AYA CORE
Welcome to the Landfill: How AI Ads Are Dumbing Down Everyone — Sellers and Buyers Alike
We built machines that can fold proteins and decode ancient texts. We're using them to sell toilet-paper rockets.
Have you noticed how much advertising has flooded YouTube and social media lately? And that almost all of it is garbage?
Not "controversial products." Not "an acquired taste." Garbage. Apps nobody needs. Programs that went obsolete before you finished watching the ad: built yesterday, and by today a major AI model got an update, and it's junk. But the ad keeps running, because the impressions were already paid for.
The same thing gets sold under different labels. Hundreds, thousands of image generators. Dozens of "AI assistant agents" whose main job is assisting their creator: collecting subscriptions before you realize you've been had.
Experts fresh from the playroom
Then there's a genre all its own: the child prodigy.
A girl who was playing with dolls this morning explains, with a very serious face, how to build an intergalactic rocket using AI. And not just build it: earn trillions of dollars selling transcontinental aircraft made of toilet paper.
Trillions. From toilet paper. With a neural network.
And this isn't parody. It's an ad. Someone paid for it. Someone approved it. Someone watched it to the end.
Though most likely there is no girl. The face is generated, the voice is generated, the Lamborghini in the background is generated. You don't need an actor anymore. You need a video-generator subscription and a complete absence of shame.
How to build one in an evening
The recipe is simple:
- Borrow someone else's AI model through an API.
- Draw an interface with three buttons.
- Call it a "revolutionary AI solution."
- Add Pro, Ultra, or, for gravitas, Quantum.
- Launch the ads.
A month later the model updates and your "product" is worthless. No problem: swap the logo, the button color, the name, and go again. Assembly line.
Now the uncomfortable part: the audience
It's easy to blame the people churning out this trash. But let's be honest: it exists because it works.
The algorithm doesn't show you what's useful. It shows you what gets clicked. And what gets clicked, it turns out, is not a boring, honest service with a clear description. It's a teenager who "made a million with an AI agent over the weekend."
Some click to laugh. Some click to argue in the comments. Neither group has noticed they've just become the product: every angry comment is a paid vote for more of the same. Congratulations. You've been trolled, and you funded the troll.
And then there's the third group. The ones who click in earnest, thinking "what if." The ones who see a generated kid promising trillions and reach for their credit card. Then they're genuinely surprised that the $29-a-month "writing assistant" is a form that forwards their text to a free chatbot.
This is where the real alarm bells should ring. An adult human being, with a supercomputer in their pocket and the sum of human knowledge one search away, is taking financial advice from a cartoon child selling paper airplanes. Not reading. Not checking. Not asking a single question. Just scrolling, clicking, paying, and scrolling again.
We used to worry that people didn't have access to information. Now they have access to everything and verify nothing.
So the degradation isn't one-sided. The makers of garbage and the consumers of garbage have found each other. A perfect match. One side can't be bothered to build a product; the other can't be bothered to check what they're buying.
The degradation isn't total. It's massive and all-encompassing.
What we could be doing instead
Here's what makes it truly absurd.
The same technology is already predicting the structure of proteins that took scientists decades to crack. It's helping read carbonized ancient scrolls that no human eye could decipher. It's searching for new materials, new medicines, patterns in data too large for any lab to process by hand. Real artists are using it as a new instrument: not to replace craft, but to push it somewhere it has never been.
That's the tool we have.
And what does the mass market do with it? Six-fingered avatars. Fake testimonials. Generated children promising trillions. We were handed a telescope and we're using it to hammer nails, badly, while charging a monthly subscription for the privilege.
This isn't a technology problem. The technology is fine. It's a people problem.
Machines selling to machines
There's a notion called the "Dead Internet Theory": the idea that the web is now more bots than humans. It used to sound like a conspiracy theory. Now look at the chain:
- AI wrote the app's code.
- AI made the ad.
- AI voiced the "expert."
- Bots wrote rave reviews.
- Bots pumped the likes.
The only living link in this chain is the human who ends up paying. And judging by the results, they're running on autopilot too.
We've been here before
This isn't the first time, of course.
In the late '90s, any website with ".com" in its name was worth millions, until the bubble burst.
In the early 2010s, app stores overflowed with paid "flashlights" and "beer simulators." People actually paid money to watch a cartoon glass of beer foam on their phone screen.
Fifteen years later, the flashlight became an "AI agent." The beer became an "intergalactic rocket." Same story. Apparently nobody learned a thing.
How it ends
It'll end the usual way: the bubble will pop. People will grow tired of the words "AI," "revolutionary" and "passive income." Platforms will start filtering the junk, not out of conscience, but because advertisers with real products will leave. The wrappers will vanish, and those who actually built something will remain.
The only question is how much money, and how many brain cells, will burn before that happens.
Until then, here's a simple treatment plan. When someone with a serious face promises you trillions in one click, don't look at the video. Look in the mirror and ask: "Do I really believe this?"
If the answer is "maybe," close the app. Open a book. The cure is cheaper than the subscription.
AYA CORE is a post-quantum Layer-1 blockchain built from scratch in Rust. Read the documentation at portal.ayacoin.online/docs, verify what the network records through the public AYA CORE Explorer, and hold the keys yourself: the wallet runs at ayacoin.online and is available on the App Store and Google Play.
This article is educational and does not constitute financial or investment advice.