Buyer beware

Facebook has 2.2 billion users. That's over one quarter of the world's population.

Facebook continues to collect as much data as it can about you, your friends, your family, social groups and all the world's organisations, including everything from bands to businesses and police forces to political parties.

If Facebook was a government, you would be terrified by how much they know about you, including your shopping habits, your biometric data, your internet browsing history, the movies you watch, the books you read, the things you talk about with your friends, which bars you frequent, how much you drink, your current location and your political leanings.

Facebook has little to no oversight regarding what information it collects, how it uses it internally or who it gives it to.

Facebook was hugely influential in the US election and the UK EU Referendum - to what extent we still don't really know. They may well have broken campaign laws by penalising parties for not being divisive/offensive and they definitely have shared political advertising without labelling it as such or making known the source of funding. They continue to fight against various states and countries where they may have violated election law.

Facebook is actively campaigning against a number of potential privacy laws, is fighting privacy lawsuits across the world, has been involved in a great number of privacy battles in the past and continues to reject any notion of privacy unless legally forced to do so.

Each of the following links refer to separate cases from the past couple of years, and I suspect there's a lot more out there to be found.

http://fortune.com/2016/06/29/facebook-belgium-data/

https://www.politico.eu/article/facebook-ecj-european-court-justice-max-schrems-austria-lawsuit-classaction-privacy-data-protection-max-schrems/

http://www.sacbee.com/news/politics-government/capitol-alert/article206394929.html

http://telecoms.com/486179/facebook-data-privacy-lawsuit-is-worth-keeping-an-eye-on/

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2018/apr/04/facebook-gdpr-stronger-privacy-protections-eu-data-protection-law-mark-zuckerberg

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2018/feb/12/facebook-personal-data-privacy-settings-ruled-illegal-german-court

https://www.usnews.com/news/business/articles/2018-04-05/australia-probes-if-facebook-data-leaks-broke-privacy-law

https://www.thedailybeast.com/new-facebook-backed-law-would-let-foreign-governments-get-your-data-without-a-warrant

https://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/world-news/facebook-violating-seattle-election-advertising-law-36572128.html

https://www.irishexaminer.com/breakingnews/ireland/new-bill-will-help-make-political-advertising-on-social-media-more-transparent--fianna-fail-817491.html

The Gombe Chimpanzee War

Leakey’s death set in to motion a chain of events none of us had foreseen but which were, in retrospect, inevitable.

We were milling around in the canopy, playing and grooming. Humphrey, Leakey’s eldest son, was hanging out with him when Leakey fell. One moment he was there swinging, full of life; the next: gone from view. He fell one hundred feet from the tree tops to the forest floor, crashing through every branch along the way.

Leakey had been our leader for seven years and he left an awful gap in our lives. He was a natural alpha. Strong, brave, and charismatic, he led the Kasekela troupe to rule over the whole of the Gombe valley. Everyone liked him, except perhaps for Hugh and Charlie, his younger brothers, though even they had enough respect for him not to put forth a challenge. He was our protector. Our king. There was something about him that made you want to follow him, to fight for him, to love him. And I did. Love him, that is.

After he died, I fell in to a daze. I don’t know if I ate or slept or dreamt. I just sat there, up in the high canopy, staring down at where he had fallen, imagining that I could see his body. Humphrey and Hugh went down to check on him, and a few others followed to prove to themselves that he was gone. They returned, sad and quiet. I couldn’t face it myself. I wanted to remember him as he had been: proud and strong, swinging through the trees as though he owned the whole forest.

It was days before I snapped out of it and found that Humphrey had taken control of the Kasekela. As Leakey’s first-born it was his right, but we all knew there was going to be trouble. Humphrey had Leakey’s strength, and his smarts, but even so it was hard to see much of his father in him. Not one of us could truly say that we liked him. Perhaps he was too cunning. Too fickle. Too ready with the girls. Not that he ever tried that with me.

I had been Leakey’s favourite and Humphrey thought this meant I was off-limits.  Perhaps I should have been grateful for that respect, but I hated him for it. Every day it reminded me I was the girl of a dead chimp. Every day his disinterest made me wish Leakey was still alive when all I wanted was to forget. To be normal. To be wanted. 

