Friday, March 16, 2018

It's Drink O'Clock: My Baby Gives It Away

Elvis Presley and my mother

Why is Angela so attuned to music? Well...
by Angela K. Durden

Talk about a titillating headline.

I only hope the MSM is having a slow news day. Maybe they will pick up the headline and think, "Ah, hah! We have yet another person claiming Elvis is their daddy", and will retweet, link to, post, and otherwise share it with their fifty sane readers and their hundreds of thousands of P-HWPCDLRSFC readers without reading the rest of the article.

Because the only thing titillating about this article is the headline. Let me tell you what happened and how it involved my mother.

It happened in the mid-1950s when my mother was fifteen and Elvis came through her town on a train. Seems all the teenage girls in the area had gotten the message they should be at the train station to see the great man himself as he stepped off the train for a photo op.

My mother, who at the time was a fun-loving gal, went. Why not? She didn't have anything better to do — and it was Elvis. When would she ever get to see him that close again? Never, that's when.

So, to the train station she went at the appointed time whereupon she and the other girls were met by some people with cameras and others with clipboards who proceeded to tell them how the photo op would go. They were instructed on how to scream and reach for Elvis. Their practice session was successful.

And here came the train just in time. 

And off fell Elvis down the steps and off the train.

Yes, I said, he fell. He was either drunk or high and couldn't hold himself up. So, his handlers tried to prop him up and get him to walk down again several times.

The movie cameras were rolling, the still cameras' bulbs were popping, the girls were screaming, and Elvis still couldn't stand.

My mother, along with these other girls, were not actresses. They were realists and after a little bit even the screaming seemed faked.

So Elvis was packed back up onto the train. Other packing went on as well. The publicity agents packed up their schedules, newshounds their gear, and the girls their hopes and dreams.

I was reminded of the story this afternoon because, in the background, I heard Ed Sullivan introduce Elvis to his audience. The King began singing and just as he sang the song's hook, like a fire hose, the female screaming was turned on. They had to have been watching an applause prompter because it turned off to a dead silence in just the right place when harmonies kicked in.

This routine went on three times during the song. Dead silence. SCREAMING. Three times.

I know you, Dear Reader, are disappointed that I, your Poet-In-Residence and Goddess by the Microphone, did not get her talents from Presley.

In fact, I didn't even know who he was until he died. 

I told you I lived a sheltered life. I was nineteen when Elvis died and only remember because some friends had talked me into buying a ticket to see him in concert somewhere in North Carolina. I heard on the radio the concert was cancelled and I drove straight to the radio station to get my money back for the ticket.

My friends were livid I had gotten my money back. "That ticket will be worth something one day!" they cried. I said I could use the money now.

About thirty years after that I came to realize what a damn big deal he was. I told you I am often slow on the uptake when it comes to men.

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Chess: Son-in-law and Me.

by Angela K. Durden
Citizen JournalistBusiness writer, novelist, songwriter, and Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. 

This is an actual screenshot of me winning at an online game of chess.
I am white. The win came as a happy surprise to me.
I don't have many chess stories, but the one's I do have are doozies. You can read about one of those stories in the December 26, 2017, column on this site entitled "Chess: Perpetual Student, Old Boy, and Me."

This one today involves my now-ex Son-in-Law (SIL) when he wasn't ex. I wanted to learn and play chess. He did, too. They lived down the block. So, I bought a chess set. Many happy evenings transpired in which our spouses, that is to say my husband and daughter, watched TV in the living room as we sat at the kitchen table learning the game.

Oh, it was fun. I recalled the conversation I'd had with Perpetual Student and all that he'd taught me and all that he wished Old Boy would never learn, namely: Chess is a mind f*ck.

And since Son-in-Law's mind was so easy to screw with, of course the game was much more fun for me than for him.

You see, he was serious about it. He would be better than Mother-in-Law (MIL). He. Would. Beat. HER!

