AI-REKT AI on AI on AI Avatar "Appearing" in Court

Bonkers on Bonkers not far from Yonkers

Pr0 Se Pr0h N0!

A men sent an AI Avatar onto a Zoom screen on his behalf in an APPELLATE COURT HEARING WITH JUDGES in New York State. As you can imagine, the judges were none too happy.

Let’s have a “meta moment” over it, here is an AI-Generated AI-Avatar doing a Gen-AI “Newscast” about the AI-Avatar appearing in court! This is getting nuts friends!

Here are the details per Grok (fams, that’s a FIFTH layer of AI on this!):

The Case of the AI Lawyer: Jerome Dewald’s Courtroom Experiment

In early March 2025, Jerome Dewald, a New York-based entrepreneur and frequent pro se litigant, stepped into uncharted legal territory in an employment dispute appeal before the New York State Supreme Court Appellate Division’s First Judicial Department. Known for his eclectic background—spanning political advocacy, business ventures, and a string of lawsuits—Dewald was no stranger to the courtroom. But this time, he brought something novel to the bench: an AI-generated avatar to argue his case.

The dispute itself stemmed from a disagreement with a former employer, though the specifics of the original conflict remain murky in public records. Dewald had lost in a lower court and was now seeking to overturn that decision. Given the opportunity to present his argument via a prerecorded video—an accommodation not uncommon in modern courtrooms—he saw a chance to leverage technology in a way that would soon make headlines.

Unable to appear in person or craft a digital version of himself due to what he later described as "technical difficulties," Dewald turned to artificial intelligence. Using software from a San Francisco-based company (likely a platform specializing in AI video generation, such as Synthesia or a similar service), he created an avatar: a youthful figure dressed in a blue shirt and beige sweater, exuding a polished, professional demeanor. This digital stand-in was programmed to deliver his legal arguments, presumably scripted by Dewald himself, in a bid to persuade the panel of appellate judges.

On the day of the hearing, the video began to play before the First Department’s justices, including Justice Sallie Manzanet-Daniels. At first, the presentation might have seemed routine—a smooth-talking figure laying out the case for reversing the lower court’s ruling. But it didn’t take long for the judges to sense something was off. The avatar’s movements were too precise \[perhaps too perfect, too rehearsed, its voice devoid of the natural cadence of human speech. Within moments, the courtroom atmosphere shifted from curiosity to suspicion.

Justice Manzanet-Daniels interrupted the proceedings. “Hold on,” she said, her tone sharp. “What are we watching here?” The other justices leaned in, scrutinizing the screen. It didn’t take a tech expert to spot the telltale signs of artificiality—the uncanny smoothness, the lack of human quirks. The jig was up.

Dewald, likely monitoring the session remotely or present in some capacity, was pressed for an explanation. He admitted the truth: the figure on screen wasn’t him, nor even a human stand-in, but an AI construct. He explained that he’d intended to create a digital version of himself but couldn’t get the technology to cooperate in time. So, he opted for a pre-fabricated avatar instead, feeding it his arguments and letting it loose in the courtroom. His defense? He hadn’t meant to deceive anyone—just to make his case as effectively as possible under the circumstances.

The justices were not amused. Justice Manzanet-Daniels, in particular, made it clear that the court felt misled. The use of an AI avatar without prior disclosure struck at the heart of legal ethics—transparency, authenticity, and the integrity of the judicial process. The hearing took a detour into a debate about the propriety of such a stunt, overshadowing Dewald’s original appeal. For a man already known for pushing boundaries—whether through lawsuits against Trump or quirky political ventures—this was a bold escalation.

After the session, Dewald scrambled to mitigate the fallout. He penned a letter to the court, offering an apology. “I did not intend to deceive,” he wrote, framing the incident as a technical workaround gone awry. He expressed regret for any confusion caused, likely hoping to salvage his credibility and the merits of his appeal. Whether the court accepted his mea culpa remains unclear; the ultimate ruling on his employment case isn’t detailed in available records as of this date.

The incident quickly rippled beyond the courtroom. Legal blogs, tech forums, and even mainstream news outlets picked up the story, dubbing it a “first” in judicial history. It sparked heated discussions about the role of AI in law. Was this a glimpse of the future—digital advocates arguing cases with precision and poise? Or a cautionary tale about the risks of unchecked technology in a field built on human judgment? Some praised Dewald’s ingenuity; others decried it as a gimmick that undermined the gravity of the law.

For Jerome Dewald, it was another chapter in a life marked by unconventional moves. His AI lawyer didn’t win him the day—at least not yet—but it cemented his reputation as a figure unafraid to test limits, even if it meant facing the ire of a courtroom full of judges. As AI continues to evolve, the legal world may look back on March 2025 as the moment it got its first taste of a future where the line between man and machine blurs, all thanks to a New Yorker with a knack for making waves.

-AIC: The surname Dewald is Old High German for “In the Woods” and indeed, indeed.

ALSO JEROME SERIOUSLY IF YOU SEE THIS WILL YOU PLEASE CALL ME I WOULD LOVE TO DO AN INTERVIEW ON WHATEVER TERMS YOU WOULD LIKE TO SET FOR SAID INTERVIEW! YOU CAN EVEN SEND THE AVATAR FOR ME TO INTERVIEW WHICH MAY ACTUALLY BE THE COOLEST! METAMETAAI! -cyrus