A few weeks in to Humphrey’s rule, I was off on my own, looking for fruit-grubs on a rotting mango tree when Hugh and Charlie materialised out of the forest. It was obvious what they wanted, but it seemed so wrong. I had known them forever. I had lain with their father. Humphrey was the alpha. They didn’t care. As they circled in and I resigned myself to my fate, and realised, I didn’t care either. I wanted to feel alive again, and they were certainly able to help with that.

When Humphrey found out he was livid. He screamed. He bellowed. He shook trees so violently they snapped, but he did not do the one thing he needed to: he did not fight. 

The troupe broke up overnight. Hugh, Charlie and their friends split off from the main group, along with a few females, their young ones and myself. Maybe we were stupid to think we could leave so easily, but there was really no choice.

We called ourselves Kahama. The Kings. Away from the confines of the old troupe, we felt freedom upon us and everything we did was with a care-free intensity I had never known. We hunted often, more so than necessary, swinging through the forest as one, feeding off each other’s hunger and desire in a maelstrom of dangerous energy, tearing apart our prey with our hands and fucking like the end of the world was upon us. 

But it was all over before it had begun. Humphrey couldn’t let us go. Maybe it was his pride; he was supposed to be the alpha and we had taken that from him. Maybe he was jealous. Sometimes I would catch sight of him, watching me from the tall trees across the river. It set my teeth on edge.

Gobi was the first casualty. He was a sweet thing. Kind, thoughtful, and pretty, we all loved our little Gobi. He was off on his own eating mangoes when Humphrey and his murderous band descended upon him and tore him limb from limb. They left… bits. Scattered across the forest floor. 

Hugh and Charlie tried to fight back, but they didn’t stand a chance. Over the next few years, our numbers were reduced until it was obvious that one more concerted attack from Humphrey would be the end of us all.

I knew what I had to do. 

I didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t think I would be able to. So, one day when we were all sun-bathing together in a clearing, I just got up and headed north. They watched me in silence, somehow all knowing exactly what I was doing. When I reached the tree-line, I turned, and waited.

One by one, the remnants of the Kahama followed me, each of them disappearing in to the forest until only Hugh & Charlie remained. 

Finally, Hugh gave a little nod. I stepped back, in to the undergrowth, and was gone.

Old Fashioned

It was creeping toward midnight in the bar and Kurt was polishing glasses, listening absent-minded to the polemic musings of an unusually wasted Alasdair, when the door burst open and George stormed in. The look on her face spoke volumes about the day she had had.

Alasdair paused his diatribe, turning his weary gaze toward George as she hung up her coat and settled herself upon a stool. 

Kurt held a glass to the light, checking for smears. “Evening George,” he said. “Usual?”

George nodded. She watched as he put away the glass, and prepared her Old Fashioned. Rye and bitters, lemon rind and cherries on a cocktail stick, and a single huge cube of ice in a heavyweight cut-crystal glass. He placed the finished article in front of her, sat on a black napkin.

Taking the cocktail stick between two expertly manicured fingers, George swirled it around the glass. The ice span slowly in  amber liquid that caught the light just so, glittering as though lit from within. Thinking of men in sharp suits, deep leather chairs and polished chrome, George found the stresses of the day ebbing away, and, when she realised Alasdair was watching her playing with her drink, she was surprised to find herself lacking the compulsion to bite his head off.

Giving him a sideways glance, she took in his crumpled blue suit and five o’clock shadow. “Ali," she said, acknowledging his obvious need for recognition. "Been here long?”

“From Leeds,” said Alasdair, slurring his words. “Early tren. Bastards didnae need me.” He always got more Scots when he'd been drinking.

George took a sip of her drink, savouring the bitter-sweet textures. “How wonderful it must be,” she said, “to be so barely employed.”

“Here,” said Alasdair. “Have ye tried the tablet? Kurt, can we have some tablet? You have to try it. Kurt’s got some in special.”

Kurt nodded, knowing it’d be Alasdair that would end up eating it, and also that it would probably do the guy some good, even if it were essentially just sugar.  He took the lid off the big glass jar and began to extract a few cubes of white tablet, placing them neatly on a saucer.

George watched him. She couldn't help but imagine the sickly sweetness in her mouth. The lingering bitters of the Old Fashioned tightened and twisted in her mouth at the thought of it. She shook her head. “I don’t think…”

“Nae lass,” said Alasdair, interrupting. “You’ll love it.”

Kurt placed the saucer between George and Alasdair.

Alasdair took a cube and popped it in to his mouth, making a show of sucking on it before licking his lips. “Ah, tha’s the good stuff. We used t’get this all the time when we were kids. No this good though!”

