The Chaser Solution: Chapter Nine: Let 7.4 billion people focus on Trump. I have a life.






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The unworldly motherfuckers over at the Guardian make me laugh:

The US is on the edge of the economic precipice – Trump may push it over

Oh, you crazy kids. That’s the whole point.

He plays Go. How many times do I have to tell you dumbass knuckle-draggers? The point of Go is to surround your enemy and drown him in your swirl of stones.

If you are stuck in quicksand, you don’t fight. The more you struggle, the faster you sink.

The Left are spoiled brats who are not used to doing their own thinking. Mom and dad did it all for them. They threw fits, and there is a penalty for it.

7.4 billion people and the majority don’t get it.

I knew he was going to win, and I prepared. I didn’t get upset. I got to work.

Because it really doesn’t matter who is elected in office. The rich stay rich and the poor stay poor.

Yet the press doesn’t report on that. People would get distressed if they came to grips with the fact that they will die on a hamster wheel.

I had to make a decision when I decided to resurrect Chaser: who is my audience, and what do I actually cover?

With 7.4 billion people on the planet pretty much fixated on one man.

Imagine that. That is one hell of a lockstep.

One person I will always be covering is Alexandra Kitty.

You will get to know me. There is a person here, and it is important to know who you are dealing with. Society has lost its ability to connect, and in order to foster connection, I am the conduit for this site, just as I am a conduit for A Dangerous Woman Studio.

I do hear snarky remarks about my choice of subject. I have had people say, “You always talk about yourself,” to which I answer, “And you always talk about Trump, and I am much more interesting.”

People focus on his typos more than they do on anything or anyone else. What the fuck is wrong with people?

Fuck you.

But people do not like when a woman talks about herself without trying to appease some guy, put herself down, or is eccentric.

A woman can have hundred of DC action figures all over her house like a museum, thousands of comic books, and an entire room of Lego with working trains and cars that are made into a city, no one notices.

A man plays with dolls to cope with life, and they make a documentary and movie about him.

I can’t even say not every man gets attention because the Atlantic gave a platform to a former journalist who now delivers for Amazon. Even a down-on-his-luck guy gets more attention than a woman who had the world collapse around her.

A man created the Intercept, and even woman who think they are feminists wonder why there is no feminist Intercept when there was long before the Intercept.

I can tell you about the Blue Beetle or about the jewelry of Josef Hoffmann. You want to know about various Japanese playing cards? I am your woman. I can tell you about female magicians, rabbits, metalworking, and Clarice Cliff, among other things.

It is not as if I think I am the only person who does her own thing, but how many woman do their own thing and no one gives them any notice?

So when I decided to launch Chaser, I made a few big decisions: the focus will not be on what the locksteppers are obsessed with. Fuck that shit.

It will always be on information and stories that are important to know.

It will be the place where you find out about mindsets and rigs.

It will be the tools you need to navigate through information so you do not fall for propaganda of any sort.

And it will be from someone who has a life!


The Chaser Solution: Chapter Six: I have lived through a cascading catastrophe. I don't waste good. I also never waste bad.


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Until 2018, that first picture was the moment that became the worst day of my life.

What you see is the aftermath of two paramedics who dropped my grandmother carrying her out of her bedroom. The figure in the white shirt is my mother.

I took that picture.

I was in my office in the next room right after I checked to see if the path was cleared and went into the office to get out of the way. They fucked up all the same.

I wasn’t expecting it. She had to be taken by paramedics before, and grandma knew the drill. This time, she just had to go back to the hospital because a home care nurse thought the PICC was dislodged. She was to go, have a doctor check it out, make an adjustment if the nurse was right, and come back home. It was routine and she was nonchalant about it because she was stoic by nature. She had just come from the hospital the day before after recovering from having her leg amputated, and after a few weeks, she was in goods spirits and she was discharged, already talking about getting a prothetic leg. She wasn’t home for a full 24 hours. Notice the red hospital sock she had on her remaining foot.

It didn’t turn out to be routine. The paramedics dropped her. I heard the crash, then my mother screaming, “You killed my mother!”

At this jolt, my journalist’s instinct took over, I grabbed my iPhone, and snapped that picture because I thought they killed her and this was going to be a criminal matter. I was thinking in terms of evidence for police.

Then my grandmother said they broke her arm. She was still alive from that big drop.

I remember them placing her in a cloth stretcher. Usually, paramedics placed her on one of those transport chairs and wheeled her out. They placed her on the stretcher without incident, and then she sunk in and the polls were above her.

The next moment came the crash, and then my mother screaming. She developed PTSD as a result of seeing it. There was blood on the floor and the wall as well as my grandmother’s teeth. It was a traumatic and gruesome sight.

We had company downstairs. They heard everything.

I had to stay home. Mom went to the hospital. The paramedics were there when she told the doctors in emergency what happened.

The second photograph I also took. That came from the Trauma Unit and the doctor accidentally dropped that paper. I took a picture of it.

I have about six banker’s boxes from that now-settled case. I have countless pictures of my grandmother’s open stump because the doctors no longer had skin to work with, and the VACC wasn’t helping. It looked like a pork chop, but somehow, it healed and closed, but it took months.

The paramedics never mentioned anything about what transpired when they messed up in the initial report, as if nothing happened. For any doctor who got their report, there would be no mention of the new injuries. It was more than just an arm broken in two places. It was also broken teeth, a brain bleed, bruising all over her body that turned black, her stump popped open which became a nightmare in itself, and she became completely immobile, as in becoming a quadriplegic.

They are not the only Ontario paramedics who didn’t do things right. There have been lawsuits over the years. You go to the courthouse and then spend forever on an ancient and slow computer looking through files and then working from there. For every chirpy press release, or woe-is-us uncritical article, there is more to the story than meets the eye.


My grandmother’s tragedy all happened during the long weekend. My life would change completely. I didn’t just have a bedridden grandmother who didn’t want to die to look after 24/7, I also had a mother who had PTSD 24/7, too. She was so focussed on my grandmother that she wasn’t looking after herself, and I wasn’t looking after me because I had two people to worry about. Mom won an award from CCAC for looking after grandma, not once, but twice.

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But as I said, chirpy press releases about awards don’t tell you the whole story. It was a horrific ordeal. Everything was on my shoulders to ensure we were still functional. I had no one to share the burden or understand. Charmed, whimsical, and assured Alexandra Kitty, Mycroftian-smart and Batman-prepared to the hilt, was thrown into a lion’s den.

People began to annoy me with their “advice”, which was no advice. Easy, obvious answers that neither work nor confront the actual problem was off-putting. It was like getting diagnosed with cancer and someone tell you to take an aspirin for it.

Or they’d tell me everything was going to be fine, get over it, granny is old so she should just shove off and die, anyway; so why don’t we talk about me even less, and their trip to the shoe store more. Usually what happens is that people drop those who are going through a bad time — the “Just-World Hypothesis”, if you will.

In my case, I was the one who dropped people. Fuck that shit. I had people ask me why because they didn’t understand why I was no longer answering calls, texts, or emails. I never replied back. If you had to ask, you just didn’t get it, and you never will. Go have a ball at the shoe store, and live up to that shallow and consumerist Middle Class script. I would rather spend whatever last few moments I had with one half of my entire family than listen about high heels from an empty-head.

Those who understood weren’t of that ilk. I have been repeatedly accused of being too stoic, but I don’t see the point of falling apart. It is messier, a total life sink, and wastes time and resources better spent on fixing the problem than becoming the bigger one yourself. People come to me when things fall apart and are surprised how cool and productive I am in chaos — I am, but I got that way because I have thrown in enough anarchy to adjust, see the secret patterns, and then form a plan.

That is the reason why I got through it. Mom did, too. My grandmother, sadly, did not.

Yet I learned a lot. I went into the eye of the storm, and I discovered the machinations and playbooks of an Establishment. Even though I was distracted and torn from every side, I can now tell you the war strategies of certain institutions.

And when you are not tethered, distracted, or bogged down, you can study things, and figure other things out. Out of all of this wretched bad, I got a road map, and an invaluable one at that. While I prefer pre-hoc Method Research, I ended up with a post-hoc form of Method Research, and now have something to compare as well as add something new to my already singular repertoire.

