I prefer my real friends over fake humanoids run by computers and

“I prefer my real friends over fake humanoids run by computers and true trolls filled with genuine venom.” — in this spirited declaration, Alisyn Camerota, the journalist and truth-seeker of our modern age, gives voice to a lament that echoes through the halls of the digital era. Beneath her humor and indignation lies a timeless warning: that as technology advances and communication multiplies, authenticity fades, and the sacred bond of true friendship grows fragile. Her words, though sharp, carry the fragrance of longing — a yearning for what is real, human, and warm, in a world increasingly cold and mechanical.

Camerota’s quote springs from the heart of our century’s paradox. We have built machines that mimic thought, programs that simulate emotion, and networks that connect us — yet in doing so, many have grown more isolated than ever before. The “fake humanoids run by computers” of which she speaks are not merely robots or artificial beings, but the countless digital masks people wear — curated personas, automated replies, hollow flattery coded to sound sincere. Against this flood of illusion, Camerota stands for the unmanufactured soul, the imperfect but genuine warmth of human presence.

Her mention of “true trolls filled with genuine venom” strikes at another truth of the digital age — the rise of cruelty without consequence. In ancient times, to insult or wound another required courage, for one faced the eyes of the offended. But now, hidden behind screens, many have lost the restraint of honor. They strike not with swords, but with words — sharper, colder, and more poisonous. Camerota’s rejection of these “trolls” is not mere disdain; it is a moral stance. She calls upon us to remember that courage and decency are not obsolete virtues, and that the freedom of speech without the discipline of empathy leads only to decay.

The ancients, though they lived without our machines, knew this truth in another form. In the Agora of ancient Athens, philosophers gathered to speak face to face, to test ideas not by algorithm, but by presence — by gaze, tone, and gesture. Socrates, surrounded by his students, would rather die than give up the living conversation that defined truth. Imagine, then, his sorrow were he to see our modern world, where words are thrown like stones across invisible voids, and where the warmth of friendship has been replaced by “likes” and “follows.” Camerota’s quote is the cry of a soul longing for that lost intimacy of understanding — for voices that breathe, hands that comfort, and hearts that listen.

Her sentiment also reminds us of the nature of friendship itself. True friendship, as Aristotle wrote, is not based on pleasure or utility, but on virtue — on the shared pursuit of goodness and truth. To prefer “real friends” over digital imitations is to return to this ancient wisdom. A friend is one who knows your flaws and stands beside you still; a friend cannot be programmed, nor replaced by pixels or text. Camerota’s words awaken in us a moral clarity: that relationships built on honesty, vulnerability, and presence are the only ones worthy of the human spirit.

Yet, her tone is not despairing. There is humor in her lament — the humor of one who still believes that humanity can be redeemed. Her wit softens her warning, reminding us that though the world has changed, our need for authentic connection has not. Even in an age of “fake humanoids,” the human heart continues to seek what it has always sought: love that is uncalculated, conversation that is alive, and companionship that cannot be downloaded.

The lesson, then, is both simple and sacred: guard your humanity. Do not let machines define your worth, nor let the venom of others poison your joy. Choose presence over performance, sincerity over spectacle. When you speak, let it be from the soul, not from the script. When you listen, listen not with your ears alone, but with your whole being. Seek out real friends, as Camerota says — those who meet you not through code, but through compassion.

So remember, O listener of the digital age — technology may connect, but only the heart can unite. Be wary of the “fake humanoids,” those hollow echoes of companionship that drain your spirit. Cherish instead the small, tangible moments of real friendship — the laughter across a table, the shared silence, the simple gesture of being known. As Alisyn Camerota teaches, in an age of algorithms and artificiality, the truest rebellion is to remain deeply, fiercely, and unashamedly human.