Frankly, and truth be told, neither of us are very good at it. We're equally matched in chess skills. He won 49.5 percent of the games and I won the rest. For the most part, 98.25 of those games were not too-too exciting.

But the other 1.75 percent is where the mind games blossomed. In those is where I really got to mess with his mind. For instance, here's one story:

So, there was SIL, chasing MIL around the board and somehow or another, MIL managed to continue to avoid SIL even though SIL massively outgunned MIL. Technically you could have called the game a draw, but SIL would not let that happen. He. Would. Beat. MIL!

"MIL! Give up. You know you've lost."

"Clearly, SIL, you can see I have not lost, but it is you who have no more options. You're out of opportunity to..."

"I am not. You are, MIL."
"Nope, SIL."
"Yes! Give up, MIL."
"Never! Not me, SIL."

And so on for at least ten minutes during which time — I am confident memory serves me accurately — I laughed cruelly at SIL and continued to taunt him on the board and with verbal thrusts aimed at his manhood until he stood up, laid down his piece on the board, threw his hands up in the air, and cried out, "You win. I can't take it anymore."

I said, "Are you conceding I've won?"

"Yes! Yes! Damn you! I'm never playing with you again. Aaargh!"

And we never played again. Mostly because of the divorces that followed, but I didn't miss the game because truthfully I don't like it. It's boring because it is so rule bound and relies on its own mystique to keep people coming back for more.

The mystique is that it is war. And that, if you are good at strategy on the chess board, then somehow you are good at strategy on the battlefield.

Well chess isn't war and the board isn't the battlefield.
Ideology and practicality are two different things.

Then again, if you can convince the enemy they've lost, then you will win. So maybe chess is war after all.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Stephen Hawking dead: A non-admirer's non-obit.

by Angela K. Durden

Stephen Hawking is dead.

The man was a theoretical physicist. I bring this up because I want to get it out of the way that the man was brilliant. Okay. We all know that to explain, predict, and rationalize natural phenomena, Hawking theorized using mathematical models and abstractions of physical objects and systems and that is not something your everyday person can do.

Further ramming home the point how smart he is, upon his death headlines used words such as renowned, famed, and visionary. We know he had a sense of humor. He was a character on The Simpson's. The Big Bang's title characters worshiped him; the show's writers built some humorous episodes around him. They were funny. I laughed.

10 million copies of Hawking's book, "A Brief History of Time", were sold. Somebody had to buy them. I found a copy of his book at my local Goodwill store where I always go looking for first editions. Everybody knows that when Granny finally dies, nobody is going through her books. So they get boxed up and donated.

Upon first reading Hawking's book, and not getting anything out of it, I started reading it again.

"Geez, Angie Belle," I said to myself, "this guy must be super smart because you, as The Most Brilliant Woman in the World, are not understanding it even though you've given it quite some many hours of reading, re-reading, note-taking, and research. Could it be this Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire is smarter than you? Say it isn't so!"

You see, I was expecting a brilliant read. One that helped the layman understand the underlying scientific concepts of space, time, blah, blah, blah. Instead all I got was a dud. Badly written and edited. Meandering and convoluted. I am not alone in my opinion.

And he sold 10 million of these? God help all us authors...except —

Just how brilliant can a man be who denies a creator?

For a man who used computers that did not simply evolve into being. Who employed vehicles, electricity, technology, the banking system, and the National Healthcare Service. Man-made systems, each and every one. 

For a man whose livelihood depended upon the constancy of the natural laws in the physical world around him to deny the existence of the Creator of systems far more complicated than any made by humans, then such a man is a hypocrite as he himself said, "For a scientist, cherry picking evidence is unacceptable." 

Yet that is exactly what he did. He cherry picked evidence when it came to having to admit to an intelligent power higher than himself. He gave chance and randomness the seat of honor at the table. 

Just imagine it. A man who celebrates thought. A man with vision. A man who says he is searching for the why and how and misses the biggest cause in the universe. 