Chaser is going to be more than just a news vehicle. It is going to be something more useful.

And enigmatic.

Because someone has to level that rigged playing field…and it might as well be me.

I survived worse, and came back swinging. I don’t waste good, but I also don’t waste bad.

So, there will be no fear-mongering, but plenty of brave-mongering.

And that is your message from…


The Chaser Solution: Chapter Two: This is a Picture Book, not it doesn't belong to the devil, but the Alchemist.















That newsletter is significant for many reasons.

I tracked it down when I was a university student. 60 Minutes tried, and couldn’t, but I managed to get it after speaking with the editor Joseph de Courcy, and I bet most of you have no idea about him or his family’s amazing history. I had the honour of talking to him, and in all that rotten business during the Civil War in Yugoslavia, that conversation was a welcome high point that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

I still have that newsletter. I learned there were publications — small quiet ones, with a tiny, but critical audience, that brokered in real information. As in, stuff spies, diplomats, and other powerful and intrepid people read.

That was one of the countless sources that I used in my last book. A source used by the likes of the CIA and MI6.

And I could track it down before veteran reporters. It wasn’t a lucky break or a case of beginner’s luck.

When this venture relaunches, I am saying right now for the record, this is not going to be fake news or propaganda for sheeple.

It will be simple and elegant and balance opposites: it will have the latent flourishes of Art Nouveau, but with a Minimalist sensibility.

This isn’t going to be telling you about good news or happy news.

It will give you facts. Turn those cards around to navigate through the world. Take something bad and, like the alchemist, turn it into something golden.

Chaser will be a picture book of sorts, but not the Devil’s Picture Book. You will get your reading of the cards, but divination here is not divine. It is reality. It is truth.

It is…


The Chaser Solution: Chapter Eleven: The script doesn't play in the real world.








I talk a lot about war propaganda here. I also mention a lot about the board game Go.

I also talk about something called emotional literacy.

And all three of these threads are overlooked, particularly by those people who are conniving, but think they are smart.

Lying is an interesting dynamic. You have to feel like a complete inferior failure when you lie because you know the truth: that you either not as as great as other people, or you have no other advantage.

But to lie means you also have a conflicting superiority complex in that you think you are the smartest one in the room because you think no one will see through the lie.

If, as Sun Tzu noted, war is deception, then it stands to reason that war is a form of this kind of incompatible thinking. We know psychopaths lie to get their way, and they have no feelings towards others.

War is a collective psychopath.

We know one more thing: the more emotionally healthy and literate a person is, the more spontaneous, confident, secure, and unpredictable they are. The more unemotionally unhealthy a person is, they more scripted, rote, insecure, and predictable they are because they cling on to scripts to guide them.

In order for a psychopath to “win”, they have to rig boards and create rules for others to blindly follow. They have to make their lies look like reality. They have to gaslight people. They have to bully and shame them into following the script.

They have to ensure that people are selfish and self-obsessed so they are too busy trying to cover up their own defects that they don’t see how badly they are being manipulated.

They also have to create false narratives, find an enemy who stands out, and then get people to be equally focussed on the misdirection so they don’t see how they are being exploited by the real villain.

But there is a problem: the script doesn’t play in the real world.

Sooner or later, someone comes in, laughs at the script, and then ruins your production.

This is the reason the Left despise Donald Trump. They spent decades cultivating a foolproof script, shame anyone who opposed as being stupid, evil, crazy, primitive, and immoral, and rigging the board as they became the Establishment.

They pushed for “globalization” which was meant to ensure the entire world dutifully followed their script, and were spinning bullshit stories about fabled family “dynasties” instead of just admitting they were all for nepotism and keeping the spoils all for themselves.

And then Trump spoiled their script.

He is making strategic things that are fucking up the system. The moment the Democrats got control of the House, the rules all broke. The Democrats thought the strong economy was going to work for them and give the monies to try to fix the narrative, and now they know they are in a depression game board.

That means they are now in serious trouble. They cannot bribe voters because those voters are scared shitless trying to keep things together. All their rich friends are now in meltdown mode, meaning the billions they were banking on are now gone.

And all the game plans are worthless. It is truly remarkable.

Trump has no problem shutting down the government. For a long time. Over Christmas. Everything is going against the script.

Things that the Left have spent decades trying to tell the little people that Are Just Wrong. They drew a line in the sand, and bank on people not crossing the line.

I am not unfamiliar with being silly. When I was a kid, when I did something naughty, my mom would decree that I was punished.

There was no punishment. It was a loss of face, and a horrible mark on my honour. It worked like a charm until my uncle heard an instance, and then asked “What’s the punishment” before the little light went off in my head. Mom lost an effective racket, but I learned a lesson.

And I kept on learning from it.

Journalists have not learned a thing.


Canada hasn’t learned anything, either. There is a silly piece in the Globe and Mail that shows how clueless it is:

The Chinese government needs friends – people who are a lot like the Canadians it has detained

No, they don’t. From the food we eat to the clothes we wear to everything else in Canada, the World’s Factory produced it. If China refused to sell us anything, we’d be seriously fucked.

China doesn’t need Canada. We are not even a pimple on its backside. We could be wiped off the map tomorrow, China wouldn’t even feel it.

China has citizens with solid gold toilets, while our citizens cannot afford a dinky 10K gold chain. Cash for gold didn’t take off here if people were doing well..

The scary thing about all of these troubles is that Canada’s global scandals are exposing just how weak and inconsequential we are — and no one seems to notice because they are following scripts that do not play in the real world.

So let’s be frank with the Canadian public. China is the stronger power. They don’t need us, but we are completely dependent on them for our survival. You have people here whining about not getting free government money through Basic Income anymore: do you think they are going to go to a trade school, get educated, and then go work full-time in a factory to pick up the slack?

They found some script about how they are special and are hence entitled, and are now following it and believing it.

So, what has Canada done in 2018? Arrogantly alienated the US, Saudi Arabia, and China. We cannot take any moral high ground or have any virtuous airs by now throwing the sins of these nations in their faces because we put up with it when it suited our own lazy asses.

We decided to throw some non-existent weight around and talked down to all three of them, pretending to be superior. This was a bad mistake.

Because the script doesn’t play in the real world.

But only emotionally illiterate scrip- followers buy propaganda and get surrounded and sunk in a game of Go.

Like journalists did. And the federal government in Canada.


I don’t buy scripts. They are misdirections, not guides. And 2019 is going to show just how those scripts do not play in the real world. It will be a horrific year for those people. It will disillusioning that scripts aren’t good when you are in the chaos of anarchy and bad things come at you from all possible sides.

For people who do not follow scripts, 2019 will be a wonderful year. It is going to be one of those years where things take a strange shift. A few years ago, age was the factor: suddenly people over 40 were the hip and coveted ones, while the young generation were duds who played it safe. You can thank social media for turning over the old rules.

2019 will be a watershed year for a different reason. The architects of the old script are going to be in for a rough ride, and once the spell is broken, their flocks will turn on them. The scripts will be fodder for bonfires, and with that light, other things will be illuminated.

The stones on the Go board are turning into dominos.

And Chaser will be ready.

I don’t do scripts. I don’t panic. I don’t scare. I have proven my mettle in 2018. 2019 is going to be a fun year for me.

Get ready.

And that is your message from…


The Chaser Solution: Chapter Zero: I am many things, but numb isn't one of them. Yet I see that numbness all around me.


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I took that picture when the body of slain soldier Cpl. Nathan Cirillo was being driven past my house on Main Street East in Hamilton. I had guests at the time and everyone was watching the feed on Twitter, following the progress so they could come out and pay their respects.

That was 2014.

It was a terrorist attack on Canadian soil that killed him, and worse, his gun was ornamental, meaning there wasn’t any bullets in it.

That’s sanctioned insanity.

Everything has a façade. Most people don’t scratch the surface. They take a half-assed look, think everything is sturdy, and tune out.

Until someone calls the bluff.

