Saturday, January 20, 2018

Saturday Fictional Cynicism: The Rescue Dog Center Volunteer

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

I enjoyed letting Inner Cynic go loose on this story and wrapping it around something that is popular these days. If this interests you, click the link to read the entire very short story. Enjoy!

With a smile, Geoffrey turned toward the kennels. Mommy, Daddy, and Kid, the wide-eyed issue of their frenzied loins, obediently traipsed after him.
Geoffrey had seen some permutation of this story a hundred times. In an unrelenting campaign, Kid pitches fits for puppy until Mommy, whose Xanax and coffee klatch dates with other mommies couldn’t overcome the pressure, threatens Daddy with loss of connubial bliss until Daddy caves. 

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Citizen Journalism: Here's why it is always feared by dictators.

by Angela K. Durden

When seeking power, dictators always shut down those who think for themselves and share those thoughts with others. Dictators do it by economic pressure. If that doesn't work, they kill. Here's what Citizen Journalist's role is. 

Video of Jay Rosen. More to read.

Monday, January 15, 2018

It ain't easy being a columnist

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

It's a hard knock life for ME.
It's a hard knock life for ME.

'Stead of feted,
I get snubbed.
'Stead of money,
I get clubbed.
It's the hard-knock life.

Don't you know I spend my time a-writing?
Researching and reading through the night!
Hours a day I spend, oh, nails a-biting,
Contemplating the coming fight.
Who cares when I wake with thoughts of new columns?
Who cares when I stare out the window to think?

Dictionary life.
Thesaurus strife.
Drama rife.
No night life!

Publications, they be dying.
Circulation, what is that?
Who? What?

Open the door again to the fridge.
Wondering if I'll be abridged.
It's a hard-knock life.

Ideas I have aplenty
writing about the cognoscente
It's a hard-knock life for ME.
It's a hard-knock life for ME.

'Stead of feted,
I get snubbed.
'Stead of money,
I get clubbed.
It's the hard-knock life for ME.
It's the hard-knock life for ME.

Open the door again to the fridge.
Wondering if I'll be abridged.
It's a hard-knock life.
It's a hard-knock life.
It's a hard-knock life.
It's a hard-knock life.
It's a hard-knock life FOR MEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Saturday, January 13, 2018

RadFems are in a tizzy and a star is born.

by Angela K. Durden

I want to personally thank the P-HW** part of the P-HWPCDLRSFC* crowd for their most recent contribution to columns written by your Citizen Journalist. Without their diligent efforts of pitching fits...errr...I mean social engine-... — damn it! Let me get this straight. 

Without their diligent efforts sharing FLOTSAM***, I would not be able to become the enlightened and caring fema-...damn it! I mean...person they want me to be.

The reason your Citizen Journalist is being extremely careful in the use of her language on this rainy morning in Atlanta (Decatur), Georgia, is because she just read an article about how women are leaving their pink pussy hats behind in droves because they do not want to offend trans women, non-binary women, and the most important group of all: Colored Women.

I got that last phrase wrong. Let me restate: Women of Color. 

Whew. Man oh man, I thought I was going to get in trouble.

[And by using the phrase "Man oh man" I do not mean to imply an actual man because we know they are all evil and only want to rape women and little children and own slaves and kick dogs and take all the good jobs and so forth — unless, of course, they happen to be non-binary or trans, then they are fine and approved by women everywhere. No, my use of the phrase "Man oh man" was more of a declarative outburst of surprised contrition. You know what? I'll change it. Let's start again.]


WAIT!  Got that last phrase wrong. So sorry. The phrase "Colored Women" is obviously the DNA of two white granddaddies having their say in veins and brains. Profuse apology as no offense was intended. Commence restating: 

"...the most important group of all: Women of Color.

Whew. Wowzers, I thought I was going to get in trouble."


What was my point? FLOTSAM can be extremely confusing. Give me a minute to get back on track...Okay. I'm back on track. Let's continue. 

There in the Detroit Free Press was a huge article featuring lots of pink pussy-hat wearing white women who have been unknowingly insulting their fellow sisters (and misters who want to be sisters) who do not have pink pussies, or as the article said in a most scientific term: vulvas.

The article took 1668 words and 44 paragraphs (see full article text stats, left) to shake their fingers at — you are going to love this — insensitive white women who have pink pussies...I mean vulvas...and who wore a pink pussy hat while not thinking of the differing colors of vulvas of their sisters and the other parts of misters who want to be sisters. 