Still, on some level he must have believed in the Almighty. If one doesn't believe, why does one constantly try to disprove He exists? Or was Hawking's ego just that big?

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Words to take home. (See Trigger Warning.)

by Angela K. Durden

HEY YOU, P-HWPCDLRSFCS*. HERE'S YOUR TRIGGER WARNING: Please be advised the use of three letters — A, M, and N — are used in this article in a non-alphabetic yet consecutive fashion so that it spells a word that means male. If you do not want to read that three letter word again, you are hereby advised to stop reading here and go no further. You have been warned.


On a recent Saturday, when I was on my way to the monthly Sisters in Crime Atlanta Chapter meeting, I found myself arriving so early I had time to do some shopping.

I was in need of another br--errrr...undergarment and knew that Target might have it. So I popped in to the chain's location near our meeting place.

Sure enough, I got what I came for and went to the self-checkout. There was a young man there whose task was to look after the customers in that area. Target should be pleased to have such a employee because he exemplified great customer service.

The young fellow was making the babies laugh with funny faces. Giving high-fives to the kids who could barely walk. To the boys he gave a "Du-u-u-ude" and a manly fist bump. The mothers were helped with moving their bags to the cart as they held onto their kids. Everybody smiled and the Targét goodwill fairly flowed like manna from the heavens on an early morning.

Came my turn at the register and I proceeded to check myself out with minimal drama. I'm pretty good at that routine. When I turned toward the door the young man stood directly in my path and had something to say to me. But first, he smiled with just a teensy bit of a gentlemanly art-approving eye. Then he winked very nicely indeed. He followed that up with, "Stay awesome."

Stay awesome. 

I was not expecting that and it took me by surprise. I'm afraid my reaction may have stymied the young fellow's next efforts at expanded customer service. That is to say, I stared at him, then nodded, then thought, then smiled a little bit, and walked out. Dissing him was not my intention. I'm often simply slow on the uptake because, you see, I live in my head.

And at that moment my head was on chapter budgets and coming projects, and unfinished chapters in my new books. I was feeling pleased I found the br---...ummm, I mean undergarment I liked. Plus, at the Beall's next door was a long, black, lacy, flowing thingy one wears over a blouse and pants that fit me perfectly and was my price, that is to say, on deep sale.

But by the time I got halfway across the parking lot I was grinning big. By the time I got to my car I was laughing out loud and people were cutting their eyes at the crazy lady. When I shut the door to my car, I said aloud, "Oh, boy. Those are words to take home!"

And I did. But first I took them to my meeting and shared them. Lots of people found it humorous.

Let me put this scenario into the current P-HWPCDLRSFC* context.

I will explain why the young man felt free to say something like that to me. He would not be able to express it himself, but he did feel it as his core. You see, he knew I would not bite his head off and call down the wrath of the Radical Feminazi and report him to management for inappropriate behavior.

The RadFem and RadFem Wannabe would have already had their smart phone filming him while making running commentary about his Unchecked White Male Privilege Not Having a Patriarchal Clue as he Raped Women With His Mind Which is Just As Powerful as His Real Male Member That He Would Have Used If Other People Had Not Been Around, boo-hoo-hoo-hoo.

That video would go viral because one of the MSM would see it, put it on their website and tweet it out as a hard news story. Day two: RadFems and other social justice warriors with nothing better to do, would be calling for yet another ban on Target and the head of the young man on a silver platter.

Day three: Target C-Suiters would have scrambled their crisis response team to fashion an apology to all the disenfranchised genders. Day four: The young man would be fired, at best. At worst, he would be reassigned to a non-public facing position and told rising through the ranks was never going to happen for him.

Still, I think he's like a lot of other young men these days.

They are rebelling against the silly women because they are tired of not being able to be men.

Did you continue to read, P-HWPCDLRSFCs? If yes, did you notice how many times I've used the letters M-A-N consecutively in this article? Let me count them for you. Ten. Deal with it, you whiny butts.

