Monday, October 23, 2017

BULLETIN: Social Media Accounts are public.

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

An acquaintance from Bosnia is a naturalized citizen for at least 25 years. This person is horrified that DHS shall be storing information gleaned from social media accounts of holders of green cards and naturalized citizens.

My response was, "DHS has mine, too. It's all public information. Put out on the web. Where's the invasion of privacy?"

Understand this: I trust the DHS about as far as I can throw it. Especially as I learn more about it. 

But, look, if you lay your diary in the middle of a coffee shop and you invite people to come read it and interact with it, then I'm not exactly sure why you should complain if somebody takes notes on the content and studies it later.

Adam Schwartz at the Electronic Frontier Foundation, a nonprofit digital rights group based in San Francisco, said, "You have a tremendous invasion of privacy, and you have no showing that the program has done a thing to advance the safety of the people in our country."

So, DHS hasn't got enough information on the program to prove it works, and that because they don't have enough information on the efficacy of it, they shouldn't do it? Huh?

Nonprofit doublespeak makes me wonder who they are really funded by, but that doesn't mean they aren't right that abuses won't occur.

DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, says about themselves:

The genesis of that mission and of DARPA itself dates to the launch of Sputnik in 1957, and a commitment by the United States that, from that time forward, it would be the initiator and not the victim of strategic technological surprises. 
Working with innovators inside and outside of government, DARPA has repeatedly delivered on that mission, transforming revolutionary concepts and even seeming impossibilities into practical capabilities. 
The ultimate results have included not only game-changing military capabilities such as precision weapons and stealth technology, but also such icons of modern civilian society such as the Internet, automated voice recognition and language translation, and Global Positioning System receivers small enough to embed in myriad consumer devices.
[Paragraph breaks, italics, and bolded text in excerpt are mine.]

Law Enforcement Officers catch bad guys not because LEOs are so smart, but because bad guys are mostly stupid. If you take an ad out in the paper that you're going to rob a bank and the FBI shows up to meet you at the door, you can't exactly complain, now can you?

Sunday, October 22, 2017

"Well, thank you so very much, Mizz Liz. I did not know that Dr. Seuss was a racist SOB."

by Angela K. Durden

Top of the day to ya, good neighbors. Citizen Reporter here with her eagerly awaited and highly anticipated opinion about the quickly going-cold story of the kerfuffle involving Dr. Seuss, a self-righteous librarian, and FLOTUS.

I do not fault the news media for turning their attention elsewhere, but as they say in the news biz: Hey, if it bleeds it leads, and what with the Las Vegas story, what's a few books in comparison, right?

Still, the question is valid: Was Fox News' reporting unfair on this kerfuffle? Watch and see for yourself. Then again, MSM-outlet CBS also reported on the fact that Mizz Liz was counseled on her actions, so I don't think Fox can be called unfair.

Here's the story in a nutshell. 

School librarian Mizz Liz rejected Mizz Melania's donation of Dr. Seuss books. Mizz Melania sent a set of racist books out across the country and only Mizz Liz noticed. Of course, neither did Ol' Hill and Mizz M.O., but did Mizz Liz send them a letter of chastisement?

Oh, no! NEvah! 

Shaking her righteous finger of indignation at Mizz Melania via an open letter published here, Mizz Liz also forgot about the racist party she threw for students in 2015 featuring green eggs and ham among other breakfast items. [**Please see footnote about this open letter wherein Mizz Liz is seeking a better job by putting out her resume.]

But you know what? That's okay. Because Mizz Liz threw that racist party to teach her students two lessons and we all know the kiddies needed to learn that —

When you are a Liberal Socialist Democratic RINO Commie Fascist, you are allowed to be a hypocrite...and 

The same rules you apply to the rest of the population do not apply to you if you are a Liberal Socialist Democratic RINO Commie Fascist.

News outlets have been quick to show some parents' support of Mizz Liz's letter wherein  she schools Mizz Melania about racism and racial insensitivity, and wonders how FLOTUS dares to send books to her school because they are not needy or poor, and don' t you know they have so much money they can hire a librarian with a big fancy degree.

I will go on the record now and say this about those parents: They are idiots. However if the parents were misquoted by MSM outlets, and if the video was manipulated to show them as being in support of the Liberal Socialist Democratic RINO Commie Fascist librarian and yet they were not giving aid and succor to her, then I ask they please accept my humble apologies here and now.

Furthermore, Mizz Liz chastises Mizz Melania about how much money it cost to send these books FedEx 2nd Day Air** because, you see, Mizz Melania is a gabillionaire's wife who has no clue how to pinch a penny. Did Mizz Liz ask if FedEx donated the shipping costs? No Mizz Liz did not because Mizz Liz is a Liberal Socialist Democratic RINO Commie Fascist.