But it is funny how we get immune to homogenization. I remember this lawsuit. Madonna and her producer eventually won it, but it is interesting that music has become less diverse, even though there are more categories of genres we come up with…that sound more alike than different.

You may also not realize how little choice we actually have. When there was that giant pet food recall scandal years ago, it was telling how many seemingly rival companies and brands all had to be chucked because they came from the same tainted vat, which, if we have diversity, should not have happened. The cheap brands and the pricey brands were all affected.

It is the same with clothing and jewelry lines: companies own a bunch of different brands, but the kicker is they contract out to the same small cluster of factories. Don’t look on the label: look at the numbers on the back — those identify the factory it was made, and if you are sharp, you can compare numbers to find out out the the same brand uses different factories, and that rival brands use the same factory to make their garbage.

I know it, but people around me have no clue as they crow about overpaying for things made in the same factories as the products they put down.


When I looked after my grandmother during her final two years, I spent a lot of time in the emergency room. Bad things happen when you are helpless, and your innards start to atrophy. You must constantly move or your body starts to shut down. When the paramedics dropped her, they turned her body into a prison.

I sat a lot in emergency rooms, and there were a whole collection of different kinds of people in there. Doped up teens was a big segment. They would take drugs, flip out, and then go to the hospital.

I remember one girl who had no idea what was swimming in her head. She yelled at the nurses repeatedly, asking, Can’t you see that my face is numb?

She had no clue that no, nurses can’t see your numb face. Whatever shit she was on wore off, she got perky, and left.

But her stupid comments stayed behind for me to muse about them, and take up the challenge.

Can you see numbness?

Yes, you can see emotional numbness. You can even see intellectual numbness. It’s just the physical kind that, ironically, hides itself from shallow visual examination.

Numbness in a society kills off many things, such as skepticism and more importantly, curiosity. The more numb you are, the harder it is to learn.

So how do you deal with numbness when you are relaunching a news vehicle?

How do you get the senses of others to turn on?

Once upon a time, that was a problem for me. Now, there is a solution.

It is a counterintuitive world where up is down and down is up. Outside is inside and inside is outside.

To provoke in a numb world means to remember that you cannot see physical numbness, but the intangible numbness is easily seen.

Chaser will provoke. It will be a shock. Not for the first three arcs, and not for the fourth.

But starting with the fifth arc, everything changes.

How so?

The first two arcs will take a story, and break it down for you. They will be annotated and curated. The content of the article will be secondary to the commentary.

The One Shot will be a historical one, but with a twist: I will use modern sensibilities on an old crime case to show a different angle. This is arc three.

Arc four brings back one of the my original Chaser stories. It will be updated, but I am going to reinvent the story by using the F.R.E.E.D. method.

By fall, comes the fifth arc. This is going to be all F.R.E.E.D. and Matriarchal. It will provoke, but not in a traditional sense. This will be different and completely different than anything journalism has ever done before.

It will be by bootstrapping. I am not going to sink money in this story. By the fall, you will get to know me. Each arc is a new level. I am not going to overwhelm you or try to impress you. This will be done by simple methods because this will be the core.

Then I will pullback, and then by January 2020, I will introduce the sixth arc that will be more complicated, refining and modifying things.

And that is your message from…


The Chaser Solution: Chapter Five: There is nothing wrong with being okay with yourself. Doing things on your on time and order in your own way is just fine.




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I need to get back in shape.

I remember when I used to be thin. I boxed regularly. I was buff.


When Hamilton magazine took that photo of me for their profile, baby, I had muscles.

A couple of years ago, I was a passenger in a car that was stopped at a red light for quite a long time, and then the car I was in got totalled from behind by a hit and run driver. I managed to snap a picture of the getaway, but at least one other person got it on camera as well.


There was damage to me. I had pain that lasted for months, and when I went to a clinic and the doctor ordered an x-ray, he didn’t know I was in a car accident because I didn’t say anything, but he knew from the x-rays.

I was just sitting in the car at a red light musing about having salmon sausages for dinner and then that car hit into my car. Full speed without hitting the brakes. The police found the driver, but the games being played are a waste, and it doesn’t do a thing for the fact that the impact left me with problems.

There was absolutely nothing that I could have done to alter the outcome.


I remember what the police officer said after he gave me his card, “Remember that you are victims of a crime.”

We were. I cannot change that fact that I was a victim of a hit and run. That picture was taken with my iPad because the impact of the crash broke my iPhone. My legs were all black from the impact.

It was not something I needed nor wanted. I had to get home to look after my bedridden grandmother. That was the reality of my life at the time. I just had more pain and stress for the troubles.

And I had a full plate already. I didn’t get to think about Alexandra Kitty. That was not a luxury I could afford.

I can think about her now. I can think about her love for animals, her silly sense of humour that didn’t sour, and how much she loves learning and arts, and has a peculiar knowledge of the history of playing cards.

I also remember she wrote her first book on how journalism had too much rot in it.


When I decided to relaunch Chaser, I had to think about me. A lot.

I had let too much get away from me, and I have this gap of what happened to me because I could not focus on me for a long time until 2018 tried to get take advantage of that hole in my knowledge.

Boy, did I remember who I was and fast.

I am a fighter.

I am also an out-and-out eccentric.

That eccentricity saved my life because not even nature could predict or control me. I could fight back in a novel way that not even my misfortune could decipher.

But I am eccentric.

I mean, who else can be a serious intellectual — say it on a website — and post seemingly random images (spoiler alert: they are not random) of all sorts of peculiar things, and not give one flying fuck (and write profanity like nobody’s business) what people have to say?

I have always been eccentric. We can start with my imaginary friend Danny when I was a toddler. We can also discuss my countless forays as a girl scientist who made stuff explode. I was reading comics and boxing before it was a thing for women. My movie tastes are obscure. I don’t watch television, but I will binge watch a series. My fiction writing is epic and complex. I played the left-hander’s tuba and am learning the theremin.

I will wear mismatched sandals, too. Same style, different colours, and then match my toenails. I shop for furniture at the Re-Store because I don’t like the shoddy workmanship of modern furniture. If they had wood bookshelves, I wouldn’t have to get them at Ikea.

I don’t look eccentric. I am not a loon or some flighty ditz. I just believe in being myself.

Over the years, I have had people try to shame, bully, or control me into being someone else. I find people are very intimidated by a woman who is eccentric. I don’t know why. I like eccentric people.

Because they are the ones who are being authentic.

And I don’t understand why people want to get rid of the very things that would make them lovable.

People who know me know me. I just found my Guy Gardner action figure and had a good chuckle: I ordered it from a comic book store about a decade ago. I frequented that shop since I was a teenager, and bought so much shit in that store that the owner (who sadly passed away a few years ago) commissioned a Catwoman drawing as a Christmas gift for me as well as have one Catwoman graphic novel autographed by the artist who drew it, and I also just came across both today.

I couldn’t get to the store to pick up the Guy Gardner figure; so my mother — who doesn’t know her superhero comics, volunteered to pick it up.

Great, I thought, until she came back with a very odd facial expression. I got my figure, but there was an incident at the store. Guy Gardner is a Green Lantern, but she knew he was a Green something, and she guessed Green Goblin.

And the faux pas did not go down well with the owner or the other customers who chastised her and yelled, “It’s Green Lantern! Alexandra would never get a Green Goblin action figure!”

That’s true, totally. They seemed quite angry at her for not knowing, and while she didn’t like being told, I found it funny. This was the Big Bang Theory a little before the actual Big Bang Theory.

I am not predictable, but I am distinctive. People who know me will tell you my favourite band is The Hives, for instance, or that my favourite female singer is Annie Lennox.

They know I know Wesley Willis, and like Penn and Teller. I am a superfan of Sherlock Holmes. Watership Down and A Confederacy of Dunces are my favourite fiction novels. I love Kintsugi and encaustics. I love white roses and orchids.

And I am in a great place with it.

But it took me a few months to turn on the switch and be me again. It’s funny how minimalist you become when certain things start happening to you.

When I did re-start myself, suddenly, Chaser came roaring back.

Yoo hoo, Lexy! It shouted to me, Where were we?

I missed Chaser. It was eccentric journalism.

And it is coming back full force with a more mature and wise Alexandra Kitty behind it.