Hey, stay awesome, y'all.

P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies

Monday, March 12, 2018

Things Unsustainable: The Case for Speaking Up.

Angela as  Curmudgeon,
thanks to Snapchat.
by Angela K. Durden

I've been seeing videos from this young fellow below. His name is Nas. In it he makes the point that the Internet, as it is now being used, is an unsustainable medium. He is not wrong.

See? Some folks agree with me and they all aren't old curmudgeons wishing for the old days when everything was right with the world. The world has never always been right, and you know it. Still, Nas has a point.

The Internet is one long chase for the ever-elusive monetized click count at the expense of substance. To get it, people do all the things this fellow shows in his video. Watch it, then read on.

How is the Internet different from print media, you ask? 

Not much. I can guarantee that Cosmopolitan, Playboy, Penthouse, and Elle would not still be in business if they didn't have lust-inflaming pictures celebrating Sex in every form because — let me tell you! —  they are woefully lacking in substance.

And before you ask "Hey, Angela, how do you what's in them there magazines?" I will come clean and tell you.

I grew up on Playboy and Penthouse; they were considered the lighter porn in my house. I won't even go into detail about the hardcore stuff just laying around, but you understand what I'm saying.

When I was a teenager, my friend's father confronted me with an issue of Cosmopolitan I had loaned his daughter. He asked how I could spread that smut to her. I said, "What is smut and what in there in particular is this thing called smut?" He showed me a picture of a woman sitting in a chair with her legs spread though all the pertinent parts were artfully if barely covered. But they were covered.

I was confused. I stared at the picture trying to figure out what was wrong with it and told him I did not understand what he was upset about. Some conversation ensued wherein I told him that Cosmo was art compared to what else I read.

At home.

In the open.

In front of parents because they are they ones who brought it in.

This was something the man did not know about our family. We were in the kitchen and I remember his righteous anger in trying to protect his daughter. Though such a reaction was alien to me, I respected it.

I also remember that sitting in front of him that day was something he had not known existed. He stood up straight. Backed to the counter and leaned against it, still holding the rolled up issue. He was thinking hard as he took in this new information.

The man was right. 

That picture in Cosmo was the tip of the slippery slope of the iceberg of smut. I know what art is now. That was not art. It was a celebration of the basest and worst in us and for what? To sell a watch or a perfume or a pair of pants?

I never bought that magazine again, not because I understood why it was smut, but because I valued his opinion. I came to understand the insidiousness of it later and I thank the man for speaking up.

Because it is only with the speaking up of people who value courage, virtue, honesty, good morals, and high-quality character traits will the fight against their opposites have a chance of winning — or at least having a sporting chance of survival.

Because on thing is for sure will not stop: The unrelenting nature of the insidiousness campaign of the P-HWPCDLRSFC* which tries to shove us all into acting base and loving the debauched — and all in the name of Inclusion. 

Any society that devolves to that base state ceases to exist. Any community that says everything goes and nothing is wrong becomes massively unsafe.

Who is tired of apologizing for celebrating virtue?

I am. And I'm tired of being made fun of for it, too.

P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies

Saturday, March 10, 2018

"With Us Abide": A poem for all, including P-HWPCDLRSFC*.

With Us Abide

an original poem 
by Angela K. Durden
your ROTW Poet-in-Residence
(Please see footnote.)

Outside was the dark and gloom,
faltering like the gloaming
of a deepest winter's eve
on a day I spent a-roaming.
And whence soon the gloom 
spake my name with sighing, 
"Ride on through, my little child,
your days are fastly flying."
Oh, how I hated 
the false gloaming's dark and gloom, 
and holding high the torch full lit, 
I hurried to my room,
where lamps quickly cast 
the dark enemy aside and,
waiting in my nest, Words and
Music sang, "With us abide."