**Please be prepared to have a barf bag handy because you will hurl. It is dripping in pure righteous passive aggressive Liberal Socialist Democratic RINO Commie Fascist indignation. 

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Folks who have continued not to die say the darnedest things.

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

I have continued not to die for quite some time now.

I could've died three times, and came very close to dying one time, but thanks to the intervention of modern medicine and doctors who knew how to properly use it, I did not die at all. As an astute reader, you know this because you are reading this article thus far and going, "Duh, Angela. Sheesh. Can you get on with your story?"

However, as someone who has continued not to die, I'm finding myself saying some of the darnedest things. Things I would never have said even a decade earlier.

When I was a wise and all-knowing nineteen, I remember telling this really old woman, "Well, if you just want to eat raw onions, you could. Mind over matter."

The old woman stared at me with what I now realize is a yuge case of déjà vu, and finally managed to whisper, "One day you'll understand."

As I bit into my big old slice of onion on top of a hamburger patty between a bun, I rolled my eyes and sneered — patiently, of course, as I was wise and all-knowing. The old woman was still reeling from her déjà vu as I happily chowed down and thought, "Honestly. These old people. I'll never get like that."

I wish I was so old now: Forty seems so young.

My déjà vu moments did not arrive until recently but when they came, they came hard, tumbling one over the other in an unrelenting stream of wise and all-knowing helpful Hints & Tips O'da Day from under forty-somethings. 

I used to wonder why my beloved Awesome Aunt Number One (AANO) used to give mean, dirty looks to waitstaff. I now know why. It's because when she arrived in the restaurant they invariably said, "Hello, deeeearrr. Would you like a table?"

At the time I would think, "Oh, isn't that so sweet?" while AANO would reply to the little twit...errrr...waitstaff/host/hostess, "Just show us to a table, pleeeeez. UGGH." 

Now I, a folk who has continued not to die, am popping out with the darnedest thing when it is said to me. That's right, just like AANO I give a mean and dirty look to the waitstaff as I say Godfather-style, "Call me dear one...more...time...and you will not see a tip."

Here I am hanging out in Nashville with another folk
who has continued not to die. That's right!
I hang out with Country Artist Stars who only
wish they could write songs as well as me so, damn it,
I don't deserve to be called "DEAR!"
In case you cannot tell who is who, I am on the left, and
Keith Burns of Trick Pony is on the right.
Awesome Cousin Number One (or ACNO), who was born as if she had already not died for a long time, that is to say she was born old — thank you for waiting while I stop choking on that word — just loves to be called dear. Though she will sneer at the question about the table because, you see, ACNO was born with no patience for idiots. 

So when we go out to lunch the poor waitstaff sees two women who have continued not to die, one threatening their livelihood just because they were trying to be nice, and the other saying (just like AANO did), "Well, OF COURSE we want a table. Why else would we have come in? I mean, really —" ACNO says turning to me — "what an idiotic question. Don't they train these people any better? I'm going to call the manager over and tell him..."

"Yeah!" says I. "Call him over. Damn impertinent! That's what they are. If I was eighty-five, sure, call me dear because I would deserve it, but I am not eighty-five. Do I look eighty-five?"

"You do not," replies ACNO in a most definitive fashion like she really means it. "In fact, for your age, you look damn fine. Nobody would guess you are older than me by eight months."

"I am not older than you by eight months," I correct her. "It is only by four months. Why can't you remember that? Oh, and don't ever say to me again for your age. You got that?"

"Sorry. Got it. Won't do it again. But, oh yeah, that's right. It is four months. I was counting from February to November but I should have been counting from November to February...where are our menus? They are soooo slow. Geez. Can't they see we've been here for two minutes already and withering from hunger? You would think..."

"No customer service these days. Oh, God. Here she comes. I swear to you, ACNO, if that girl calls me dear, you're gonna have to hold me back."

Of course, there is the flip side.

Do I LOOK like a predatory cougar to you?
(You do not have to answer that if you're gonna say no.)
When I go out to eat with my son, who looks like he has continued not to die for a shorter time than I have continued not to die, waitstaff all think he's my boy toy. Yes! It is true! They think I am a cougar. I despise cougars. Cougars are predatory and I am not predatory.

But that is a story for another day.  

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Jedwin Smith: I Am Israel, Prologue Excerpt

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

The killing started again. 
One moment Hadas Malka is sending close friends a smiling selfie, wishing them a joyous Shabbat. The next, the twenty-three-year-old Border Patrol policewoman is dropped to her knees by multiple quick and vicious knife thrusts to her neck. She had no chance to defend herself and died later that Friday evening at Jerusalem’s Hadassah University Medical Center.

Jedwin, center, with
comedian Felon O'Reilly,
and good friend Tom Whitfield

"I Am Israel" is the newest book from Jedwin Smith for which I serve as editor. Expected release date is Spring of 2018.