“I’m not sure it’ll go with the whisky,” said George, looking at Kurt for support. The barman spread his fingers in a subtle gesture that said little about his opinion on the matter.

“Aye, that’s true,” said Alasdair. He took another cube from the saucer. “You keep the rest for later though. It’s good stuff, that.”

“Thanks,” said George. She looked back down to her drink, stirring it slowly and smiling a little smile only Kurt could see.

The Missing Link

Well, see, Link were fryin’ up some bacon, all the while chippin’ his teeth ‘bout some girl he knew back in Boulder (if you catch my drift). He were just gettin’ to the good part when I tole him be quiet. He didn’t much like that but, when he saw me starin’ out in to the fog, he shut up, took that sizzlin’ pan off o’ the fire n’ set it down in the dirt.

I weren’t sure what it was that I had heard, but I knew it weren’t natural right away. Some mechanical thing, I thought, tip-a-tappin’. The pan quieted, leavin’ behind the not-quite-right sound o’ the fog. That fog had settled o’er us three nights previous, bringing a dose o’ January wi’ it, so thick we couldn’t rightly see where we were, let alone where we might be wantin’ to be, an’ it showed no sign o’ lifting. Now, bein’ in fog’s like bein’ in snow, or an ol’ pine wood. It eats sound, see? Fellow can get crept up on real good in fog.

Anyway. After a time, Link shrugs, meanin’ he don’t hear nothin’ n’ what am I fussin’ o’er. Now I weren’t sure I’d heard anything at all, n’ I’m about to tell him not to worry when there it comes again, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap.

In an instant the two of us are standing, back to back, wavin’ our shooters at white nothin’.

I were sure the noise had done come from o’er by the horses, but Link, he nudges me an’ points in the opposite direction. I tells him no n’ give a little chin-nod toward the horses, but he ain’t havin’ it.

Then it comes again, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap. Closer. Louder. Behind me.

Realisin’ that Link were right, I spun round, but then so did he, n’ so we’re still both wavin’ our guns at opposite directions.

Tip-a-tap. It were real close now, out in front of me.

Tip-a-tap. Behind me.

Then, jus’ as I’m about all out o’ wits, this darned abortion appears out o’ the fog.

Now, I ain’t no liar. Any fool round here will tell you so, but this thing… Shit. I saw it and I still don’t believe it.

First o’all, alls I could think was “tall”. It were twice my height, easy. Then I see it’s walking on three legs, sharp to points (them’s what was doing the tip-a-tap), and it’s got this big, fat body, all covered wi’ sparklin’ diamonds, n’ peerin’ down at me, two jet-black eyes in a massive face, all painted up like a whore, n’ worst o’ all, the great godburned thing is grinnin’ at me. Pardon my language.

Well, I can’t say I’m yeller, no man can say that, but this thing? I was damn near out o’ my mind. I shot it, jus’ once, mostly ‘cause my hand were shakin’ than ‘cause I were plannin’ to, but that bullet jus’ bounced off those crazy ass diamonds. I reckon it were me shootin' that set Link off, ‘cause behind me he starts shootin' too and I lamp there’s two of these crazy diamond bastards.

Link lets off three or four rounds ‘fore the one in front o’ me steps o’er me and it puts one o’ it’s legs straight through Link’s hand. He drops his gun o’ course, n’ then he screams real loud. They do not like that. Not one bit. The other diamond bastard, the one in front o’ Link, it rams one of its legs right in to his open mouth n’ it comes out the back of his head, right in front o’ yours truly, covered in blood and brain, n’ he stops screamin’ for good, jus’ like that.

I don’t recall nothin’ after that. I jus’ woke up the next mornin’, lyin’ in the dirt by the fire, n’ when I open my eyes I see that pan o’ bacon sittin’ in front o’ me. No sign o’ no fog, no sign o’ no Link, and no sign o’ those three-legged rat-bastards.

I figure there ain’t nothin’ I can do n’ I do not very much like the idea o’ bein’ out there on them plains alone, so I pack up n’ I come ridin' 6back on in to town, n’ then that fog comes rollin’ in off those mountains, so I hightail it to this here drinking establishment n’ now it’s now n’ here we are.

Boy, I know jus’ how crazy this all sounds, but I ain’t roostered n’ I don’t give a rat’s ass who or what you want to believe, so you feel free to go out there in that soup. But if you hear that tip-a-tap, well. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.