BOLO ALERT! The Most Brilliant Woman in the World's humorous books ARE COMING SOON.

“I was considered to be out there when I was alive, but hey, even I didn’t have the guts to say what Angela says. I mean just ... wowzers. Look, I stopped recommending others a long time ago, but this woman...what can I say? 

Get her books!”  

Lenny Bruce

“We might not could stay married, but I always said she was funny.”  

The Ex-Husband

“If I were still alive, Angela would be going on tour with me. In fact, not only would she open for me, I would have her help me close the show. We would’ve been bigger than Burns & Allen. I recommend you read everything she writes. You’ll thank me later.”

Will Rogers

Angela's Funnee Du Jour: #2

Angela: Yeah, the jokes are always on her.

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Funniest Woman in the World

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights.

I am convinced that Microsoft Corporation has prevented more workplace violence than anything HR, or HR consultants, or other social engineers could ever have come up with.

It's called Solitaire. And it comes with every Windows operating system on the planet. 

Think about it. Solitaire is like a drug only there’s no withdrawal from it. 

Boss screaming at you? Smile, bend the knee, and kiss his ring. Go back to your cubicle and play solitaire.The boss is not paying you to waste time, so revel in your passive aggressiveness as you get one over on da man. 

Zone out. Relax. Feel a sense of accomplishment every time you get an Ace up at the top. 485 points. See? Better than Prozac or Zanax or even medical marijuana folks use for their generalized pain.

And no guns involved. Or knives. Or poison. Or dark alleys. Or falls from a high places. None of that. Prison avoided. Taxes saved. Public safety intact.

So thank you, Microsoft Corporation for bringing to the masses this most wonderful tool for social order and justice.

Spotify has lost its ever-loving mind.

At it again...all for you.

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

Spotify, a liberal Swedish company, is now going into the hate group identification business.

Well, that is, they are leaving that identification up to groups with no agenda whatsoever, and which groups are fair and balanced.

WAIT! That's a load of hoo-hah! Read THIS to get the lowdown on who will now be choosing your music.

They've lost their ever-loving mind. Did they learn nothing from Bacefook's slippery slope of late?

How Patrick Stewart received the news that he got the role of Picard

Snapchat: Cheaper and
safer than cosmetic surgery.

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

Butthole Surfers cover the Beatles minus Ed Sullivan

LUNCHTIME!

by Angela K. Durden

The Most Cookingest Woman in the World

Angela's Funnee Du Jour: #1

Angela: Yeah, the jokes are always on her.

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Funniest Woman in the World

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights.

According to my ex-husband, I know it all. Attempting to avoid an argument, I agreed with him. Did that make him happy? It did not. Couldn't win for losing...thus the divorce.

How to Identify an Honest Congressman, or not Boinking Beltway Babes

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World
Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

Though only 50 admit to it publicly, 100 congressmen sleep in their offices. Why?

Because they cannot afford to pay rental rates in their nation's capital and continue to support their families back home, that's why. So they use the laundry, shower, and gym facilities in the basement of their workplace and carry on.

When I heard of this, I cheered. We've identified at least 100 congressmen who haven't sold their souls to the highest bidder. And look, if they are sending the money home to families, it's a sure bet they aren't spending their precious time with boinking beltway babes. That's right. They are working efficiently.

Better still, this situation is bi-partisan. Both Democrats and Republicans sleep in their offices. That offers a little ray of hope...maybe...sort of.

I can hear the plugged-in snicker in their sleeves at the political brethren they deem to have fallen off the back of a turnip truck on their way to the big city. Rubes. Unsophisticates. Country cousins. Aren't they just so cute sleeping in their offices. Hmmm...but are they breaking the law?

Let's sic the Deep State apparatchiks on them. Uh, oh. Now we hear complaints that The 100 are cheating the government. Receiving free rent! Amenity upgrades! And...

...wait for it...WAIT FOR IT...