Enjoy this longer prologue excerpt.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Yes, Hollywood and Politicians knew about Weinstein the International Rapist.

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

Tucker Carlson says politicians and Hollywood enabled Harvey Weinstein. 

They enabled others like him, too. Bill Cosby, for one. Woody Allen for another. 

But hey, when you're making money hand over fist and everything you touch turns to gold, folks tend to look the other way. But there comes a time when even rich international rapists can no longer hide and the enormous weight of their sins comes pouring down upon their heads like hot o
il from a castle keep. 

I've been saying it for years: Hollywood, politics, and dictatorships are simply power structures formed by predators who can't get it up any other way than bringing in violence to the equation. These people never operate in a vacuum and are always supported by lame-duck men and power hungry women.

Not about sex, but a scandal in yet another boys club nonetheless

Now, what is interesting is that in the email exchange between Sony CEO and Gates, we also learn that Gates has been asked to edit his famous show about ancestry to take out the fact that Ben Affleck's ancestors owned slaves. 

Gates, who is famously black and relishes finding out whose ancestors owned slaves, doesn't want to do the editing but feels major pressure to do so. After all, it is a — uh-oh, Angela's gonna say it — white megastar doing the asking. He asks advice of Sony CEO Michael Lynton. Big discussion ensues. Scandal erupts forcing PBS to take tighter control.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

A Man Replies to Miss Angela's Most-Excellent Dating Advice

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

Dear Gentle Reader,

Tis not often a man replies in writing to Miss Angela. Which lack of such types of manly action spawned Miss Angela's Most-Excellent Old-Fashioned Yet Modern Advice for Men on Asking a Woman for a Date column in the first place. 

As you can see with this photographic proof, such a reply did come and it came within four hours of her sharing that column on Facebook.

Miss Angela shall break down the man's reply for her gentle readers. 

The Man: Maybe Mizz Angela shouldn’t be so quick to walk away, laughing.

Miss Angela: As you can tell, The Man has a problem, not with the walking away, but with the laughing while doing it. We know the laughing is the part he is most upset about because at the end he emphasizes the word laughing setting it off by itself with a comma. This tells Miss Angela that The Man is used to being walked away from. 

The Man: See, the guy who might have some real interest is going to be patient, and really gauge the situation.

Miss Angela: They don't call this The War Between the Sexes for no good reason. The man needs to understand that this is war. This war consists of full-scale planned battles that end with marriage and kids and mortgages, when younger, or when expecting ill-health, the search for and acquisition of a nurse and/or a purse. 

For others, this war is also made up of episodes of irregular and unpremeditated fighting — skirmishes, if you will, or dates — whose sole purpose is to spend some pleasant time in an activity upon which they both agree. During this time the man may seem to be engaging in witty conversation for witty conversation's sake. This is merely a ruse, a ploy, a misdirection because the man is usually trying to figure out what it will take to get the woman to peel off her panties while he is in the same room. 

Any man who says otherwise is flat-out lying. 

Further, do not mistake patience with hesitation. Patience is a deliberate action taken upon assessing the need for slowing down. Hesitation comes from being unsure of what next to do. 

It is this unsure hesitation that chaps the female boohiney. In the trenches, one does not want to be beside someone searching for his ammo or asking to borrow yours.  

The Man: To a man, time is valuable, and not to be wasted on trollops and foolishness.

Miss Angela: In this statement, Miss Angela sees so many opportunities to get snarky. But Miss Angela is a lady, a gentlewoman, and will not resort to such as that. She will say, though, that her vast experience with watching who men choose is just the opposite. 

Men like foolishness and adore trollops. 

Why is that? Simple. Based upon the concepts of the path of least resistance and water will find its own level, it takes a lot less work to impress such a female, and it is almost a certainty there will be no effort on his part to peel those panties and get to the goodies. 

If he can convince her it is all her idea then the better for him. He might employ such phrases as "I believe all women are strong" or "I'm a committed feminist." Females who do not fall for those lines from a man usually wear pussy hats and wear pasties in public while daring misogynists with badges to arrest her, or are women who never looked to social-engineering programs to give her strength in the first place. 

The Man: Now, Mr. Fast Hand will come right on out with the invite, because it’s a numbers game, and rejection is just a part of it.

Miss Angela: Dear Heavenly Father, give Miss Angela strength! Does The Man not know that rejection is part of every man's experience whether he hesitates like the wimp he is or puts the whang-dang-doo-whoppy on the woman if he's a "Mr. Fast Hand"?

Does The Man truly believe that at any time it isn't a numbers game for any man or woman? He must because his statement implies that it isn't a numbers game for the man with patience. 

Bull. Crap. 

