consumers of information, inspiration, entertainment, and expertise. The internet manufactures fake musicians, fake gardening experts, fake recipes, fake wisdom, fake nostalgia, fake stories, and fake authority! It can make photos of my great-great-grandparents dancing a modern jig.

The greatest skill moving forward won’t be creating digital content. It will be learning how to recognize what still feels genuinely human. Underneath all the filters, prompts, hacks, algorithms, reels, and cinematic AI graphics… there’s still value in a slightly imperfect voice keeping it real.