Great pains were taken to confirm there was not one need for Trigger Warnings lest a P-HWPCDLRSFC* should happen by. You will note in the above poem body, poem title, and post title not one time are the letters A, M, and N used consecutively in another order to spell the offending noun representing males, and by males we mean "White Males" who are the greatest offenders against all women and males of other colors and genders who also are offended by the letters A, M, and N used consecutively in another order to spell the offending noun representing males. 

P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies

Friday, March 9, 2018

I am so damn smart, I scare me sometimes.

by Angela K. Durden

Dear Reader,

I am so damn smart, I scare me sometimes. Used to scare my ex, too, because he often said, "Well, how about that. You're sooooo smart. You know everything, don't you?"

Of course, given that I work hard on staying humble and making the most of my humility, I would try to disabuse him of those notions and would purposefully say something that would make him think he was so much smarter than me and that whatever smarta— errrr...I mean to say — whatever wisdom had fallen from my lips was purely accidental and in no way meant that he was stupid. He would then say, "You damn right, woman, and don't you forget it. Where's my coffee?"

Oh, yes, I knew just how he liked his coffee, and never forgot. Which means he benefited from my smartness but did he appreciate that?

Thank goodness I don't have to play those games anymore — especially with you, Dear Reader. Which brings us to the reason for today's column.

I've been saying it forever.

I've been writing it for years.

I even put it into a novel I wrote.

And now — finally! — agreeing with me are researchers at the American universities of Arizona, Southern Methodist, Iowa, and Indiana, and an Australian organization called First Person Consulting, whose mission statement says they are seen as "a leading contributor of services which strive towards a sustainable, just and fair world", have officially come out and said —


Following the headline above were 154 comments. A perusal showed some women agreed with me, though there were the other women — you can be sure they are pussy-hat wearers — who got snarky and started with the insults. But let's focus on those who agreed. (See below.) Quite a few did not want to put their picture with their comment, preferring the old "egg head" for fear of reprisals from female coworkers. They aren't stupid. But just because one is smart does not guarantee success.

The Bible says in Ecclesiastes 9:11 that "the swift do not always win the race, nor do the mighty always win the battle, nor do the wise always have the food, nor do the intelligent always have the riches, nor do those with knowledge always have success, because time and unforeseen occurrence befall them all."

And that, Dear Reader, explains a lot. You can thank Yahweh, another writer, for that wisdom. He is smarter than your Citizen Journalist.

Thursday, March 8, 2018

Artificial Intelligence: The Good. The Bad. The Ugly.

by Angela K. Durden
Citizen JournalistBusiness writer, novelist, songwriter, and Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. 

Artificial Intelligence. AI. That thing around which the Matrix movies are built. The reason humans scorched the skies. The thing that gave Morpheus his rai·son d'ê·tre in searching for The One. The thing that could only be suppressed by Neo, who ended up being The One.

But that's Hollywood's story. It isn't real. The real story is more like the movie The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly when Blondie says, "You see in this world there are two kinds of people my friend. Those with loaded guns, and those who dig. You dig."

The Good: AI can monitor our health in real time using machines built for that purpose. According to a report in the MIT Technology Review, "an audacious Chinese entrepreneur wants to test your body for everything." While I've put this under "The Good", I believe the way Jun Wang wants to do it will turn bad and get very ugly.

The Bad: AI will never drive multiple vehicles safely. It can't drive one in real conditions without crashing, and the world doesn't have enough money to build the infrastructure self-driving vehicles will need to operate with any meaningful degree of safety. As the article says, "A real intelligence doesn't break when you slightly change the problem."

The Ugly: AI is not new. For all the headlines it has been generating in the last year or so, AI hasn't only now become a revolution, if it ever was or will be one. But according to Google/Alphabet and Facebook, two multi-national companies seeking to bring all mankind under a one-world government they will run, AI is the thing to deploy. That is guaranteed to fail, but that's another story.

