Another Frigging Moron

I have often said that had I been Rick Blaine in the movie Casablanca, I would have arranged to have Major Strasser send that Commie rat Viktor Laszlo off to a concentration camp, then spent the rest of the war in Casablanca making boatloads of money from the bar and lots of babies with Ilsa.

I grant you that in my scenario above, Casablanca would have been somewhat different from the version as released, but that’s just me. Others, however,  are drawn to adventure, like this fool who is currently climbing Mt. Everest:

His name is Ben Fogle and he is an “adventurer”, which is all well and good while you’re a single young man with no responsibilities (which is why his counterparts in, say, the Marine Corps are considered expendable).

But Fogle leaves this behind to go on his adrenaline-junkie escapades:

It’s not just the fact that Marina Fogle is drop-dead lovely (which she is), but there are children involved. So when Daddy plunges to his death / gets eaten by a shark / dies of some hideous disease in a poxy jungle in some shithole country, these beautiful kids will have to come to terms with the fact that their Daddy thought that his adventures were more important than they were (which he clearly does).

Frankly, were I Mrs. Fogle, I’d ditch her selfish husband and hook up with someone more responsible. He wouldn’t have to be an accountant or lawyer or some equally-dreadful nebbish, just someone with a greater sense of familial duty than her existing husband. That she doesn’t do this makes her a better person than he is.

Nevertheless, Fogle will doubtless meet a pointless death like that Aussie idiot who was always playing with dangerous animals, and Mrs. Fogle can get on with her life. It’s just too bad that the kids have to suffer along the way.

Incoherent

Sometimes, I could just spit. Most recently, when reading Kruiser’s comment on Trump’s surge in support among Black men (not “males” — another pet peeve), young Stephen made the following statement:

“Yes, the numbers are small, but doubling up is better than doubling down.”

…which makes no fucking sense at all, does it? I know why he said it that way, and it’s a cute juxtaposition, but Kruiser just comes  off as illiterate when he utters such mumbo-jumbo.

For the benefit of good grammar:  “doubling” by definition is growth — i.e. “up” — so “doubling up” is redundant. Next: “doubling down” is a gambling term — i.e. not appropriate in this context. What Kruiser meant to say was that in terms of Trump’s popularity among Kanyes, going up is better than going down, and the correct expression of which is quite simple:

“Doubling is better than halving.”

Sometimes I wonder why I bother…

Big Picture

I’m always amazed that people can sometimes get hoodwinked by statistics, but then I spent probably half my life working with the damn things, so I’m more or less immune to the problem. Here’s one which could affect me personally:

More than 120 Uber and Lyft drivers have reportedly sexually assaulted their passengers, according to a report by CNN.
After analyzing police reports, federal court records and county court databases across the US, the cable news channel found that over the last four years, at least 103 Uber drivers and 18 Lyft drivers have allegedly raped, forcibly touched or kidnapped passengers, among other crimes.

Whoever wrote this scare story needs to get a kick in the ass. Here’s the first part: the appearance up front of the total number — which is alarming, I’ll admit.

I’ll ignore the Lyft number for the moment, because I’m an Uber driver.

Granted, the hundred-odd incidences (rounding down to a manageable number) involving Uber drivers is too high — hell, one is too many — but we’re dealing with human beings here, and any human activity is prone to abuse.

At least the number of years was disclosed — four — which averages about 25 per annum. Still too many, but not as scary as the magic 100. But the killer statistic is really the one which CNN buries much later in the “report”, which is, 100 out of how many total Uber trips or events over four years did these attacks take place.

That number is, according to Uber, is 2.4 billion. In other words, the chances of anyone getting molested by an Uber driver are 1 in 24 million.

Even allowing (let’s say) that only unaccompanied women are going to get molested, and they account for about half of all Uber trips — which is roughly my experience — that’s still only 1 in 12 million.

Now factor in geography — i.e. places where the Uber driver population is skewed towards men most likely to commit these crimes — and the stats, just looking at the last names of people who are accused of such crimes, tend to support the hypothesis that these criminals fall into the Middle-Eastern and African  demographic, and many, especially in large urban metropolises, are fairly-recent immigrants — and the picture becomes especially clear.