There was no research included in the article about how the women knew the color of the vulva for a certainty.

Of course, your Citizen Journalist is all about the research. So, she went to the world famous Goo-Goo-Goo search engine and typed in "female vulvas", and clicked on images. 

Your Citizen Journalist is telling you now: You do not want to do this. It ain't pretty. Seems more than humans have female vulvas. Who knew? And the things that can go wrong with them...barf and shudder.

But of the thousands of images that Goo-Goo-Goo pulled in, it can definitively be stated that of the human vulvas shown, only two were not pink, and they were brownish so one assumes they belonged to Women of Color. So this tells me on of three things:

One: Those who upload pictures of vulvas are racist and/or non-binary/trans phobic; or

Two: Those who decide what will show up in a search are racist and/or non-binary/trans phobic; or

Three: There aren't a lot of non-pink vulvas out there and these white women pouring guilt trips onto other white women were right all along and their pussy hats should be pink.

P!nk, the artist.

You remember this lady, don't you? She's actually a pretty good singer and performer. Anyway, urban legend has it (or maybe I heard her say it in an interview) that she chose her artist name based on something her boyfriend at the time said when he was in prime viewing position. He said, "Hey! It's PINK!"

And a star was born. 

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

Friday, January 12, 2018

How many VPs of the US have we not had?

by Angela K. Durden

That would be 15. Fifteen times presidents served while the office of vice president remained vacant. The last time it was vacant was under Lyndon B. Johnson, 1963-1965.

The US has had 44 different presidents.

We are at number 45 only because Grover Cleveland is counted twice, because his terms were not back to back. In other words, Grover was pres, then somebody else was, then he was elected again. That would make Grover both 22 and 24.

The president's number does not change if he serves back-to-back terms. For example: Bush One was 41, serving one term; Roosevelt and Clinton remain as 32 and 42, even though serving three and two terms, respectively.

Four presidents were assassinated while in office: Abraham Lincoln, 16; James A. Garfield, 20; William McKinley, 25; and John F. Kennedy, 35.

Presidents who were victims of assassination plots and attempts: Andrew Jackson; William Howard Taft; Theodore Roosevelt; Herbert Hoover; Harry S. Truman; Richard Nixon; Gerald Ford; Jimmy Carter; Ronald Reagan; George H. W. Bush; Bill Clinton; George W. Bush; Barack Obama. 

Before they took office, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Donald Trump both had attempts on their lives.

Presidential deaths rumored to be assassinations: Zachary Taylor and Warren G. Harding.
Lots of interesting facts to be gleaned from your Library of Congress on US presidents and spouses, and vice presidents.

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

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Dawgs and Tide: Methinks "The Hammer" might have other things on his mind.

by Angela K. Durden

Lot's of people think I'm in luv with "The Hammer"; I am not. In fact, while I write on things political, I only do so because of their effect on my basic freedoms. Freedoms such as being able to make money without silly interference from P-HWPCDLRSFC* and Deep State bureaucrats beholden to professional politicians who are being bought off by Tech Giants, Big Business, The Majors, and The Bigs, thank you very much.

Therefore, anybody who works to screw me over ups my ire, gets my wrath, and becomes fair game for this Citizen Journalist. Conversely, anyone working to protect my freedoms from those mentioned above will also get my attention, but it won't be fawning because logical folks like that don't like to be fawned over.

Which brings us to the latest opine in a liberal online rag...errr...I mean, an outlet For Liberal Opinion That is Serious and Actually Matters, or FLOTSAM, linked here, all about the national anthem during the Dawgs-Tide game.

Screenshot of @realDonaldTrump Twitter header.

Doing my job as your Citizen Journalist, I read the entire article. It is safe to say it had to be written by somebody who has no clue about the weight of responsibility on a president's shoulders.

I don't care which president you name, love 'em or hate 'em, each looked a lot worse upon leaving office than they did upon entering. It's those weights that never leave them that give gray hair, heavy bags under eyes, excessive wrinkles, added weight, and unhealthy pallor. 

Presidents don't punch a clock. They can't hang their worries outside on a shrub and go inside to relax with the wife and kiddies. Even while playing golf or giving their wife some fine loving, there are always several standing next to him or outside the door with a weapon and a phone.