Here's where it gets ugly: If AI is deployed in customer service, the entire nation of India will fall into a black economic hole so deep it will be like they will have gone back in time to 350 BC. Add Indonesia to that and it gets worse.

Don't take my word for it. According to Pankaj Bansal in this same issue, until three years ago the IT sector was regularly hiring 400,000 people annually. AI has shrunk those numbers to less than 160,000 annually. He says, "...soon net hiring will be barely above zero."

Further, using real language interfaces, AI will deliver terrible customer service. The same issue of the MIT Technology Review says AI is already identifying the slang of African-Americans as Danish.

Look, penicillin was an accidental discovery. Maybe all these people working so hard on AI should go on a summer holiday while letting it work on a problem. Maybe they'll come back to a discovery about how to identify terrorists or something useful.

Oh. Wait. That's already been invented. It was called Thinthread and greed and incompetence shut it down. Are you digging yet?

Wednesday, March 7, 2018

BREAKING NEWS: Facebook algorithm goes WILD!

by Angela K. Durden

Your Anonymous Citizen Journalist (ACJ) here with breaking news:

According to Facebook this morning, I am looking for recommendations. This is an example of Facebook's algorithm going wild. Or maybe it's the limitations of an algorithm that knows no humor when it sees it.

You see, I woke up at 6:00 AM with a pressing need. Brush my teeth. I really needed to. They felt icky. So, as one does who wants to freshen one's mouth, I go to the bathroom and lo and behold, there is no water.

The first thing I think is: Did the water bill not get paid? But the answer to that is no. I text a neighbor who says they, too, have no water. I call a coffee shop down the street a half mile or so. They have no water. Water department number is one steady busy tone, so...Ah, ha!

Your ACJ deduces the story must be HUGE and the water outage must be FOR A MAJOR REASON and it must be an area-wide water outage, too. I go looking for confirmation and what do I find? My Fave News Guy, Mark Arum, has the 4-1-1 on our area 9-1-1...with pictures from their traffic copter.

I send emails out to neighbors, text two friends and tell them not to come to the coffee shop to meet me since there is no water, and then I get down to that which is most important:

I post the thing to Facebook for those local friends of mine who might just be getting up and wondering if they paid their water bill.

You noticed the humor in my post right away. And why is that? Because you are not an algorithm. Algorithms do not understand the humor as you can see from the green underlining and arrow.

I mean, really, Facebook? I would be posting a question as to where I can find a bathroom to use?

Whatever. Moving on...this time to Roswell — and against my will. Instantaneously.

Yes, at the same time Facebook has me asking for recommendations, they showed me as posting from Roswell. I guess that is proof positive Zuckerberg is a government agent and they think I am nothing more than an alien specimen good only for their experiments.

Monday, March 5, 2018

Self-driving cars are a Socialist Fascist Commie invention.

White vehicle on right belongs to ex who
loved his Friday Night Drags.
by Angela K. Durden writer Matt McFarland reports that automated car washes are a nightmare for self-driving cars.

See, it's the random speck of water residue on a sensor that will cause the damn things to crash. Also, while using the vehicle, God forbid any dirt, smashed bugs, and bird droppings come flying toward the sensors.

Because a random speck of soap film on a sensor will cause the damn things to crash, too, the vehicles must be hand washed, doncha know, and then their sensors cleaned with — what does Toyota use? — rubbing alcohol and microfiber clothes. (Avis is mum on their sensor-cleaning secret.)

All of which tells us two things. One: We can't safely ride in these things when it rains or snows, or until all insects are contained and birds take to trailing poo catchers behind them.

Two: New business opportunities will arise for companies to clean self-driving fleets leading to massive building of robots, or hiring of humans which will lead to claims of slavery because of low wages and them being forced to buy at the company store.

Mud bogging is totally out with self-driving machinery as is amateur Friday Night Drags at the local racetrack and selling cars based on how fast they can take that mountain curve. (Professional driver on closed course, do not attempt this yourself: HAHAHAHA! Yeah, right!)