She is more okay with herself, especially after experiencing what she could triumph over.

And if there is one message to this venture, it’s stop trying to be someone you are not because you are wasting your life.

But if you are yourself, the message will be a different one: here is news that’s made for you.

The script doesn’t play in the real world, kids.

But Chaser does…and so does Alexandra Kitty…


The Chaser Solution: Chapter Ten: There is only one business model available to those who disseminate news. Bootstrapping. Any other is a fraud.















The old business model of journalism was based on an old-fashioned world that made Howard Hughes a billionaire even though he was just a goober: he had access to something other people were denied: a special drill, and in the oil industry, it was the bit more than the oil that counted because the bit was a key.

Back in the olden times, kids, media owners had the key to all the mass communications tools, such as broadcasting license or a printing press. They had access to a big audience, and their core of their business model assumed that if you wanted to advertise to a big potential base, you had to play by their rules because those motherfuckers had a key and you could not unlock that special access area without them.

Because of the rigs, it it rewarded and attracted a certain kind of person to run those properties: script-memorizers who held tightly to the key, thinking it was a permanent crown.

In other words, it rewarded assholes.

Then the Internet said, “Fuck you” to those assholes, and then the whole world had that access. It would be akin if someone had a better bit than Hughes and then just gave it to everyone to drill their own oil. Hughes would be flipping hamburgers, and everyone else would live happily ever after. The End.

Now that the old model is kaput, you would think they would see what has changed, and then devise new plans based on the new reality.



Because they are arrogant assholes who think they are superior to the little people. They are so used to bossing people around and telling then what to think. They do not want to mix or mingle with those plebs.

They don’t want to slum it with poor people. Those are icky populists who aren’t even impressed with reporters, and call them out for spewing fake news.

They like to hobnob with rich and powerful people, fellate them at cocktail parties and maybe get a patronage appointment that pays better than the low-rent job as a journalist.

It is a sad state of affairs.

I interviewed the haves and the have-nots when I worked as a journalist. I interviewed people in boardrooms and people in jail. Some of those people in boardrooms ended up in jail or are just not in boardrooms anymore because they got kicked to the curb. The people I interviewed from jail are not in jail anymore. They were released and are productive members of society, never looking back.

I always was mystified by journalism. I went into it to study it, and I could not for the life of me understand the demented arrogance of people in it who thought it was a horrid thing to interact with other human beings. I loved, loved, loved that part of the job. I never tired of listening to other people. I learned so much, and became a better person for it.

It is a plus for an emotionally literate person, however.

If you are emotionally illiterate, it becomes a burden. It is like walking with numb feet. You will stumble and you do not understand what you do not feel. You have no clue what elements are missing within you because you don’t have in you.

So if you have no feel, you lack data. That is a crucial concept to understand: if you are missing emotionality, you misinterpret reality, and hence, your perceptions are misaligned with that reality. You have gaps, and hence whatever arguments you try to use, logic is not filler that can compensate for the lack of real and raw emotions. If you do not feel that you are feverish, you do not know that you are in danger. That’s what happened to the profession: all the signs of trouble were missed because of the lack of feel.

Journalists live in a dead profession, and it is dead because the key elements in their own souls are dead.

The end.

Which brings us to their fucked up and dysfunctional ideas about their “business model.”

They do not have one that is in any way aligned with reality. The old days where they held all the cards sailed far away from them, never to return.

The end.

Because they have no respect for their audiences, they do not want to have to hustle. They are forever scheming for easy and lazy solutions.

Such as “donations”: give us money!

Or begging the government: give us tax money!

Or being a mouthpiece to rich tycoons like Howard Hughes: give us lots of money!

Notice none of these models have them earning their money, or being among the people they are supposed to cover and inform.

And journalism — and its alternative — can never be legitimate through these sketchy methods. It will always be propaganda.

If you have an actual product, people will buy it and use it.

If I don’t buy a toothbrush and toothpaste, I will have rotten teeth. If I do not buy food, I will starve.

If I don’t get educated by learning to read, I will be at a disadvantage because I will be illiterate.

So journalism never had an excuse. They were just arrogant and lazy, nothing more.

And also lacking in any common sense.

If the government funds you, you are fake news.

If you get donations from many or one, you are fake news.

The end.

You are toxic waste polluting the information stream and pure manipulative garbage.

So then what is the model?

Simple: bootstrapping.

It is the only legitimate method that can work without compromise.



Because it is the method in tune with reality.

When I became a journalist, I did so to study it. Most people do not appreciate what that actually means.

It means that I walked among the subject I was studying. I was in the eye of the storm. I did everything that was part and parcel of being in the profession. I never had to guess or reconstruct reality. I lived that reality.

My survival depended on getting jobs in the profession. That was my pay check; so I knew exactly what the life of a typical journalist was because that was my life.

I did not have to make educated guesses or overthink anything. I knew the pressures of deadlines and demanding editors as well as difficult people I had to get to speak to me. I knew how people reacted to a reporter. I knew how reporters got educated and groomed.

But because I entered the profession with a plan, I could benefit from pre-hoc analysis, versus the inferior post-hoc.

When people get disillusioned, they may begin to study their old profession with certain filters, but it is not the same, nor can it ever be empirical: because they were never trained to see connections and facts, they miss too much, and then have to reconstruct memories that are tainted and compromised.

I never had that problem because I walked in with a plan from Day One — a very complex and complicated plan where I literally conducted hundreds of experiments.

And the fact that this epic fact keeps flying above everyone’s head is very funny and infuriating at the same time.

I am literally the only person in the world with my set of expertise and all I get is blank stares and pathetically ignorant reviews from ditzes who obviously do not comprehend a reality that veers from their rote scripts. Fuck them.

To add to my knowledge base, one of my beats was writing about —ta da! — the business of journalism.

Are you following me?

Here is someone studying journalism by becoming a journalist who is also using her job to research the business of journalism. Quaker sensibilities, kids: waste nothing.

So I can tell you how worthless and fucked up the model was — and the shameless cheating newspapers stooped to in order to try to hide from advertisers how badly their circulations were tanking. They started counting free newspapers into circulation — stacks of untouched newspapers were counted as part of readership.

And this was almost twenty years ago.

Bad, bad, bad rot.

And I covered it.

So here are a bunch of bad businesspeople looking to make money without having to actually earn it — and completely ignoring the fact that they were the ones who were responsible for the collapse.

They will entertain everything else except for bootstrapping. So the one thing that works is off the table. Nice try.

Bootstrapping forces you to use risk and emotional literacy to earn your keep.

You do not get investors, angel investors, crowdsourcing, funding rounds, bank loans, tax dollars, patrons, nada.

If you have ten bucks in your pocket, you start your business with ten bucks.

Yes, you have your work cut out for you, but that is the realistic and honest route.

You will not brag, no. You have nothing to brag about.

No, you will not get invited to swanky cocktail parties in the beginning because you cannot be exploited and used.

That’s the point. You know exactly where you stand with no fantasies or delusions. All those veils get torn off real fast.

So now you have to start thinking about real things, such as how are you going to start, how you will pay your bills, and you will need plans that will be constantly revised.

Advertising is expensive, and it is ineffective. The only thing that works is being useful, and word of mouth. That’s it.

I can talk about bootstrapping because that has been a model I have experimented with and used, even now.

And not just with writing, but also with art and teaching. What I had is what I used.

It is a slower process, but builds more than just a solid foundation: it makes you hyper-vigilant of your surroundings and reality as you deal directly with the public. I need no focus group or polls to tell you what is happening in the world.

I didn’t invent the concept, but I have always admired those who made it that way, and I have a deep respect for those who bypass the lazy path and understand its significance.

It forces you to go in the middle of a group of homeless people and speak to them, not at them, or past them. If forces you to go directly to powerful people and not slobber all over them or fall for their feints and ruses. They cannot fool you because you are trained to see their reality.

You feel the winds of change and can adapt. You focus with humility. You learn to bond with knowledge and with your work. You learn who your true friends are, and that is not a pessimistic revelation. For me, it was a happy surprise that the number was much bigger than what I had originally thought.