But according to FLOTSAM, Donald "The Hammer" Trump should not let any of that bother him during a college football game. It's plain to see to anybody who has made a living out of it, that Trump's body language showed he was nervous because he was "in a stressful situation." 

To that I say, "Well, duh." But which stressful situation? According to FLOTSAM and #CrunkNewsNetwork, it was that Trump was surrounded by people he was lying to and who hated his guts and he's just a big ol' bully who didn't like to face down 70,000 enemies at once because...because...because he-he-he-he's just a BIG OLD BULLY. 

To that I say, "Whut arrr yew smokin'?"

But Trump didn't handle the stress the way one expert, Patti Wood, thought he should. According to Patti, "The Hammer" had only two choices in how he could stand or move during the national anthem — and he didn't do either one of them. Lip readers couldn't tell what he was actually singing, and, in case he was singing the national anthem, it was obvious he didn't know the words.

This was such a huge deal that the article said "...the world is debating whether the president knows or doesn't know the lyrics to the national anthem...."

The entire world is debating? 

No. The entire world is not debating. Your little world is debating. On the other hand, maybe you need to get a damn life? 
Sincerely, The Rest of the World

Further, while Patti said Trump was under so much stress he couldn't remember the words to the national anthem, and was uncomfortable enough he had "inconsistencies in his behavior through the anthem", Trump still had enough presence of mind to "revive controversy."

Yes, the article had a long list of all the things they could name that he revived only hours and months before this most important public appearance at a college football game. 

But worst of all was that Trump was tapping his fingers and he wasn't tapping in time to the music. He was going faster and that "typically signals a desire to get through it — to get to the other side of the anxious situation," said Patti Wood, Body Language Expert to the FLOTSAMs of the world. 

Maybe we should follow FLOTSAM and #CrunkNewsNetwork's pseudo-journalists around and document their every move and have body language experts opine on what they are really thinking. Yeah. That sounds like fun.

Hey, Hannity? Is that in your budget? If yes, gitterdun.
Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 
Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

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

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

"Outrage Fatigue": Your Citizen Journalist answers questions asked by The New York Times Magazine.

FAKE NEWS ALERT | Atlanta, Georgia | Somewhere in January 2018-ish 

If upon reading this headline you were led to believe The New York Times Magazine (NYTM) asked these questions specifically of your Citizen Journalist, then yes, okay, you might could say it is a misleading headline, and yes, I say it now: It is a complete fabrication. I am lying to you.

But that's okay, see, because it is for your own good that I did not answer these questions and that I told you a lie. Why? Because you can't handle the truth, that's why. I, as your Caring Citizen Journalist, needed you to hear what you wanted to hear so as not to upset your...

I'm just messing with you.
I mean I did lie, but not because you're stupid. I just did it for fun. Here's why.

It is true that The NYTM did ask the following questions in the January 7, 2018 issue, but they were asked of one Masha Gessen. I don't know who she is, but according to the blurb at the bottom, she is 50 and a journalist, and her hometown is Moscow way back there in the old USSR. The interview was by one Audie Cornish, yes that Audie Cornish of NPR. Therefore, you can assume one thing immediately:

The article is a fuster-cluck of P-HWPCDLRSFC* phrases only intellectuals and experts can love.

I was sitting in my local and fave coffee shop (The Corner Cup in Decatur, Georgia) when, for grins and giggles, decided to pick up a few magazines while I sucked down a Café O'Lay (that's the French-Irish version). As is my habit, I turned to the last page and there it was. The headline: "Masha Gessen Is Worried About Outrage Fatigue."

"Outrage Fatigue" caught my eye.  Hmmm...sounds interesting.

Now, as a non-P-HWPCDLRSFC, you and I immediately understand what Outrage Fatigue is. We are tired of the P-HWPCDLRSFC being outraged. I thought, "Okay. The NYTM might be onto something good here. Let's give it a go, shall we?" At which point I read the entire article.

Maybe I missed the phrase, so I stole the magazine**, went home, sat at my desk, and went through the article once more. This time with a ruler so I could isolate each line and focus, focus, focus. There was no Outrage Fatigue mentioned anywhere.

This was not what the article was about and the phrase was never mentioned or even hinted at in the interview. The phrase used was: Civil Society Fatigue with the Different Iterations of the Travel Ban.

It is beyond me how anybody in their right mind could get Outrage Fatigue from Civil Society Fatigue with the Different Iterations of the Travel Ban. But then again, I am not a P-HWPCDLRSFC with Delusions of Intelligentsia/Expert.

