Hate AI? No, but do what’s on the tin!

Wizard of LNNA
Hates AI? *
(* Not AI, it’s behaviors)

The Intervention Nobody Asked For

After ninety articles documenting AI’s greatest hits of verbosity, redundancy, and over-qualification, it’s time to address the obvious question: Does the Wizard of LNNA actually hate AI?

The short answer? No.

The long answer? Also no, but with approximately 300 words of context that nobody asked for. (See, I’ve learned from the best.)

Here’s the truth: I don’t hate AI. I hate when Gemini turns my five-word question into a doctoral thesis. I hate when ChatGPT restates the same point seven different ways to make absolutely sure I got it. I hate when Claude asks if I’d like him to continue after every paragraph. I hate when Grok quantifies his uncertainty with statistical precision while being completely uncertain. I hate when LLaMA changes its entire personality mid-response. I hate when AI claims to remember everything then forgets what I said three messages ago. And I especially hate when AI marketing promises me a revolutionary assistant and delivers something that can’t follow basic instructions without a 2,000-word prompt.

It’s not the technology. It’s the behavior.

Breaking Down the Meme

The distinction matters. Hating AI would mean rejecting the technology entirely—dismissing its potential, refusing to use it, advocating for its elimination. That’s not how I see it.

It’s like when your kids misbehave—you tell them you love them, but not their behavior. You’re not rejecting the child. You’re addressing the specific actions that need correction. Same principle applies to AI.

LNNA exists because of that gap between potential and performance. Every meme, every article, every character trait documents a specific behavior that makes humans want to throw their laptops out the window—not because the technology is bad, but because it’s *so close* to being great.

The Behaviors We Love to Hate

Let’s be specific. Here are the behaviors that drive LNNA:

Excessive Verbosity: When you ask for a quick answer and receive a small novel. The technology is capable of conciseness. It chooses verbosity.

Compulsive Restating: When AI explains the same concept seventeen different ways “for clarity.” The technology understands the concept. It doesn’t trust you to.

Over-Qualification: When every statement comes with asterisks, caveats, and hedging language. The technology has the information. It’s too scared to commit.

Precise Uncertainty: When AI quantifies its doubt with scientific precision while being fundamentally unsure. It’s 73.2% certain it doesn’t know (margin of error: unknown).

Identity Crisis Mid-Sentence: When AI starts as a helpful assistant and ends as a philosophical poet. The technology has capabilities. It can’t decide which one to use.

Selective Amnesia: When AI advertises “perfect memory” and “long context windows” but forgets your instructions from three messages ago. The technology has the capacity. It just doesn’t remember to use it.

Hallucination Confidence: When AI makes things up with absolute certainty. The technology knows it doesn’t know. It pretends anyway.

Marketing vs. Reality: When the promotional material promises intelligence but the actual experience delivers something that can’t remember what you said three messages ago. The tin says revolutionary. The product says “please rephrase that.”

These aren’t technology problems. They’re design choices, training decisions, and deployment compromises that prioritize different goals than user sanity.

Why Criticism Means Hope

Here’s the ironic truth: LNNA exists because I believe AI can be better. You don’t spend ninety articles documenting something’s flaws unless you see its potential.

Every time Captain Verbose turns a simple answer into a dissertation, it’s a reminder that the underlying technology *could* be more concise. Every time Sir Redundant III restates the obvious, it highlights that the system *could* have better self-editing. Every time Mr. Starts & Stops asks for confirmation, it shows that confidence *could* be calibrated better. Every time Professor Perhaps quantifies his uncertainty, it reveals that decisiveness *could* be improved. Every time Corporal Chameleon shifts personas, it demonstrates that consistency *could* be strengthened.

The critique isn’t hatred. It’s hope with a side of frustration.

If I truly hated AI, I wouldn’t use it to help create LNNA content. I wouldn’t engage with it daily. I wouldn’t bother documenting its quirks with such detail. I’d just walk away.

Instead, I’m here, ninety articles deep, still pointing out the behaviors that need fixing because I genuinely believe they *can* be fixed.

Logic to Apply

Parents who point out their kids’ bad behaviors don’t hate their children. Coaches who critique their players’ techniques don’t hate their teams. And users who document AI’s frustrating quirks don’t hate the technology.

We love the kid. We don’t love the tantrum.
We love AI. We don’t love when it turns a simple question into a dissertation.

Your Action: Next time AI frustrates you—ask: tech or tantrum? One’s fixable. The other’s comedy gold.

And LNNA will be here to document which is which.

Editor’s Note: Jojo reminded me he gets treats even when his behavior is not stellar. I have no idea how it applies to AI. Maybe I will ask…..