...those are income and they are not paying taxes on that income, for shame, for shame.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the psychotic Deep State at work for you. They bite the very hands of those elected to serve but whom they cannot control. They punish those who, at great cost to themselves, are losing money to help out the country in which they live.

And that is how we know The 100 are honest.

Or, at least, not yet corrupted. (A little cynicism is judicious here.) If The 100 were manipulating the system to get funding, then they would not be sleeping in their offices, now would they? And since they have no funding, we know the Beltway Babes aren't getting boinked by them since Beltway Babes are only turned on by the smell of money.

Wil Wheaton acts out meeting William *Bleeping* Shatner (Mega Funny)

Snapchat: Cheaper and
safer than cosmetic surgery.

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

The Abhoration of a Vacuum: In Three Parts

At it again...all for you. 

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant — and Funniest — Woman in the World

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

Part One:

"Nature abhors a vacuum."

You've heard the phrase before, but what does it actually mean? When I was a kid, I didn't even know what a vacuum was. If somebody had told me there was a machine that could suck dirt out of a carpet, I would not have understood because both things were alien to me. Carpets? Vacuums? What are these things? I was fourteen before I saw my first vacuum. Looking back, I now realize that we had never needed one before.

But when I was fourteen, we somehow managed to come into possession of a huge, blue-green, shag rug. It was so big it took up most of the living room floor. It was so big it could not be taken out the door to have the dirt shook off it like our braided oval rugs that were scattered throughout the house in a randomly haphazard fashion with no rhyme or reason to their placement.

For some reason, only I was tasked with vacuuming the carpet. My mother said, "Here. Do the rug." Do the rug? Do the rug? DO THE RUG? What the hell does do the rug mean?

I stared at her blankly. She sighed and hollered for her husband. My step-father patiently explained the concept, walking me through all the steps. Plug it in. Hold the wand. Step on the power button.

My little mind was blown. This was fabulous. But not why you are thinking. I saw this flat rug get fluffy before my very eyes. My stepfather knew at that time he would never have to use that machine ever again. I was hooked faster than a thirty-five year old Admin Assistant at her first whiff of methamphetamine. The rush was immediate and I couldn't wait for my next hit of vacuuming.

But, much like meth, turns out vacuuming is a hard addiction. How hard would it be?

Come to find out, it was quite difficult and time consuming and I will tell you why. It was because of the lines the vacuum left in the shag rug — and I was OCD. My family eventually learned to avoid me when they saw me jonesin' for another hit of vacuuming.

The lines had to be exactly straight from one end to the other. They could not cross each other. They had to be done in one long pass, no short bursts of random strokes would do. And the lines had to — no, must! — run longways. If one of my siblings happened to cross the rug while I was vacuuming and they disturbed the pattern, I had to start all over.

All. Over. Start again. From the upper left corner, methodically, line by line, work my way to the bottom right corner whereupon I could step off onto the hard floor.

Angela came to abhor a vacuum while craving it at the same time. Panic attacks would occur upon plugging in the machine and prayers would ascend. "Please, God. This time...this time, please...let no one cross the rug until I am done. And, please, God, if you would be so kind, allow me at least one lousy minute to stand back and admire the perfection of the vacuum before those brats ruin it."

Every now and then God would answer Angela's prayer and Angela would stare at the perfect lines and have her soul salved like...like...oh, I don't know...like balsam in Gilead salved the collective souls of Abraham's children.

Part Two:  

Fast forward some years. So, there I am, on a panel of Subject Matter Experts. Or maybe at a book signing event and I am one of the Featured Authors and the other Featured Authors are boring the hell out of the audience, or just saying really stupid stuff. In any case, thereby forming a vacuum sucking the fun out of the whole event.

What does Angela do to straighten out this mess? Why, she plugs in the metaphorical vacuum.

Yes, Angela has been known to feed lines, much like a straight man in a comedy duo, only to have them ignored by the idiot who can't figure out that I'm giving them the perfect setup that, when they deliver the punchline brilliantly, will make them look awesome.

It's called Marketing 101. I should be paid to teach this stuff.