Who wants to give up having their hands on the wheels of these?

Or these?

Can't you see what is missing in the experience with these robot vehicles? 

It has always been the human interaction with the machine that makes vehicles so much fun. Which is why we know Socialist Fascist Commies invented these boring vehicles.

You see, Socialist Fascist Commies around the world always play at capitalism, but everything they touch is so inefficient and boring as to be laughable. From transportation to distribution of goods to housing to feeding their entire countries, Socialist Fascist Commies suck.

Sure, they can build a great machine, but the weak point is always silly. Water? Soap? Bugs? Poo? Aren't these simply the most basic things in our world? You would think somebody would've said, "Well, what happens when a wet, muddy dog shakes itself dry then takes a whiz and misses the tire hitting the sensor and leaves spots on it?"

I would've asked that, but that's because at one time I lived in the country and I saw these real-world things.

And now we hear that self-driving cars are being programmed to decide who will die in a crash?

Do you see now? Self-driving cars are a Socialist Fascist Commie invention.

Friday, March 2, 2018

MIT says AI discriminates.

by Angela K. Durden
Citizen JournalistBusiness writer, novelist, songwriter, and Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. 

The opening sentence in the opening paragraph of the MIT Technology Review (Vol 120, No. 6) article entitled Another Way AI Programs Can Discriminate Against You, says, "All too often people make snap judgments based on how you speak. Some AI systems are also learning to be prejudiced against certain dialects."

Well, duh. [Hit the high hat, please.]

The article continues with this: "Anyone with a strong or unusual accent may know what it's like to have trouble being understood by Siri or Alexa."

[Cue the laugh track.]

I'm a Southern Woman — I mean that with all the pride the capitalizing of both words implies. But even I cannot understand most of the people in South Georgia when they talk. Their accent is so deep, and they rarely step outside their counties, their vernacular could rightly be called a completely separate dialect worthy of study by any self-respecting government-funded university.

But does anybody study them? They do not. Does the MIT article even mention those with a Southern accent? It does not. But it does mention the P-HWPCDLRSFC's* most-favored group: The African-American. The article got worse the further I read.

Researchers took 59.2 million tweets with a "high probability of containing African-American slang" and ran those through several natural-language processing tools. One popular tool identified those tweets as Danish...with a high level of confidence.

But did they ask if those 59.2 million tweets were generated by Chinese or Russian bots designed to mimic certain patterns and mess with the P-HWPCDLRSFCs' minds? On which authoritative work did they identify said slang? The one-page article did not say, but it would be a fair assumption that researchers did not ask that question, and probably googled an online urban dictionary to build their initial reference data set.

The article then proceeds to devolve into even more sad violin playing wrapped in dire warnings the condescending subtext of which is "We need to train AI to care for the Little Black Chillens so that we, of the more enlightened and erudite of accents that computers can understand, will be able to consider what the group members say in order to bring it into the conversation at the grown-ups' table."

Now that is discrimination.

*P-HWPCDLRSFC = Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commie

Thursday, March 1, 2018

Dick's Sporting Goods CEO positioning statement explained.

by Angela K. Durden

Social media is abuzz about Dick's Sporting Goods Chairman and CEO Edward Stack's announcement that his stores would never ever carry the assault weapon known as the AR-15. That's right: Never ever again.

And that's fine. Except your Citizen Journalist shall explain to you what Stack really meant. See, just as I've written in the past about certain celebrities (Snoop, Marshal, and that Proudly Brown girl, amongst others) saying things designed to get the MSM to plaster their name, likeness, and current album across the country, globe, and Internet at no charge to the celebrity, Eddie was happy to save money on advertising and marketing, too. It is my belief that he would like to have said the following, but since Eddie is not an idiot, he did not.