You meet new people, and often, they open your eyes as you open theirs. You learn the power of connecting to others and experiencing a life of movement, feedback, and cooperation.

It makes you see hard work is not shameful, but a blessing. You do not see bad times as obstacles, but as puzzles to solve.

You learn to innovate and improvise as you experiment and think about tomorrow.

And you owe no favours. No one owns you because you become one with the chaos of the infinite because you learn to let go of your fear.

And if you are unafraid of reality, you can see it and deal with it.

You can walk right into the eye of the storm and gain vision.

Journalism is blinded by its own deadness.

Chaser is going to go the bootstrapping way, but it is not my first foray into the method. The first professional publication I put out, I was in grade eleven. It was a literary journal showcasing the art, stories, and poetry of my fellow students. I did all of the work, negotiated the price with a printer, and sold it with a profit that I donated to my high school’s special needs class. It wasn’t a huge profit, but if a teenaged girl can do it, so can the self-entitled geezers who have media properties.

That was bootstrapping.

So was the original Chaser, as is A Dangerous Woman and this web site.

I admit I had bizarre setbacks in the last few years. God dropped the ball that directly fell on my head, where I ended up in a place below Hell where the devil decided right then and there to ambush me with a death match and played dirty, let me tell you.

Yeah, never mess with a Serbian woman from Hamilton. I am still a little stiff and sore from that bullshit story called 2018, but hey, I am alive, conscious, and coherent to write this, motherfuckers. Go me!


So, here is the thing: I don’t do rules, but I will do requests. I listen to feedback, just don’t be an uppity ass about it.

Sadly, I do typos. I think I have my Typo Queen Tiara I made for myself in some box somewhere. Even though I type fast, I just cannot write as fast as I think, and my thoughts do overcrowd me. I do correct things when I see them.

I am setting things up. I do plans, however. I do experiments.

I will have fun, but as a human fucking being, I do have emotions, and I do express them.

Loudly, proudly, and unequivocally. If you have problems with emotions, I will just tell you to go fuck yourself, you cowardly psychopath. That way, you can start to feel something yourself.

You may want to take note of that fact that I don’t have any flying fucks to give. I got rid of all of them in 2018 because they don’t actually have any use.

I will bootstrap. I will not be begging for money. I will not be telling you that you will end up in Hell unless you give me money because I am the Goddess Of All Democracy. Fuck that shit. As I get things going, I will tweak here and there. I will be useful. I will do research. I will talk about myself so that you get to know the person who is giving you information. Your perspective will be different than mine. Our life requirements will be different, but the facts I find will be verified, and I will talk about the process, not the same way as the original Chaser, however.

I will also cover stories that have meaning. I do not like when people are ignored, hurt, abused, or held back. I have deep reverence for altruists and idealists because we would all still be in caves shivering if it weren’t for the risk-taker who discovered fire and invented the wheel and then made the world more livable.

I am a bunny hugger. I adore cats. Animals should never be mistreated.

But neither should people.

So I am going back into the ring. I am not totally unpacked, but even though I bought a bunch of Ikea shelves (Laiva, if you want to know), I just ran out of shelf space, and need to buy at least two more as about ten books are due to come to me on top of the ones that I cannot place. I also have a nagging feeling there are a couple more boxes of books in the moving box out in the back. La la.

At least all my Blue Beetle comics and action figures have been liberated from the boxes and the action figures are guarding my books. My favourite Moschino scarf has been framed and is on the wall across from me while my Han Hoogerbrugge will have to be hung in my bedroom as I seem to be the only person to appreciate it. The Hives are playing in this house, and I finally found my bust of William Shakespeare and statues of Hawkwoman and Catwoman. Some things about Alexandra Kitty don’t change, although my repertoire now includes Alexander Kastulin pottery.

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So I am getting prepared as I just need to lace up my boxing boots and begin…


The Chaser Solution: Chapter Three: Emotionality is not irrationality, but the lack of emotions is a mental defect.

Sadly, this reviewer doesn’t get my latest book. Too lazy or just plain too stupid to read the hundreds of sources in the back, the reviewer is a moron who is uncomfortable with rage.

The problem with journalism is that it is not just a dead profession, but an emotionally dead profession. When a emotionally and intellectually stunted person doesn’t get why Trump’s victory spelled the end for the global profession of journalism, then you know this is not someone mature enough to see reality.

So, Gabriela Perdomo, if you lack the insight to know why Trump’s victory had international implications for every country other than America — and I am Canadian, not an American, here is a clue:

Because the strongest and most profitable place of modern journalism is the US. These are the journalists who sparked wars in countries not the US.

So far with me, Gabriela Perdomo?

Both Gulf Wars were sanctioned by journalists in the US. The bombing of Serbs was demanded by US journalists.

They determined elections. They demanded laws that went on the books. They toppled leaders of other nations, even if their native press did not. Billionaires lost their businesses and were sent to jail after US journalists targeted them as well as A-list actors who found themselves embroiled in scandal.

Gabriela Perdomo, I want you to take a good look at this picture:


That is all that it took to sink his chances of becoming US President.

But American reporters could have done that to any political candidate anywhere in the world. Your country. My country.

PR firms know this — something else you do not seem to get upset over or understand its implications, meaning you are unqualified to write a review about the problems of journalism.

If you do not understand FARA or its significance, you are not experienced enough to write a review, and I find that troubling, and makes me question Les Cahiers du journalisme completely. It is not a serious or legitimate publication.

Now do you understand a little more, Gabriela Perdomo?


I didn’t think so. You seem to believe all countries are equal, but they are not. I live next to the giant that created modern journalism and can compare it to the pathetic version in my own country. I worked for both. You don’t seem to have a clue to what happens here; so let me bring you to November 2016.

When Hillary Clinton was running, she was the “sure thing” to be president, running against a man with no political experience, and was known as a tabloid fixture and a reality show star.

All but three newspapers in the US back Clinton, and one was the National Enquirer. The coverage was rigged against Trump who was seen as a joke.

All he had was a Twitter account, and he won.

Gary Hart had one damning photograph. Trump had a whole life of spice.

And he won.


If the US news media can no longer control how the masses think in their own nation, they lose control over international events as well.

And look at France and all of its troubles. It is a country spiralling out of control. Where is your media?

Look at Germany’s Der Spiegel scandal.

Do you think Germans will forget that their biggest property lied to them repeatedly? That they were fooled, and the sure thing was flawed?

Never. The spell gets broken. Like a disease, when the strongest collapses, the weaker ones do not stand a chance.

I did my research, Gabriela Perdomo. I did not just look at the US, but took a sample of countries from every continent — and they were in worse shape than the US — but also their model of journalism was the same or worse than the US.

No one will give one flying fuck about the journalism in those countries you mentioned because their ability to spread propaganda is nowhere in the ball park of the damage the US press has done over the decades.

You seem to be quite provincial and near-sighted. It is unfortunate you lack the mindset to get how serious the collapse of journalism is globally.

And do you think you are intellectually superior because you seem to lack appropriate affect to a global collapse of an entire industry — or are you in denial of reality?

Which one?

I would love to hear from you, and assess your mindset because you don’t seem to be paying attention to the fact that there has been a death of a profession, and replaced with propaganda.

I have covered the French press on this website numerous, and it is in far worse shape. It is an oblivious press that is missing a key intellectual and emotional element. It explains why France exploded as badly as it did: people are starved for something that is in tune with reality.

If you are not angry at what has happened, you are not being rational. It is not a normal response to be blinded by the lack of real data and just be laissez-faire about the whole thing.

In your neighbourhood, how many starving children are there?

How many children are forced into prostitution and child pornography?

How many women got raped this year?

How many mafias and gangs are getting away with human trafficking?

How many terrorists are plotting to destroy you?

I bet you have no idea because your local media doesn’t tell you.

Does your local politicians take bribes? From who? How much?

The food you eat — how healthy is it? Are you shoving deadstock in your mouth?

The jewelry you wear — how much lead or cadmium is rubbing against your skin?

You have no clue, and you are unemotional about it?

Do you know how much psychiatric medication pollutes the water you drink?

It’s a lot.