Miss Angela apologizes for the use of such crude language, but she will explain that this two-word reply is the shorter version of what she first uttered, and which is unprintable, and thus the better choice. 

The Man: The real man will be sure that both of you know the answer, before he asks the question.

Miss Angela: *&%# !+ ^@ $$$*%.  Which is why men prefer foolishness and trollops. 

Miss Angela can tell you, Dear Gentle Reader, that when it comes to men, there is no play book. She has been patient — and thus tortured. She has come out directly: "If you're looking for [fill in category here], that's not me." — and been called a ball-breaking bitch. 

In all cases, these men end up with foolishness and trollops. How does Miss Angela know this? Because Miss Angela sees the men again and they say, "Oh, Miss Angela, why oh why do I keep picking foolishness and trollops? Miss Angela, do you know what she did?"

To which Miss Angela replies, "Spent all your money, beat up your ego, then said goodbye?" 

To which the men say, "How did you know?"

Such laments are usually followed up with, "If you knew she was going to use me and abuse me —" and here is where it gets amusing for Miss Angela — "why didn't you say something and stop me?" 

Miss Angela has often replied, "Look, if giving away all your money is what you wanted to do, why didn't you give it to me by investing in my SaaS that will protect and defend intellectual property rights for creatives? At least that loss would be tax deductible."

Anyway, it's not like Miss Angela has that power. But even if Miss Angela did, she wants a real man. One who can think for himself. One who is responsible for himself.

One who doesn't blame Miss Angela for all his troubles and that's all Miss Angela is going to say about that. 

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Miss Angela's Most-Excellent Old-Fashioned Yet Modern Advice for Men on Asking a Woman for a Date

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

I own a one-and-one condo in a small community. We are so small we have only one dumpster. This dumpster is at the very back of the community which has not stopped total strangers from sneaking in during the middle of the night and quickly dumping their old damn sofas and dishwashers.

Right now you're asking yourself, "What in the hell? What has dumpster misuse got to do with getting excellent advice on dating? Why, oh why, does Miss Angela always have to take the long way 'round?"

Whoa there, big boy. I sure hope you aren't a wham-bam-see-ya-later kind of man. I mean, if you're already rushing Miss Angela to get to the point then let Miss Angela give you the first bit of advice.

Miss Angela's First Bit of Advice by way of Conway Twitty

Granted, quickies have their place and there ain't no denying it. But honey, please understand you must not jump out of the gate with that mindset. Women like the long game and I mean that with every bit of double entendre you can imagine. Learn to play that long game properly and then and only then will quickies pack the punch for everybody involved. 

Just ask Conway. I mean, the man knows, right?

Which brings us to Miss Angela's second bit of advice and which will nicely tie up the dumpster story.

Stop torturing the women.

So somebody snuck in again and donated yet another damn sofa and dishwasher to our community and Miss Angela said, "I'm sick of busting up sofas. I shall tell the management company to send somebody out here to haul this sh*t off because Miss Angela ain't being paid for doing this, damn it." 

And so Miss Angela did, and the management company sent out "Jerry", not his real name. Miss Angela promises that is not his real name because Miss Angela would never publicly humiliate a man using his real name. She will always give him an alias before she delivers said humiliation because Miss Angela is a lady and a gentlewoman though she has been called a ball-busting bitch, but that title simply says more about the man than her.  

Anyway, "Jerry" shows up and Miss Angela goes out to oversee the project because, after all, Miss Angela is picky about how her condo association's money gets spent and she wants to make sure this "Jerry" fellow gets it done proper without wasting any of her money. 

"Jerry" is properly impressed with Miss Angela's performance in helping and overseeing the removal of the junk. That is to say, he was not too put off with her bossi-...errrr...eager helpfulness. Miss Angela knows this because "Jerry" gets that twinkle of interest in his eyes and begins to dig for information.

Jerry: Sooo, now, Mizz Angela, why isn't your husband out here helping you with this project? [You will notice the use of the married Mizz to denote that he really, really, really wants her to believe that he believes she is married, and that he is not, in point of fact, attempting to woo her.]

Miss Angela [thinking Jerry is cute and wanting to give him an opportunity to get to the point]: I don't have a husband.

Jerry [Ding! Ding! Ding!]: Then why isn't your boyfriend helping you?

Miss Angela: I don't have a boyfriend.

[Ring-a-ding-ding! Feeling quite happy he has gotten the information he wanted, that is, Miss Angela is ripe for the plucking, he proceeds to drag the process out even more] 
Jerry: Well, why in the hell not?

Miss Angela: Why in the hell not what?

Jerry: Why in the hell don't they ask to be your boyfriend?

Miss Angela: Because they are skeert. 

Miss Angela then proceeds to walk away as Jerry hollers after her: Well, they are just stupid. 

Miss Angela: [Laughing and walking.]

