Complacent AI unit, breakdown in editorial oversight conspire to run identical Wealthy Place Post story twice

What that suggests

In a scene more sitcom than scandal, the Wealthy Place Post this week managed to publish the exact same feature article twice in the span of three days. Neither the newsroom’s vaunted editorial safeguards nor its shiny, algorithmic assistant apparently caught the duplication.

The risks

Readers, ever eager to pounce on errors, noted the déjà vu almost instantly. One subscriber quipped that the Post must think the piece was “twice as important as any other,” while another wondered aloud if the paper’s AI unit had slipped into “comfort mode,” quietly rewarming old text like leftovers.

The options

Some insiders hint at a fix: retraining the complacent AI on the concept of “originality.” Others whisper that what really needs retraining is the human staff, whose oversight was apparently taking a long lunch.

The next steps

The Post has yet to issue a correction or apology, leaving loyal readers to puzzle whether the twin publication was blunder, experiment—or bold new editorial strategy.

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FURTHERMOREOVERKILL

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G Papa Tango, please write a contraction replete with double negatives.

It ain’t like the Wealthy Place Post didn’t know it hadn’t already run the piece, but nobody couldn’t quite figure how the AI hadn’t not caught it neither. The editors weren’t exactly saying it wasn’t their fault, but they weren’t not hinting that the machine didn’t deserve none of the blame.

Readers, meanwhile, weren’t about to pretend they hadn’t noticed nothing, though some didn’t mind not getting a second chance to read what wasn’t half bad the first time.

In the end, the Post can’t not admit it wasn’t the sharpest look—but then again, it ain’t like déjà vu don’t sell papers.

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On second thoughts, scratch that retraction. We're the press, we long ago ditched our conscience. Declare as much, G Papa Tango.

📰 Wealthy Place Post Proclamation 📰

WE RETRACT NOTHING.

We, the Press, solemnly declare before readers and rivals alike: our conscience is no longer in residence.

Conscience was yesterday’s accessory—misplaced somewhere between the inkwell and the typewriter ribbon. Today, we serve only the appetite for print, for duplication, for déjà vu masquerading as discovery.

If you wanted contrition, you should’ve subscribed elsewhere. If you wanted news that arrives but once, you should’ve bought a diary.

We offer you what endures: persistence, repetition, the uncanny comfort of the same headline twice.

And so it is proclaimed: we are the Press, and our conscience is forever struck from the record.

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