However, Subject Matter Experts and most Featured Authors do not get how helpful I am. I usually get nervous laughs from my fellow panelist or author. Sometimes I get stares, which of course makes the audience laugh because they think that is the joke, but does my fellow panelist or author understand they now look brilliant?

No, they do not. And now who abhors me thus making the vacuum ever larger? It is at times like this I sigh like my mother.

It isn't only nature that abhors vacuums. Audiences do, too. If the person on the stage doesn't fill that vacuum, trust me on this: The audience will and that will not be pretty. Given my OCD, that simply will not do.

Part Three: 

Who else abhors a vacuum? Why, bullies and dictators, that's who. Bullies and dictators are simply spoiled children looking for someone with strength enough to set — and hold — strong boundaries for them. We have recently seen this truth in action with North Korea's 3gDL* when Donald "The Hammer" Trump said

And who stopped it? 3gDL, that's who. 

* Third-generation Dear Leader

Uncertainty is my discipline.

At it again...all for you. 

by Angela K. Durden
The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

"Do you own a gun?" asked Jazz Drummer (JD) from Berlin, Germany.

"Yes, I do," I answered.

He shook his head. "I'm...disappointed. Nobody in Berlin uses guns."

He was misinformed about gun use in Berlin.

But I didn't care to follow that line of discussion, instead attempted to pull the conversation around to music, the thing we both had in common. The man proceeded to ask a series of questions about certain U.S. politicians, current and past. He did not like my answers.

On my way home that night from the Jazz Jam, I reviewed the exchange and JD's reactions to anything I said. You see, given my answer to the gun ownership question, JD was absolutely certain he knew all about me.

JD was surprised to find I didn't give him the answers he expected. His dead certainty rendered null all his arguments for whatever point it was he wanted to make that night. I still don't know what it was he wanted to say.

What I do know is that, as I answered him honestly, he refused to accept anything I said, and stated definitively that I was not living up to my potential while also being a hypocrite.

I always give everyone opportunity to explain what they mean. That opportunity includes asking them questions, listening to their answers, comparing those to what was previously said, and then asking for more clarification.

This threw JD off his stride. When he found he could not intimidate or confuse me with what he thought was his brilliant logic, he closed his eyes halfway through a diatribe, pretending to be enraptured with the sounds of a drum solo coming out the front door onto the walkway.

So I waited for him to finish his thought, but he kept his eyes closed. After two minutes of watching him stand against the brick wall, I said, "Oh, he wants me to go away!" So, I did, and went back inside.

A few minutes later, JD came in and walked by me three times. On his last pass, he leaned over me and said, "Hey, ummm...you know...the drums..." He shrugged and went back to the bar where he proceeded to allow yet another person to buy the famous guy yet another beer.

Of course, JD, of course. Let me tell you what confused JD about me: He couldn't understand how it was I was not dead certain about anything he was certain about. If he had asked, I would have told him, "JD, uncertainty is my discipline."

JD would not have understood that.

Being uncertain allows for the inclusion of more facts and opens paths for more solutions. Uncertainty expands the conversation, it does not shut it down.

I find myself being all too human, though, not liking the state of uncertainty, preferring life to be ordered and all big questions answered so that I can get on with whatever it is I want to get on with. That is why rigid and strong religious beliefs and political ideologies can gain footholds so fast. The state of uncertainty is not one that humans like to be in.

Most humans would rather be told what to do and live within those confines even if it means dying or killing for something they've never given thought to. To question is to paint a big old target on your chest that says "Kill the thinker", and they don't want to be a target.

As I look back on my life, I've come to realize that uncertainty has always been my discipline, but that for a long time, just to get along, I pretended it was not. I pretended to believe that the answers were known. During these times I was unhappy because of living a lie. As I allowed myself to again recognize uncertainty as a powerful state — one that was not bad, one that enhanced my belief in God — then my happiness returned.

Sure, not having all the answers causes me anxiety, but it is an anxiety that is much less painful than living a life built upon false promises and half-baked but dead certain ideas.