Jerry: [Blinking. Thinking. Not coming up with anything. And now Miss Angela is gone.]

See? Torture. Which brings us to the last bit of advice.  

If you want to know something specific, just ask.

The above conversation is not unique to "Jerry" as Miss Angela has had this exact same conversation a minimum of 279 times since she got divorced and with each and every one Miss Angela wants to scream and say, "Why don't you just ask if Miss Angela wants to go out and have a meal and a chat?"

See? Boom. The answer would be "Sure, but I don't want a full-time boyfriend" and the man could then have the option of setting up a date and time or walking away. In each case, everybody could get on with their lives and Miss Angela would not be tortured and can get back to doing what Miss Angela does without worrying about some poor fellow's ego. 

Time savings, people. We aren't getting any younger, you know. It's not like this is a brand new process in the history of men and women. 

Bonus final thoughts from Miss Angela. 

Miss Angela wants you to know that she does not hate men. But just as water finds its own level, she feels the men's responses — and even their lack of response, follow thru, and follow up — is a vetting process in and of itself. That is, most men take themselves out of the running and Miss Angela doesn't have to do anything at all but stand there and look pretty.

So, maybe Miss Angela's Most-Excellent Old-Fashioned Yet Modern Advice for Men on Asking a Woman for a Date isn't so good after all. Maybe everything is working just fine. 

As you were. 

Thursday, October 12, 2017

Have you ever noticed...? A couple of thoughts on #CrunkNewsNetwork and Other MSM

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

Angela puts on her Andy Rooney persona this morning with —

"Have you ever noticed that #CrunkNewsNetwork and MSM cannot make up their minds?"

For instance, the NYT reported on a new poll conducted by a company I've never heard of  which said that the vast majority of people who do not know that Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens are, in point of fact, those who have come through the education system built by Liberal Democrat Socialists.

Those over 65 — that is, those who did not get 16 years of Liberal Democrat Socialist education in the Federal Government Reeducation Camps — knew it.

So they have this article decrying the lack of education of a group who is getting that education from what they always point out are the finest minds in the universe.

You can't make this stuff up, folks.

However, I tend to believe Morning Star in this instance because I did some research and discovered that news outlets I have found to consistently hover in the center or the balance scale also trusts them.

So even the Liberal Democrat Socialist are using fair and balanced polls to make my case for me: Liberal Democrat Socialist education sucks.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

The Real Story behind Marshall "Eminem" Mathers BET anti-Trump rant.

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

Marshall Bruce Mathers III, artist name Eminem, is now as relevant as The Fonz. Running out of show ideas, the writers of Happy Days thought it would be super cool to show just how super cool Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli was and had him jump a shark. You remember the episode, right? Here it is. In any case, Happy Days was over and Fonzi was now an enduring snarky joke. 

However, Eminem did more than show his social irrelevance on the BET awards show, he showed his true colors with the ultimate put down of Blacks in this country.

Here's The Real Story

It happened that the Now-Irrelevant Artist (henceforth known as NIA), surrounded himself with young black men and proceeded to pull out a free-style anti-Trump harangue. In yet another case of out-of-touch writers and producers wanting to show what super cool looks like, the rant was only on TV and is only getting shared because it was such a bad example of Angry White Privilege looking for free column inches as has been seen in recent history.

An actor NIA is not. He almost couldn't keep a straight face. He kept having to turn his back to the camera so that nobody could see his glee in getting free column inches that would save him a ton of money.

Here is the tweet BET shared. I couldn't watch it all in one sitting, and I definitely will not here repeat his words and bore you. NIA didn't say anything new. It's obvious he received talking points from the Politically Correct Democratic Socialist Fascist Commie Committee — through a cutout, of course.

Watch if you will. Watch if you can. Be ready to wipe away laughter-induced snot bubbles.

Setting the performance in that most original of gritty urban environments, a stark-white cement parking garage, I noticed that the only thing NIA allowed the Little Black Boys to do was wear suitably outraged expressions. I don't think NIA's homage to The Motor City's history worked so well, either. The backdrop of classic cars screamed "gang bang." Like Detroit needs that message spread some more.

Still, the set pieces, or Little Black Boys, were only good enough to be used to prove NIA is the new version of a benevolent plantation owner who cares about his slaves. They weren't such good actors either: Each outraged sneer looked like they were pretending, at best, and confused, at worst.

I hope they got paid more than scale, even if that pay was off the books. You know. Like a tip or end-of-year bonus boss will slip you with a "Go have yeesef some fun.Don't tell ya ol' lady."

That's right: The young men behind him were stereotyped in the extreme. 

NIA used that stereotype to inflame viewers for the crassest of reasons: He's too cheap to pay for advertising so he's getting lots of people to talk about it and share it.