I bet you didn’t know that.

I bet there are a lot of things that you do not know.

I do.

That is why I channel my emotionality to constructive purposes while you do not.

You live in a void vortex. You will die in one, too, spinning on the hamster wheel feeling nothing.

And when you feel nothing, you cannot detect when disaster is coming.

It is the reason journalism collapsed: they stopped feeling, and stopped caring, and then their instincts disappeared, and they never even knew why they were numb, not caring about their world, disconnecting to their audiences they looked down on because they still have emotions that they could no longer understand.

I will still be that woman who roars.

Does that intimidate you, Gabriela Perdomo?

That a woman can roar, while you can only whisper whatever authority tell you is acceptable?

I will continue to roar on this web site, and every book I write.

You will know a human being who cares and loves — and thinks critically cares enough about her world, even after she is long gone.

And who will remember the woman who whispers from another’s script?

My heart and my mind work as one and as the Infinite. I make no apologies for it. Fuck you.

And I roar when people do not use either their heart or mind as they muddle through life…


Der Spiegel's mess gets messier...

Big fibber Claas Relotius apparently was doing more than lying, according to his pigeons at Der Spiegel:

…Der Spiegel said Sunday it would file a criminal complaint against a disgraced reporter after it emerged he may have embezzled donations intended for Syrian street children.

Claas Relotius, 33, resigned this month after admitting to making up stories and inventing protagonists in more than a dozen articles in the magazine's print and online editions.

Spiegel said it now had information that Relotius allegedly launched a campaign for readers to give money to help subjects of an article he wrote but that the bank details he gave directed the funds to his own account.

This isn’t good, but as journalism is an unregulated and unlicensed profession, there are no checks and balances. You have no idea of the product you are getting, What I said in 2005 in my first book, I can still say today as we approach 2019.

Think about that. In Canada, media products get no strings attached tax money. They are unlicensed, unregulated, and have absolutely no empirically tried and tested standards, no matter what little symbols they place on their propaganda or what made-up organizations they use to lobby for money. It’s a sham.

In medicine, there are at least standards and experiments, and medical trials. Journalism has none. There are more Class Relotuis's out there that have yet to be tagged.

So remember that the next time someone gets worked up over an article or broadcast…

The Chaser Solution: Chapter One: You cannot teach if you are unwilling to learn. You cannot write unless you are willing to read different perspectives.

I took at course from Harvard’s Derek Bok School which specializes in teaching about teaching and learning. I have been eying taking that course for a long time, but then the devil came to brawl with me in April; so that was out of the question until September when the winner of that death match finally got to sign up.

Some people would have gone on vacation. I wanted to learn, and keep my teaching up to code.

If the class is a good one, you (a) learn new things from the course/instructors, and (b) learn new things from others taking the course. It should humble you as it builds confidence.

And I learned a lot from both, and both exceeded all expectations. I highly recommend taking it.

I learned a lot from myself, too. I have an instinct for teaching, but I had never codified my strategies for it until I took the course. It was all swimming up there in that anarchistic chaos known as my mind.

I could be a student forever. I always loved learning. I could be a teacher forever. I love teaching just as much.

You don’t trade one for the other. They work hand in hand together. The more you are willing to admit that you don’t know everything, the better student and teacher you become.

The same goes for writing. You cannot be a good writer if you think you know everything. You have to read in order to write. You have to study the minds and the hearts of others in order to not just understand other people, but also yourself.

I am still not finished packing all of my books. I have new books and old books. Someone just gave me a biography of Ruth Bader Ginsberg for Christmas. I can’t wait to read it. I have about ten books that are due to arrive from Amazon. I never stop reading.

The problems in journalism aren’t problems with book publishing. It is the reason why that industry’s collapse utterly mystifies me.

I have books on educational psychology, calculus, public speaking, astronomy, and acting. I am a big fan of the Chekov Technique, for instance. I also have books on how to communicate with children. I have books on metalworking, such as chasing and forging. I have fiction, and more Penguin Classics than you can imagine, but I also have new fiction.

But mostly nonfiction.

I always hunger to learn. Not just facts. I love humour. I love to laugh out loud.

Being outrageous doesn’t mean being irrational or frivolous. When humour is a tool and not a weapon, that’s when fortunes start to turn around…


The Chaser Solution: Preface: The world is my playground.










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I bet you were starting to wonder when I was going to write something.


The world is my playground. That’s my motto for 2019.


The rage puking on the Troll Scroll and dead journalism products is boring me. So is all of the garbage the various governments are dumping on people in their never-ending bullshit strategy of using fear-mongering and moral masturbation to get compliance for lunatic ideas that are unworkable, but are just greed and pity scams to make loser politicians rich. Nice try, motherfuckers, I am not buying the bullshit the you assholes are selling.

I am not playing by rules. The world is my playground, and I am going to be playing.

I am watching towers burning and emperors wearing no clothes. If people were in a rational and skeptical frame of mind, they would be pissing their pants laughing at all of this insanity. People fighting on Facebook about stuff they know nothing about, making grifters rich and powerful. What the fuck is wrong with people?

They jumped on a hamster wheel and now do not know how to get off.

You know, I had a very bad year for most of it, but the last couple of months were a huge turnaround. Not everything is where it should be, but it isn’t where it was in April when everything just took a turn for the worst (no, not worse). It is not as if I had some easy time of it before. The last few years were terrible for me, having to look full-time after someone so sick and helpless, with those responsible for that trauma getting unchallenged praise on the front page of a newspaper — but those same praisers also had wonderful words for criminals as well.

So we know how much their praise is worth. I believe that currency is called bupkes.

Yes, I noticed, and yes, it is on the record here as well.

But I survived the last few years that most people don’t go through in a single lifetime.

So now that the wheel of fortune is spinning differently for me, at least I know it isn’t a hamster wheel I am riding on because I am getting somewhere.


I am not in a flock, nor I am following a script. I am not going in circles or looking downwards or behind me, let alone getting moved as a pawn by others on some rigged board. Fuck that shit.


You know, during the lowest part of it, I still wrote. I wrote fiction and nonfiction. I still maintained a sense of humour. Ted Kord would be proud of me.


Because the world is my playground. It is not my prison. It will become my paradise.

So you petty little motherfuckers have been warned.


This world was not made for hurting, but helping.

It was not made for competition, but cooperation.


And if I can crawl out of a place worse than Hell and be that energetic and perky, you know what I am made of.


My dreams will not be delayed or put on hold for another second. Nuh-huh, forget it. The world is my playground, my laboratory, my stage, my classroom, my muse, my paradise, my friend, my family, my home, and my blessing and miracle.


But mostly my playground.

And the game is a version of Find the Lady.

It has its own name, too…


Der Spiegel's Fake News: It is not just them. I wrote the book on this topic in 2005, and it has gotten worse.

My Internet was down for a few days; so that is the reason I did not talk about Der Spiegel’s little fake news scandal. Claas Relotius was an award-winning journalist; just so you know awards mean squat.

And it went on for years.

Fact-checking as some sort of fail-safe is a myth. Stephen Glass proved that years ago.

I wrote the book on journalistic fraud — and notice no one is calling me for a quote on this hot mess because it is more than obvious that I am going to say this is not an isolated incident, and that news fraud is a real and series problem happening right now.

Journalists do not want to hear it. They like to be sanctimonious and smug gas-lighters who imply that to point out their lies and propaganda makes you some sort of anti-democratic loon.

No, I am pro-democracy, pro-education, pro-information accessibility, and pro-critical thinking.

I am also pro-journalism alternative.

That was overdue about twenty years ago, but better late than never…

The Chaser Dilemma, Part Ten: Rules are such fragile things...turn them over, and they break.










The original Chaser evolved. It started out as one thing, turned into many more.

There came a point where I could get messages such as, “I have no idea what’s going on or what it means, but I love it.”

I had all sorts of strange things. There was always a purpose.

And then I walked away.

I had reasons, and many, but I was becoming complacent, and then I snapped right back to my senses.


There was a saying I used frequently, and it is the title of this post. The biggest mistake the Middle Class make is that they seek rules and follow them, never actually testing them, questioning them, or turning them over because they think they mean something, are real, and endure, which is just lazy and cowardly bullshit.