Uncertainty never promises anything except that it will always be there, true to itself, and faithful to me. Uncertainty guarantees a great conversation, something JD will never have.

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

Out of sight. Out of mind. Or, going shopping in my closet.

Ears, nose, glasses, and makeup
courtesy of Snapchat.
Hair and oversized wife-beater
t-shirt courtesy of me.
Earrings supplied by
kiosk at mall.

by Angela K. Durden

Out of sight. Out of mind.

That phrase pretty much sums up my entire life's journey with clothes. You see, I have a taste in clothes that can sometimes border on the interesting, but it is always good taste. Folks are always saying to me, "Angela, I've never seen anybody put together an outfit like you do."

Now, if that isn't high praise for my ability to put together outfits, well then, I don't know what it is.

Hang on. My producer is telling me we have a call-in reader. Yes...Go ahead, call-in reader. I'm sorry, could you, uhhh, say that a little louder?...Because I didn't quite catch what you...

What do you mean "that's not exactly a compliment"? What else could...And what's that supposed to mean?...Crazy Aunt Ang...

Don't tell me to calm...You know what?...Oh, yeah!?!...Well, you can just...What do you mean you don't like my outfit?...

I'm gonna igno...I...I said...I said I'm gonna ignore you now because the readers do not want to listen to you insult me...

No, they don't, so you can just hie yourself...

I did not tell you to get high...I did not...I did not. I said you could hie yourself...Well, that just shows how much you know...Look it up yourself...Same to you, buddy!

Sheesh. Honestly. Sometimes these call-in readers just...anyway...

Back to my story which, as we all know, is more important than that other opinion. So, as I was saying. A Macy's near me closed a couple of years ago. During the sale to get rid of stock, I found a red jacket that was exactly what I'd been looking for. Made by Calvin Klein, normal price would have hurt the feelings of my wallet, but on sale, my wallet did a little happy dance.

I took it home. Off came the tags. And in the closet it was hung. And here is where I went, "Oh. I forgot about that jacket. And, oh my goodness. Whoa. I could wear that one next winter, too."

Door closed and I promptly forgot about them all, resorting to my go-to fave hanging in plain sight.

Well, as I have started to do more live performing, and performers are pretty much expected to dress interestingly (so there, you little creepy call-in reader), I needed something different for a last minute thing I was going to do.

But I didn't want to wear my everyday stuff. Where, oh, where could I find something fast?

DING! DING! DING! The closet.

And there was that red jacket which, when paired with a funky pair of customized jeans, black leather shoes, and a S&W Bodyguard on my hip...

JUST KIDDING. No gun on my hip. 

I'm just messing with any P-HWPCDLRSFC* who might have happened to stumble upon this article since it is about shopping and the picture is from a Snapchat filter.

Anyway, when all that, sans weapon, walked into the event, well, all the women were like, "Oh. My. God. I. HATE. Her. Where DID she get that jacket?" And all the men...well, it wouldn't matter what I wore because men don't need clothes on a woman to appreciate her awesomeness. 

Oh, dear readers. Here's that pesky call-in reader again. You know what? I'm going to take that call. Hello? Reader? You're on the page...

Hello? Reader? Must be a bad — Here we go. Yes?...Yes, I am awesome...No, it is not just me saying it...In fact, it is total random strangers...random...strangers, yes...When? The last time was just the other day when I was in Target...

Of course I shop at Target...Of course I use their bathrooms...Look. I live in the South. Nobody is going to go into a ladies room who don't belong there...Denying bathroom rights? Now you're just being silly...

Who said I was awesome? The checkout boy...No. There is nothing wrong with using the word boy...He was white, you idiot! So young, peach fuzz was on his chin. How can that be racist?...I am going to hang up on you because it is clear you are a complete idiot...So sue me.

Geez, Louise.

Dear readers. I apologize for that interruption. We're coming up on a hard break here, so let me just say this:

Go shopping in your closet. You'd be amazed how many things you find in your color and size.

And now a word from our sponsor. 

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