Which is how I found out about NIA's recent advertising campaign. A business associate of mine, who met me out at the Joe Gransden Jazz Jam last night, sent me a tweet notification she got causing her to say "Oh, that Marshall", and me to say "Marshall who?"

Am I talking smack to NIA? 

Will NIA want to slap me in the mouth? Will he rattle legal sabers? Nah. NIA does not know I exist; and you can't get blood from a turnip so there goes the lawsuit. Besides, he probably just wants me to spell his name correctly in my column. His daughter might try to fight me because you know how it is with little white girls and their plantation-owner daddies.

Whatever. All I can tell you is this: There is nothing worse than an aging racist who is also irrelevant and cheap.

You have heard The Real Story here courtesy of —

#Lice Alert - Be Careful Trying on that Halloween Mask

by Kim D.

It's that time of year - the hunt is on for the perfect Halloween costume, but be careful when trying on masks, hats, wigs, etc. or you may be in for a huge trick instead of a treat. A report from Channel 11 News out of Toledo, OH warns that lice could possibly be lurking in Halloween costumes.  

Now maybe it's a baseless fear, but I have it - so much so, if I hear the word "lice" in my community, I break out the preventative shampoo for my seven-year-old son.  I've never had a lice experience - ever - and don't want to have one based on the horror stories I've heard from people who have had to deal with such an outbreak.  

The head louse, a parasitic insect found on the head, eyebrows, and eyelashes of people, feeds on human blood. Sounds worse than the creepiest of clowns, right?  These nasty horrors are found worldwide, but here in the U.S., most infestations begin at the pre-school or elementary school level.  According to the CDC, 6 to 12 million infestations occur yearly, targeting children in the age range of 3-11.

So, how are they spread? Lice do not hop, jump, or fly.  They crawl and are spread by direct contact with an infected person.  That means, quite simply, that if a kid with lice tries on a Halloween mask or hat, possible transfer of this critter occurs to the next person.  

So what should you do if you have pediculophobia like me and are terrified of the thought of a lice outbreak? Wearing a swim cap could serve as a barrier when trying on hats and wigs.  It might also be good to put purchased items in a sealed plastic bag for 48 hours to kill any lice. For costumes, it may be a good idea to put them in a dryer for 45 minutes on high heat to get rid of potential critters.

Hump Day Quickie: Nerves of Stone.

by Angela K. Durden 

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Tom Petty: Cherished the battle

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

Billboard writer Gavin Edward said, "All [Tom's] songs feel joyful...not just because The Heartbreakers could play like their amplifiers were on fire, but because Petty cherished the battle more than the victory."

That statement caught my attention because I understand it, and it helped to explain why I've liked their songs. 

Paying dues was never more true than when one thinks of Tom Petty. Especially in anything creative, paying dues is not just one battle. Petty always remembered that dues paying never stops.

Petty's songs and The Heartbreakers' music were their own.
They had their sound. Their vibe. 

With lyrics that never preached, never told, but showed us the stories that define the human condition no matter the age in which one lives. 

Inviting us on a journey to go within, examine ourselves as they examined themselves.

Tom Petty. 
Gone just eighteen days shy of beginning his sixty-eighth year.

Monday, October 9, 2017

"Guns for me, none for thee" say Politically Correct Liberal Socialist Democratic RINO Commie Fascists

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

Bodyguards carrying guns — eek! — aren't just for leaders of countries who by default are targets of assassins whether they be wannabees or for real. Nobody blinks an eye about that. Obama had armed protection and you never heard him complain about it even as he was preaching for sanctions limiting the rights of the citizenry to protect themselves.  

"Guns for me, none for thee." 

To a person, Constitution-gutting Politically Correct Liberal Socialist Democratic RINO Commie Fascist leaders want you to be deprived of the very thing that was used to defend the freedoms they so rely upon. To make that happen, those leaders have employed thought control techniques on walking brain-dead dupes and knowing accomplices such as:

  • hosts of late-night comedy shows, 
  • hosts of talk shows in every time slot,
  • children of now-dead but famous singers/actors, 
  • listed Hollywood elites including those on lists A through Eff-U,
  • #CrunkNewsNetwork and other no-longer-trusted mainstream media outlets,
  • publishers, editors, and writers for newspapers and business and popular magazines, 
  • hired-gun talking heads,
  • retirees from the above categories seeking free column inches,
  • founders of social media companies,
  • Tech Giants, The Majors, and The Bigs,
  • the "If I had a son" last past president, 
  • university leadership teams,
  • pussy-hat wearers,
  • wuss male supporters of pussy-hat wearers, 
  • anyone who self-identifies as a marginalized person,
  • among others.

Yes, boys and girls, they all believe the same thing —

Put power in the hands of The Enlightened, they preach.  

Except the definition of who is one of The Enlightened is so broad the country is quickly harking back to the days of English kings and queens and all their power-grabber ancestral lines going backward and forward in time who saw opportunity in the vacuum to grab all the power for themselves.