The moment you stop turning over rules is the moment you become complacent. You found the lies you are comfortable in obeying as you indulge your cowardice.

Turn over those rules, and they break wide open.

So, what rules will this site play by? None. It is going to be anarchy.

It will challenge the secret rules of anarchy as well as part of something beyond the alchemic. It will be the lab for experimental utopian scholarship.

No rituals, no rules, no signs, symbols, or omens.

No games of chess or go.


So to all those rules followers, you are going to dislike 2019 very much.

To the motherfuckers of the UK government who are bigots that once again blame Serbs for wanting peace in their homeland — and you are even encouraging war — don’t forget, you are going to have your every rule tested.

Do you think you lazy trolls can exploit Serbs to save yourselves from fuckery of Brexit?

Remember: you have your own Kosovos within your own borders.

You know the UK is going in for a crash and burn. They have a violence problem that is out of control, and meddling in Kosovo is not going to save them.

It will merely bring the same thing to their borders. This isn’t the 1990s.

The humbling is coming for a lot of old school players.

But for me, the party is just beginning.

I just have to think about how I will turn over rules, other people’s — and also my own…

The Chaser Dilemma, Part Nine: Where has all the fun and funny gone?





I think Saul Alinsky would not be happy seeing the rot in the world. He would see that no one is living up to their own rules — not the Right, and certainly not the Left. Much of his theories were blown to bits by Twitter. There can be no rule about ridicule anymore because everyone is trying to prevent everyone else from laughing.

I had a laughing fit today thinking about something silly my grandmother once did: mom called her once and she said angrily, “Who is this?” before her own daughter ever had a chance to say hello. I was in stitches, but my mother seemed to steam at the episode to even be able to crack a smirk.

My grandmother was both intentionally funny — and funny without even trying. Her logic was eccentric to say the least. I miss her.

But I can still heartily laugh.

When I did Chaser News the first time, I was unrepentantly silly.


I used the now-defunct Meez animations of myself constantly.


Those were ones that had a life on that platform. I change my hair constantly; so it was always a reflection of my current look, or one from the past.


They were meant to poke fun at the world as much as myself.


They were popular enough that people who read the site went to get their own Meez, but I had a lot of people use mine because of the silly things I thought up.


I was often surprised where I stumbled upon them. They eventually got spun off in another even more eccentric venture of mine, developed into characters, and then while the animations were gone, they became central to A Dangerous Woman Story Studio.

But even though they took a life of their own, they were cryptic messages. They were fun and funny, but they were secret code for other things.


These days, people get too offended that someone is fun and funny. They want everyone to be as angry and miserable as they are.

They put every word under the microscope and make up bullshit why this joke is wrong.

No, you’re just not self-actualized.

But I am self-actualized. I was self-actualized back then because I could poke fun at myself with ease.


But I still had serious and important things to say.

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And still do. More so, even.


I don’t need the Meez, even though I bring the ladies back every once in a while here.

Because watching empires fall is an interesting thing to observe.

Everyone talks about the diminishing clout of the US, but the dirty little secret is that all empires are falling. China, Germany, UK, all of them.

And it isn’t just countries. Big Tech is falling. Legacy journalism fell already. Hollywood is falling. Companies are falling. Political parties are falling.

And that should get you thinking. Where are the resources? Why is everything teetering?

The era of the empire is falling.

Socialism, communism, fascism, none of those fake alternatives are coming into play because they need traction they do not actually have.

Something strange is happening. There is a huge black hole, and no one sees it; let alone venture inside to see what has happened to things, from wealth, power, resources, fun, and funny.

The question is do I want to venture into another vortex?

Or do I want to create something else that blows it away without having to bother with it in the first place…?


The Chaser Dilemma, Part Eight: The question no one ever asks is, "How did you know unless you were complicit yourself?"

The US is cannibalizing itself with the Left and the Right not realizing the rest of the word sees the whole, and thinks they are all scum equally.

The Left are gleeful thinking they are going to sink their manufactured villain, Donald Trump, but it won’t work because there is something they are not computing.

The extent of corruption and rot in both their corporations and their governments.

And this confirmation bias is going to hit not the rich or the poor, but the middle class, who don’t possess even basic critical thinking skills.

Here is an article to show you the level of dumbfuckery:

Google isn’t the company that we should have handed the Web over to

All right, then who should have the middle class people “handed the web” over to?

You only know how to slobbering over and fellate grifters. You cheer frauds and scoundrels, and make fun of honest and decent people.

You cannot make it in business unless you are a cutthroat willing to play the game. You do not reward honesty as you throw childish fits and make ridiculous and unrealistic demands because you refuse to take risk.

So which one of you motherfuckers gets it?

You are mad at Amazon, but you cheap asses are willing to spread poverty to millions of people in lousy working condition to save a buck.

And you never, ever think about tomorrow.

And what is this salivating over finding bad things in Trumpville?

Do you know why there are bad things there?

Because every single Titan of Industry did the same things.

And how does the government know ahead to look?

Because they not only allow it to happen, they rig the system to reward it; so if someone should get out of line, they have blackmail.

And what do middle class people do?

They can tell you all about these fuckers, that’s what.


They know fake things, and never question the real things.

I remember when I was taking a class at Mac and one student pretended that she never studied, but she got sterling grades.

She said she didn’t need to read the texts because the class notes were enough.

Everyone believed her except me.

I asked, “How does she know that unless she read the texts?”

There was a moment of shock, and then no one was impressed with her.

It is a question I asked a lot — as a journalist, and as a citizen connected to my surroundings.

How do you know?

How do you know where to strike unless you were privy to certain information?

And that’s the problem with both corporations and governments: they know each other’s dirty little secrets. Governments rig the boards, and those who success figure out the rigs and play the game.

I have seen what happens when Canadian grifters swindle this country, but then get too full of themselves and then try to swindle the US, where they get caught fairly easy: they get arrogant with their small potatoes success, and have no idea about the rigs.

But the natives know them.

It is the reason why the grifters are more successful than the honest geniuses.


Goodness, kindness, honesty, hard-work, and genius are never rewarded.

Remember Nicola Tesla. The modern-day cheering is, in a real way, a slap to his face.

You bastards should have done it while he was still alive. Fuck you.

To this day you are screwing over the Teslas and fawning over the Edisons.

That is the reality that I am contending with right now, and am challenging as I write this…

The State of this Website, 2018.

The number of hits here is much higher than I was when I was using WordPress.

The readership is modest, but steady, and growing. It is a step in the right direction.

So in the beginning of the year, the domain name was DangerousWoman.Org.

Now it is, a domain name I had over a decade ago, but let it lapse, lost it, and recently got it back.

I had a very bad year.


I mean, just terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

It is getting better, but yesterday was a real bitch, and today is not that much better.


Yes, I am a saint.

And it drives my enemies crazy.

But even though the last two days were nasty, I had great news, too.

And it is the first time in a long time where there was great news at all.

Even by random chance, there should have been some good with the bad, but it was bad, bad, bad, and then horrific.

And then even worse.

Saint Alexandra, indeed.

But enough about those cryptic comments, let's discuss this site, and what how it has evolved.

The most popular posts, strangely enough, have no or little mention of journalism, which may surprise you.

Or not, since journalism is off the rails.

It is all the ones about war strategy.

From Sun Tzu to Saul Alinsky, the bulk of hits comes from those entries, but by a ridiculously wide margin, and it surprises me because I am known for writing about journalism, and not war strategy.

Then the Who is She? section, The List of People Everyone Should Know, and then A Dangerous Woman’s Manifesto.

If I were to switch course, drop the journalism talk altogether, and stuck to war strategy, I would probably see the numbers I had in my Chaser heyday, if not better. It is that much of a difference. It certainly gives me something to think about.

I put all of my current short fiction here as well as Ello, but my Ello numbers are far more robust in that category.

I do have people who come here just for the fiction; so I will continue to post them here as well as well as offer them in ePub format through Amazon and Kindle, which has other offerings as well.

