Pink Slime and the Phantom Newsroom: When Bots Like ‘San Diego City Wire’ Pretend to Be Your Friend and Neighbor

By Dan Weisman / The Escondido Grapevine  / October 12, 2025

San Diego’s got sunshine, surf, and—who knew—synthetic journalism.

Lately, a site called San Diego City Wire has been popping up in social feeds and search results, dishing out “local” tidbits about home sales, city meetings, and “community happenings.”

It looks like any of the old-school weeklies that used to land on your porch in a blue plastic bag. The headlines are tidy, the writing reads like your cousin’s Facebook recap, and the “About” page chirps about connecting and informing the community.

What could possibly be wrong?

Well, let’s start with the part they forgot to tell you. There’s no newsroom, no reporters, and nobody in San Diego actually writing those stories.

The Chicago Connection Nobody Mentions

Dig a little and you find that San Diego City Wire  is part of a national operation run out of the Midwest by a fellow named Brian Timpone—a onetime journalist turned automation entrepreneur. His company Metric Media, along with sidekicks Locality Labs and Franklin Archer, has pumped out hundreds of look-alike “City Wire” and “Times” sites from Maine to Maui.

They all share the same DNA: Generic “About” pages, cheery slogans, and copy that reads like it was drafted by a mildly caffeinated robot with access to the county assessor’s database.

The real money flows through a Missouri-based nonprofit called the Community News Foundation—aka Metric Media Foundation—that files Form 990s with the IRS but doesn’t employ a single reporter.

In its 2019 filing, the nonprofit admitted that half its revenue—$236,750—was paid straight to Franklin Archer for “publishing.” More recent years show six-figure grants from DonorsTrust, a big donor-advised fund favored by right-of-center philanthropists, and smaller gifts from other ideological foundations.

So when the site claims it’s “here for the community,” you might want to ask which community—San Diego County or the Beltway donor circuit.

Automated Affection and Algorithmic Amnesia

How do they do it? Easy. The network scrapes public data—property transactions, press releases, school statistics—and runs it through a templating system. Add a headline, slot in some numbers, and boom and booyah; zut and ehe’, another “story.” A human may check spelling if the mood strikes.

That’s why these pieces sound eerily bloodless. They are all that and a bag of fake chips. The copy has the pulse of a DMV form letter.

There’s nothing inherently evil about data journalism; actual human reporters use it every day. But the difference between data and journalism is a phone call, a question, or at least the suspicion that something might not be as tidy as it seems.

The Metric Media model skips that step. It’s civic wallpaper—cheap, neutral-looking, and designed to make you stop asking who painted it.

Election Season Magic Trick

Critics call these outlets “pink slime” sites—filler that looks like meat. They tend to bloom right before elections, churning out pieces that just happen to flatter certain candidates or push talking points in local disguise. The timing’s no accident; it’s marketing with a voter-roll map.

In Virginia last year, these same operations mailed physical “newspapers” to swing-district homes. Don’t be shocked if something similar shows up in Escondido mailboxes before the next primary—headline fonts borrowed from The North County Times, stories assembled by servers in Illinois.

Why It Matters Here

Local democracy runs on trust, and trust runs on transparency. Real outlets—from the Grapevine to the Union-Tribune—put names on bylines, issue corrections, and live where they report. When we blow a call, our readers find us at the farmers market and tell us so.

Pink-slime outlets dodge that accountability while siphoning credibility. They make readers think local journalism is still thriving, which conveniently discourages anyone from paying for the real thing. It’s the information-age version of counterfeit currency—small bills, everywhere, devaluing the honest notes.

Once people can’t tell the difference between reporting and manipulation, local government becomes a magician’s table: lots of flourish, not much substance.

A Brief Excursion Into the Numbers

If you’re still wondering whether this is harmless civic cheerleading, consider the money trail. According to the latest filings:

Fiscal Year | Revenue | Expenses | Assets
————|———-|———–|——–
2023 | $6.0 million | $6.0 million | $306k
2020 | $1.0 million | $1.0 million | $120k
2019 | $424k | $422k | $87k

No reporters, no office in San Diego, yet millions flowing through a nonprofit with the words “news” and “foundation” in its name. If that sounds like a magician’s rabbit hole, congratulations—you’re still paying attention.

The Local Antidote

Here at The Escondido Grapevine, we do things the slow, expensive, old-fashioned way: ask questions, chase answers, and occasionally tick off both sides in the process. We get dust on our shoes in Harmony Grove and sand in our keyboards at Moonlight Beach.

So yes, when a site with a San Diego return address starts pumping out content written by algorithms and financed by out-of-state donors, we’re going to call it what it is—a synthetic impersonation of journalism.

And if that makes us sound cranky, good. Crankiness is the first symptom of caring.

Final Word from the Grapevine

Before you share that cheerful “City Wire” post on Facebook—maybe about graduation rates or a council meeting—do yourself a favor. Click the “About Us” page. If it doesn’t list an editor, a phone number, or anyone you could plausibly meet for coffee, you’re not reading news. You’re reading a marketing asset.

Real news has fingerprints. It’s messy, human, sometimes wrong, always accountable.

The next time someone tries to replace it with pink slime, remember: you deserve better than mechanically separated truth.

For even more, go here.