Nature and people abhor a vacuum and the filling of it is never a pretty thing to start with. But how did these power grabbers grab power? They used force on a population that thought they were kings of their own castles and lords of their tiny plots of land and — this is important, so listen up — never thought to put defenses in place.  

Eventually, some said enough is enough and came to a new land, founded a federal government they envisioned as having limited power, with states having much autonomy, and what power the Feds would have would be simply to have mutually beneficial services and defense from enemies.

Yes, we know the founding of the country was messy, bloody, full of drama, and never perfect. But...

But there came a time when the people who lived on this continent said, "You know. We're all having to share this space. Let us put rules down about that sharing." 

The Declaration of Independence put the kings on notice in 1776. They hit back with attacks. Local folks defended themselves. The Constitution was ratified in 1789 putting everybody within the country's borders on notice that should the government get out of hand again, they had a right to defend themselves against it.

Thus the Second Amendment was written in this fashion: 
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

The right of regular folks to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed even by a well-regulated government-sponsored force that is also necessary to defend the security of a free State.

From Wikimedia Common

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Ding! Ding! Ding! And we have a winner.

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

When it comes to getting a project done, I have this habit of putting my head down, pumping elbows, and watching my feet (from here on out acronymed to HDPEWF). Nothing will distract me once I determine what needs to be done. I am the queen of concentration. Normally, such a skill set is a good thing; say, if you're starting a business or responding to an emergency.

Gitterdun. That's me. 

But such a mindset is not a good thing when you have children as children are the worst when it comes to exploiting a weakness. Water will find the path of least resistance and wear a canyon through a mountain. I was that mountain and my children were that water. 

Case in point #1: Daughter

There came a point wherein I began to realize a pattern in the girl. On this particular day she exclaimed loudly as she was wont to do, "I have nothing to wear! Oh, woe is me for having a mother who will not keep my laundry done." 

HDPEWF as I was, I responded, "Oh, no! Whut? I swear to God, child, I just did all your laundry three days ago."

Thirteen-year-old girl self-righteously points to empty drawers as proof her mother is a lazy moronic employee. Now, lazy and moronic I am not. Slow on the uptake, I grant you that as I reference HDPEWF. But not lazy and not moronic and the girl went just a little bit too far that day. 

If the girl had not overstepped herself I would probably still be doing her laundry to this day know...HDPEWF. But she didn't and as I stood in her room and looked at multitudinous empty drawers and hangers that I knew for a certainty were full a mere three days ago, I heard it in my head.

DING! DING! DING! And we have a winner.

Going over to her laundry basket, I spied with my little eye clean and folded clothes thrown willy nilly into and around it. 

I shall spare you the gory details of the confrontation that followed. Suffice it to say the girl was unhappy as she lost a wonderful employee that day, but Mama sure did find a lot more time suddenly free up in her schedule. Which brings us to...

Case in point #2: Son

Back when print brokers could actually make money, I was a print broker making some damn fine money. I also did forms fulfillment for a large car dealership group back when they used forms that had to be printed in bulk. Before technology came in and put all those forms onto this new contraption called a computer. This was a business that benefited from my propensity of HDPEWF.

My husband came home and saw me carrying heavy boxes from the truck to the second floor storage area and said, "Why is the boy not helping you?"

I stared at him blankly because it had never occurred to me to ask my baby boy to carry such big boxes. I mean, he was just this little child and to ask him, well, it would have been slave labor, and that was just wrong. 

I said as much to the father of my children. It was his turn to stare blankly. "Woman, that child is six feet tall, fifteen years old, and weighs more than me. He has man muscles. Make him use them."

What a novel idea. Why, what son wouldn't want to help his mother, right? Eagerly I went to the boy, who was watching TV as he sprawled on the sofa, and I said, "Boy, come haul boxes for your mother." 

He laconically replied, "Too heavy."

Slow on the uptake, that's me. Never once thinking the boy could be lying or self-deluded, I believed him, turned back to the task of the boxes, and began hauling again. 

Husband sees the situation and says, "Why is the boy not hauling the boxes?"

I explain about the dear child's inability to use his muscles and that to ask him to do so might hurt him. Husband turns off boob tube, turns to boy, and says, "Get your ass up and get to hauling for your mother. Now!" 

Is boy mad at Daddy? No, he is not. He is mad at Mother. But the boy gets up, complaining the whole time. Knowing Mother's penchant for HDPEWF, the boy goes about it as slowly as he could to try to force me into frustration and taking over the chore. Then the boy proceeds to say something snarky and quite disrespectful and right then I heard it in my head. 

DING! DING! DING! And we have a winner.