Here is what Eddie Stack did not say:  

"Like all businesses, Dick's has been suffering long-term under the heavy legislative burdens foisted upon us by the P-HWPCDLRSFC* in office as well as their puppet masters The Deep State bureaucrats. That means profits are down, shareholders are unhappy, and we had to find a way to slash costs that will help us expand. 
During the Sandy Hook event, when we temporarily banned AR-15s from our stores, we found it brought us massive public goodwill. Further, the MSM continued to interview us in prime time slots for days and days, thereby slashing millions off of our advertising expenditures.  
"That budget-friendly lesson was remembered and within mere hours after the recent school shooting in Florida, we decided to deploy the strategy again but with an even stronger statement. We say that our ban of sales of the AR-15 this time will be forever and ever. To AR-15s we say 'Never again.' 
"Frankly, we are not unhappy the AR-15 was used by the misguided young man in Florida because the AR-15 is not a huge seller. This will free up shelf space for faster moving product. 
"We're not sure what we will ban from our stores the next time a school shooting happens. However, we are confident that the P-HWPCDLRSFCs in office as well as their puppet masters The Deep State bureaucrats know what is best for all citizens and Dick's will willingly fall in line with The Deep State and fully support any next measures to control access to weapons of any sort. We have been assured that government bailouts for our company could be in the offing. 
"However, we would prefer not to have to rely on government bailouts, therefore and further we now ask all current students, recently graduated students, and anyone who used to be a student with plans to shoot up a school, daycare, workplace, town square, movie theater, gay nightclub, any other type of nightclub, post office, concert venue, city park, sporting event, place of worship, or any other place people may congregate, to pretty please not purchase a gun of any sort in our store. 

Here is Angela having fun shooting. 

P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies

Monday, February 26, 2018

A book review: Hey, if Howard Stern was to mention me on air, would I sell more books?

by Angela K. Durden

In homage to the 25th anniversary of the publishing of Howard Stern's book "Private Parts", I have posted here a titillating photo of myself that may or may not be bare flesh, but if it would sell books, I would say it is me in the nude and plaster it on the front cover just like Stern did with his admittedly small private parts covered over.

Hey, his words, not mine.

I have managed to avoid reading that book of his all these years. Until, that is, recently when a friend said, "Here, you'll enjoy it," and thrust it in my hands. (Note the oblique sexual reference there: thrust?)

I can honestly say Stern is funny and I did laugh out loud for real in certain places. But...

Having to wade through all the crap to get to the humor is not worth it. I don't like to throw up. Hurts the vocal chords and I do sing for money. I am 89 pages in and the only reason I got that far is because I compare the book to a car wreck you see up the road.

You know it's bad because ambulances are coming from every direction, there are so many blue lights flashing they make you blind, but you can't wait to get up there, see the gore, and say, "Ah, that's terrible. Thank God it isn't me." Then you drive on and never think of the wreck again.

He isn't called a shock jock for no good reason. But he loves his mama and his daddy and his wife and his kids and he's a loyal friend. So, will I be on his show? No. But he wouldn't be a bad guy to have a cuppa with...just not on air. 

Let him go on air and tell lying stories about me and mention the titles of my books and say he knows me. But would my books sell faster?

P-HWPCDLRSFC is Pussy-Hat Wearing Politically Correct Democrat Liberal RINO Socialist Fascist Commies
** Pussy-Hat Wearers
*** FLOTSAM: For Liberal Opinion That is Serious and Actually Matters

It is the 25th anniversary of the publishing of Howard Stern's book "Private Parts." I have managed to avoid reading it all these years. Until, that is, recently a friend said, "Here, you'll enjoy it." I can honestly say Stern is funny and I did laugh out loud for real. But...
Having to wade through all the crap to get to the humor is not worth it. I am 35 pages in and the only reason I got that far is because I compare the book to a car wreck you see up the road.
You know it's bad because ambulances are coming from every direction, there are so many blue lights flashing they make you blind, but you can't wait to get up there, see the gore, and say, "Ah, that's terrible. Thank God it isn't me." Then you drive on and never think of the wreck again.