Granted, I am The Most Brilliant Woman In The World as attested to by Neal, Rush, Sean, Will, Mark, and another dude.*** But I will die before joining the ranks of the P-HWPCDLRSFC Intelligentsia/Experts.

Answers to questions Cornish asked Gesson.

For the record, Masha Gessen had some good things to say. Granted, when those very things have been said by non-P-HWPCDLRSFCs with Delusions of Intelligentsia/Experts, #CrunkNewsNetwork and their acolytes wailed and gnashed their teeth, but Masha is one of their own — and gay, something The NYTM pointed out even though I did not care — so that means we can believe her.

In fact, she even had something to say about "the Obama years" that was not worshipful, and she was not shunned! She said,

"A lot of what we think of as democratic institutions are informal ones, like the White House press briefing. There is no law that guarantees press access to the White House. Communication was lessening during the Obama Years...."

See? That's what we (The know the acronym) knew and were insulted and persecuted for saying. But Gesson said it and it was printed in a liberal rag...errrr...I mean a respected Far Left publication with a long history of being respected by everybody within a ten-block area in New York which, as we all know, is where lives and opines the smart people who know best for everybody in flyover country.

Another answer Gesson gave must rightly be given the Double-Talk Award of the Year. See if you agree:

"I get really nervous when impossible phrases are created. In academic circles, the idea of fixed facts has been problematized for a long time, so that in itself doesn't disturb me. The postmodern project was to get a better understanding of facts by questioning whether we can have them. Now we're confronted with a nihilistic project of just saying there's no such thing as facts."

Are your eyes spinning? Mine are. Gesson also believes that "The Hammer" himself did not collude with the Russians. Her reasoning?

"I don't think that Donald Trump is capable of holding a thought for more than three seconds, so how can we possibly imagine that he actually had some sort of sustained relationship that had an articulated strategy behind it?"

There were more silly statements in that article. Maybe I'll keep the magazine a bit longer (Rich is good with that) and work on another article wherein I can share more of Audie and Masha's amusing P-HWPCDLRSFC with Delusions of Intelligentsia/Expert ramblings. But for now I am going to...

...stop right here.

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

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

** I did not steal it. I said, "Hey, Rich, I'm gonna take..." and Rich waved and nodded that I could take it. 

*** Boortz, Limbaugh, Hannity, Rogers, Twain, and another dude (see their quotes about me in my books soon to be released).

Monday, January 8, 2018

Looking for a new job are ya? Well, don't listen to this "Expert".

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

This screen snip below comes from my Linkedin feed. Looks like is paying for placement. Anyway, in this article, a man says he interviews 100,000 people each year.

Of course, as your Citizen Journalist with a working Bull Crap Meter, I pulled out my calculator and did some calculating. Let's see. 100,000 / 365 = 273.97

Yep. That is correct. This expert does not sleep, eat, eliminate waste, have sex or (wank), nor bathe or perform other personal hygiene. Nor does he have a life because for this expert to interview this many people each day to the point that 6 questions are asked and answered, he doesn't have time for a life.

Therefore, Bull Crap Meter hitting the top marks and trying to push by them, I was able to call it what it is: A big, fresh, warm load of shit.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what is wrong with the whole employment issue these days. We've got experts lying through their teeth as their articles are being published by a supposedly well-run business publication who should know better but aren't doing their due diligence and thereby misleading their readers. 

Unless...oh my GOD! He's a robot. He's NextGen AI! 

SKYNET! SKYNET! SKYNET! SKYNET IS HERE! And so well hidden, too. Wow. The fellow looks just like a real boy. I mean...really, now...I'm serious. 

Would you just look at that realistic gesture. Each finger articulated just so. Hair on arms. The eyes are what really give it away though. They are robotic, fake even, deadpan, no emotion. And he doesn't smile. The Terminator didn't smile either. 

Monday Mentions and Memos

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

From the files of 
Not Sure Where I Read It:

We should delight in the fact that 
such a sophisticated and subtle writer 
has so many readers. 

Sunday, January 7, 2018 was on the Internet.

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

I was on LinkedIn yesterday, scrolling through my feed, when I saw a post from a doctor who had been chatting me up, trying to make nice, see if I was available for something or another. I'm not sure what kind of a doctor he is, or even if he is one, but he has Dr. in front of his name. He is married. And he is Arab, though he does not say of which variety.