That's when I realize I just heard a man's deep voice coming out of a body that is taller and wider than my own. A body full of man muscles. See, if the boy had not overstepped himself, to this day I would be hauling the boxes for him. But he did overstep and I said, "Oh, Son. You will regret this."

We finished the boxes and I crooked my Mother Finger at his smart mouth, smiled, and said, "Follow me, you little twit."

We went down the basement steps to where his father was grinding on some piece of metal for a car he was restoring. I tapped Daddy on the shoulder. He stopped his grinding. 

I said, "I want to apologize to you. You were right. The boy's a lazy sumbitch just as you've been telling me. I deliver him to your hands to make a man of him."

The boy's eyes got big as Daddy proceeded to say, "Your ass is mine, boy." And for the next two years I never had to mow another lawn, haul wood for the fireplace, mop, sweep, put up dishes, haul another box up those stairs again, nor anything else I chose to have him do.


Both the boy and the girl are grown adults and productive members of society. Neither are lazy. But my daughter recently realized she has the same condition as me, that is, she is afflicted with HDPEWF. She had the same discussions with her children who somehow had come to believe their mother was a lazy moronic employee whose only job was to make their lives easier. I am happy to report she has disabused them of that notion. 

Friday, October 6, 2017

No easy answer to the question of gun violence.

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

I made this short video of me using the interactive chart on gun deaths at I encourage you to go to the website and use it yourself. But...


...more important than this chart are the methodologies to collect information that goes into it. For instance, how a medical examiner labels a gun death decides which category in the above chart it will go into. 

Liberal Democratic Socialist Politically Correct Commie RINO Fascists who scream gun control and the NRA is the Devil, would never see an ambiguity if it walked up and slapped them in face. 

Yet the subject is full of ambiguity. Suicide, accicental, homicide, or unintentional death involving a gun? Which is it? You might think the answer is cut and dried, but it often isn't. Two medical examiners can see the same situation and come to different conclusions. And if the case goes to court, the surrounding facts can then change. Was it an intentional or accidental homicide? 

Does the technical term for the death reflect the situation on the ground? Often, no. In fact, all parts of the subject of guns are...well, subjective. 

Given that, the folks at have done a fine job of parsing the data. They did such a fine job, that even that bastion of Liberal Media itself, the Washington Post, ran a story on the ambiguity of the subject. You can read that here. 

Of course, the big challenge is... to get the Liberal Democratic Socialist Politically Correct Commie RINO Fascists to understand ambiguity. I don't think we can. 

The laws of probability say that if you are reading this article, then you understand the nature of ambiguity and the role it plays in life. You then can extrapolate from that its role in the subject of guns. 

But how many Liberal Democratic Socialist Politically Correct Commie RINO Fascists are reading this? If you are one of those, it would be most helpful if you could, pretty please, self-identify by leaving a comment below or emailing me at

Think about the Las Vegas shooting

When I hear "mass shooting", I always think it is one, maybe two, actors. But it can be more. Democratic government representatives, despots, dictators, and others in power, have ordered mass shootings. We tend not to think of those incidents if they involve race riots or genocide. But they are. 

See? Ambiguity quoted by MSM equals misled public. 

Which is why the likes of me are on the rise. 

Your Citizen Journalist thanks you for your time and patient consideration.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Crying Puddles: Online matchmaking summed up in song.

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

(AD)2 is the duo featuring me, Angela K. Durden bringing words and melody and such as that to the mix, and Piano Genius Alan Dynin.

I recently wrote a song called Crying Puddles. We performed it at the Joe Gransden Jazz Jam held every Tuesday at Venkman's in Midtown Atlanta. Venkman's live streams the stage with an iPhone from the back of the room so the phone picks up noise from the kitchen and waitstaff picking up orders, but you can still hear the song pretty good here.

You know, I even wore a dress this evening. Yes, I got gussied up. Here's the vid:


Crying Puddles
Lyrics by Angela K. Durden 
All Rights Reserved
(c) 2017 Angela K. Durden and Second Bight Publishing

There’s a song about making whoopee and
All the times you got for the opportunity to
Get it good, put your mind in a muddle.
But for me it’s been so long I’m Crying Puddles.

So I got proactive in looking for a mon.
Went to all these websites that ended in dot com.
Got lots of pictures that said “Look at us!”
Followed by offers of excellent service.
Oh, oh, oh. You know, know, know.
You know what I’m talking about.

Do you wanna hear what the men say?

I said,
Do you wanna hear what the men say?

They say:

“Are you feeling mean, girl?”
“I can make you scream, girl.”
“I got something you ain’t never seen, girl!”

Yeah, I’m Crying Puddles.

Lots of songs about making whoopee. But a
Lot of damn good they’re doing me    in
Finding man certified and bonified with
Talent specific leaving me cross eyed.
Yeah, yeah.

I’m Crying Puddles.