What’s disturbing about all this is that Uber does screen potential drivers before enlisting them, which begs the question as to whether their screening process — or at least the proficiency of the company that Uber uses to do the screening — should not be more comprehensive or thorough. And you can be sure that Uber will do just that — because they too say that even one such incidence is too many.

Still, ladies: it looks like you’re safer taking an Uber trip* than walking (or even driving) to your destination, especially in a strange locale.

That’s the conclusion to be taken from the CNN report, even if that’s not necessarily the one that CNN wanted you to.


*You’re even safer, of course, if you have me as your Uber driver — unless of course I forgot to take my “special” pill that morning… [exit, drooling]

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

This Swedish woman is a tireless campaigner against the deportation of criminal “refugees” and in a gesture of… well, you guess it, I can’t — goes home with two teenage Afghans she meets outside a bar. The inevitable occurs:

A Swedish woman in her 40s was brutally raped by an Afghan teenager while another migrant man molested her, a court has heard.

As the man said: you’d have to have a heart of stone not to laugh hysterically at this story. Read the whole thing; I guarantee you’ll be shaking your head all the way through.

Man, some people are just plain fucking stupid.

Adding The Years

I hardly ever read the insufferable, whiny Liz Jones (former editor of some girls’ magazine, now columnist for the Daily Mail and a lifelong Train Smash Woman), but this article’s headline caught my eye, and I found myself nodding in agreement.

Shouty headlines on Friday morning proclaimed: ‘Couple of glasses a night shortens life by two years! Much more than four bottles a week can lop off five years!’
By that count, I should have died four years ago.

I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve really needed a drink (as opposed to just wanting one), but I’m with Liz this time.

I have always wondered about the veracity of these scare stories, thinking, well, what if your wine glasses are really small?

As Loyal Readers know well, I don’t believe any of these shitty studies and / or scare stories anymore, because all you have to do is wait a couple months, and another study will come out and completely contradict the earlier one. Most of the time, they’ve all been written by scolds and busybodies who want to tell us how to live our lives — and by the way, when did every fucking thing become a matter of public health?

And Miz Jones surely has a point with this thought:

And I cannot help wondering why everyone wants to prolong a life that will inevitably be joyless, as if this were our only ambition.
There’s nothing to look forward to at the end of the day. No point sitting on a terrace with a beautiful view as, with no stem in your hand, all that’s left to do is fiddle with your phone. No reason to crave the interval during a play; I tend to slope off home at half-time, the prospect of Act Two too tedious without bubbles.
There’s no point winning an award or getting married or getting out of bed on Christmas morning. I’m generally asleep by nine, as there’s nothing to do. Nothing to dull the loss of a parent or child. Nothing to hold.

Here’s the thing: speaking for myself, I don’t need any of those reasons to have a drink, not a single one. But I can quite understand why someone else would want or need a drink on those occasions — whether out of joy, sorrow, or just wanting to relax.

As I said, it’s a rare occasion indeed when I agree with Liz Jones; but on this occasion, despite her irritating demeanor, I find myself in full agreement with her sentiment towards these tools: just leave me the hell alone and quit trying to scare me into living my life the way you want me to.

Scary stories are supposed to frighten children into better behavior. And by trying that tactic on adults, it reveals exactly what these “public health” Nazis think we are.

Fuck them all. Time for a healthy breakfast:

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Babes And Sucklings? Fuck ‘Em

One of the most irritating and destructive Biblical statements is that innocence breeds strength — “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings…” etc. No. What you get out of the mouths of babes and sucklings is meaningless, uninformed babble at best, and sociopathic speech at worst.

As Loyal Readers know, I don’t have a FaecesBook account, so I don’t really have a personal dog in the current fight about how Zuckerberg’s little toy has been turned into an open-top mine of personal data for others to play with. (Click on that link at yer own risk: I nearly had a coronary when I read it.)

All I have to say is: this is the kind of thing you get when teenagers create multi-billion dollar companies without adult supervision:

They don’t have a fucking clue what they’re getting into, or the eventual consequences of their actions. (Or they do, and they’re amoral little fuckers like Mark Zuckerberg.)

And speaking of kids with guns: the day I support the idea that callow adolescents (like these children) get to dictate public policy and Constitutional amendments, is the day y’all need to ship me off to Senility Central. You have my full permission, given in advance.