So as I am weaving in Chaser and A Dangerous Woman, I have to come to grips with the fact that talking about journalism isn’t working as well. I should just flat-out do F.R.E.E.D. and show, not tell.

That just leaves my artistic endeavours. I want to bring back Cavewoman Graffiti. I used to draw it with a Sharpie (no sketching), scan it on the computer, upload it to my tablet or phone, and then tweak it with software before posting it.


I used to post them to Ello, but I am thinking of bringing it here — hairy legs and all.

I want to get back to my other arts and my music — yes, I do music, but as you might guess, my music is eccentric as I love the theremin.

I used to play the lefthander’s tuba, but so far, I am having a hard-time finding a tuba for lefties.

I want a snazzy one, too.

I would like to resume podcasting and start videos here.

But that needs to be rolled out, and done so with a firm plan. I want this site to be an entire experience.

When I did Chaser a decade ago, I tried to team-up with European researchers who were experimenting with AI, and I wanted to have a blog run on AI and not be a linear scroll. It didn’t work out, but now I can see that I don’t actually need to do it because there is another way to achieve it without it.

So 2018 brought many elements. I gathered all of the elements I want and need. It is now just a matter of putting them together.

I have been distracted, and some of that is on me. If 2018 had standout lessons for me, it is that you can be too responsible and honourable. Sometimes, the answer isn’t “no”, but an eloquent, “Fuck you.”

So I doubt that the 2019 version will have any resemblance to what I have going right now.

This entry is one of my proudest moments, and the writing, subject, analysis and content have nothing to do with it, and then this one for the same reasons.

So there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

Chaser used to be a cocktail party for the intellectual badasses with great taste in music. is the culmination of a lot of deep and relentless soul-searching.

And I am lit about that, darlings…more tea to spill about it all later!

Authoritative Ennui in a Zero-Risk Nation: When there are no consequences, it is Alfred E. Neuman all the way.




The National Post’s lone sane man Andrew Coyne has a tough job: being aware of the situation, and this column is interesting:

Andrew Coyne: Trudeau seems unperturbed as trouble brews on all sides

The Liberal election strategy would appear to boil down to this: sit tight, and hope there’s no recession

Particularly the opening paragraph is of note:

The prime minister was his usual insouciant self through the traditional round of year-end interviews: a shrug here, a smile there, with comments just ambiguous enough to justify each news organization’s decision to trumpet its own interview without actually committing his government to anything.

Yes, why is the jive turkey so nonchalant given all the motherfuckery his regime is responsible for?

Why should he be anything else? What are the consequences to him if, let’s say, the worst happened to Canada? That we fall into a depression, all the social safety nets end up with giant holes in them, and everything collapses?

Not likely, but not that far from being unlikely.

What happens to him?

Will he be arrested and sent to jail? Will he be fined? Will he end up a pauper on the streets as punishment for being incompetent?

No. He will get a cushy job somewhere far away where he can have someone ghostwrite his memoirs, get a speechwriter, land a few gigs, and continue to be a jive turkey.

He will have all the money and time to cultivate his image, perhaps hire a crisis management team to rehabilitate his image, and spin excuses because those who were harmed by his policies and decisions will be too busy warding off homelessness and despair.

He has nothing on the line.

It reminds me of my Sociology of Mass Media professor when I was an undergrad studying psychology, and he thought game shows were a snore because you never actually lost. You got a consolation prize, and you lost nothing of your own.

To spice things up, he said, people should actually lose something for real, like their own refrigerator if they lost the game.

Being a leader in a Zero-Risk Nation is like being a loser contestant on a game show: the leader loses absolutely nothing if he loses the election. You see US presidents leave office and suddenly become near billionaires. How is that even possible? We never question anything or follow the money.

And while Canadian prime ministership is nowhere near that lucrative, there is no loss. You just don’t come back to the next episode of the long-running game show Fuck Up Your Country With Your Shitty Ideas.

Whoop di do.

I mean, here is a country insanely rich in profitable natural resources, and the government has to give over a billion dollars to keep one sector afloat.

You have a government that tried to give money to the dead industry of journalism quietly and had to backtrack when it came out. And instead of pushing for investment to reignite the industry with fresh blood, newspapers are stuck with the same old scribes who never met an accused rapist they couldn’t spin a bullshit story for. The same profession that nitpicks on people they do not like, but pretend they are perfect as they watch their fortunes crash and burn.

And yet they never do deep digging at just how precarious everything is, even when they notice that household debt is spiralling out of control, don’t seem to call the jive turkey on the carpet when he crows about that nation’s credit rating — the provinces can’t say the same thing, neither can your citizens.

So how long before the bankers start keeping everyone’s credit rating aligned?

A Zero-Risk Nation never holds people accountable — not the people who count. That would be an admission of fault and flaw — and an admission to the entire global village.

The shame! The horror!

The gamble.

Citizens should realize that no matter how bad it gets for them, those who put them in that bind will go on with a happy, care-free life. Of course it will always “sunny ways” for the PM: he knows that he will not be called on the carpet for anything, no matter how bad it ever gets. He can apologize for other Prime Minister’s bad ideas, but never has to say he is sorry for the consequences of his own actions. It is the greatest of rackets, and he can be confident that he’ll be re-elected because he is in a cushy job in a Zero-Risk nation.

Why should he worry? Why should he care? What are the mechanisms in place that would bring about any other outcome?

None. The top job in the nation and there is not a single thing anyone can do should the one keeping that chair warm make a colossal mess of things…

Fake News: Everybody's doing it!

Yes, even private school children!

They are creating their own fake news. Of course they are.

But I do not think this is sparked by social media. It was always a problem at that age group, the difference is they used to lie among themselves and to their parents, but now there is a social record of those deceptions.

It begins when parents and teachers avoid confrontation and enable the lying by not calling kids on the carpet every time they do it. It is not an easy thing to do. It really drains energy. I have had students flat-out lie to me, and I just don’t let them get away with lying. You don’t reward it. You punish it by over-correction and restitution: when the deceiver doesn’t get anything, and also loses in the bargain, then the habits start to change.

Reward honesty, and you reinforce healthy psychological well-being.

People who lie are arrogant because they think they are smarter than anyone else; so they lie to themselves first, and then spread the lies around.

I have chronicled lies that make news, and still do: people lie to get good things or avoid bad things: it is a simple cost analysis to them. They take gambles because they figure it easier than having to earn their way the honest way. You get to be envied and on top of a pecking order without actually being superior — and you get to make genuine superior people look worse in comparison.

That is not a product of social media. In fact, it leaves a trail to verify, and if a few of those deceivers were proven to be the big fibbers that they are, it would teach them a very valuable lesson in life…

Over ninety percent of plastic isn't recycled? You don't say, Associated Press!


Of course it isn’t. The environmental preaching of limousine liberals is just to control the middle class ditzes with fear. I recently gave a talk where one of the participants kept whining, “We’re doomed! We’re doomed!”

Only if you allow people to scare you silly.

I have been to commercial dumps where all of this recycling isn’t happening. It all goes into one giant pile, and there is no guarantee that the separated trash goes where we are told it goes.

If governments were truly serious about the environment (as well as they should be), then stop businesses from packaging their wares in all that plastic. The clamshells, the fifty bags within bags — all of it.

When I moved, I used old boxes from the liquor store and those reusable Ikea bags. I wrapped breakables in towels. I tried to keep the flotsam down to an absolute minimum.

But one person isn’t much help, especially when I know governments find excuses to tax people and limit their choices without actually doing anything real.

Just go to the dollar store and inhale that plastic. That cannot be safe. No one needs most of that junk; so why do we allow its manufacture?

Only someone not in tune with their reality would be surprised by this finding. You don’t have to go any further than your driver’s license and in Canada your health card that you have to renew every five years — that’s plastic you have to throw out. Why haven’t we found a better system for that?

We have plastic bottles instead of glass. Why not have refillable glass bottles for your stain removers or your dishwashing soap?

Why are we so immune to that junk, which is probably not even healthy to store liquids that we end up using and ingesting?

I am not some tree hugger, but I can see plastic waste everywhere, but you can be certain it is regular citizens who are expected to make all of the sacrifices, not the governments or corporations…