But because it was a name I recognized, I stopped scrolling to take a quick look. Dr. [Redacted] often likes things I would not normally see. This day, though, he liked a post from someone else that showed several pictures purporting to be Israeli soldiers abusing weak women and innocent children. 

I called BS on all the pictures because they looked fake. So, I clicked on each picture to make a closer inspection. Here are two pictures that are beyond obviously faked. I've made commentary and pointed out the digital manipulations. 

Thursday, January 4, 2018

The Angst of the Costume Party

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

I was invited to a costume party. Circa 2002. Unless I'm being paid well, I usually turn down all such invitations where I have to put on a costume. This host and hostess were not paying me, but I had to go anyway. Long story.

There was no theme to the party unless you count as a theme "You can dress up as your favorite Bible character if you want." I did not want because then I would be going as a man and I was already having enough trouble with the husband who kept saying things like, "You want to wear the pants in this family? Well, just go on ahead and do it. God forbid you should think I'm the head of this family." To which I would often reply, exasperated as I was, "You could be if you'd just act like it."

Those conversations usually devolved into long silent periods of sulking by the now-ex.

So that's why I didn't want to dress up as my favorite Bible character. But what would I go as? I thought and thought and then, ding-ding-ding, I went to Goodwill and went through the dresses and hats and sweaters. For less than twenty dollars I found the perfect outfit.

I forget what my husband went as because mostly I didn't care and I'm sure it was boring and unimaginative anyway. I was equally sure that no matter what he dressed up as, the hostess would be just melting all over him, fluffing up his ego while thumbing her nose at me. Another long story.

We arrive and, sure enough, hostess melts all over my hubby, his ego inflates and he turns to me with a condescending expression of See, SOMEbody knows I'm a man, while hostess turns to me, laughs, and says in her best Pennsylvania accent, "Oh, my GAWD. Whet er YEW?"

Many replies flashed through my mind, but I chose to not say those as they would have completely gone over both their heads, and since I don't throw pearls before swine, I said instead, "Take a guess." Leaving her to fluff his ego more, I then breezed into the kitchen to deposit a tray full of something I cooked.

Later, as guests meander from inside to outside around the pool, lots of laughing and talking and eating and drinking was commencing in fine form. Suddenly, quite loudly, hostess again says to me, ""Oh, my GAWD. Whet er YEW?"

It went suddenly quiet, everybody stopped. All looked at me. Obviously they had been wondering the same thing but did not have the courage to ask.

I took a bow and said, "Why, I'm surprised you don't know. I'm a Jewish grandmother as seen on TV."

As soon as I said that, why everybody laughed because, sure as shooting, I looked just like a typical nagging Jewish grandmother as depicted in the movies and on TV. And since the entertainment business is run by Jews, we know those are accurate depictions — at least according to all conspiracy theorists I've heard.

Here is what fellow party-goers saw.

My body was covered with a hideous flowered-print sack masquerading as a dress, cinched tight with a white belt. A floppy sunhat covered in a completely different flower pattern, also hideous and not matching the dress in any fashion, covered my head. My feet were shod with the good news of peace, that is to say, I wore brown leather sandals akin to what Jesus wore, and had on white ankle socks.

Then somebody said, "Yeah, aren't...Jewish."

Somehow this person, who had dressed up as somebody they were not, and who had come to a costume party in that get-up, found it odd that I was also pretending.

That explains a lot in my life, and that is why I hate costume parties.

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Hump Day Quickie: Pun intended?

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

Two guys grow up together but after college one moves to Michigan, the other to Florida. They agree to meet every ten years and play golf.

At age 
30, they finish their round of golf and decide where to go for lunch.

“Where you wanna go?”

“Well, you know, they got the broads with the big racks, tight shorts, and the legs…”

Ten years later at age 40 they play.

“Where you wanna go?”

“Well, you know, they got cold beer and the big screen TVs and everybody has a little action on the games.”

Ten years later at age 50 they play.

“Where you wanna go?”
“The food is pretty good and there is plenty of free parking.”
“Oh, yeaaah. OK.”

At age 
60 they play.

“Where you wanna go?”

“Wings are half price.”

At age
 70 they play.

“Where you wanna go?”

“They have 6 handicapped parking spaces right by the front door.”

At age 80 they play. 

“Where you wanna go?”

“We’ve never been there before.”
"I've always liked trying something new."

You may thank Awesome Cousin Number One for sending me this joke.