I can’t parse it. What kind of shit? Like, selling our user data?
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Not the data, per se. But GinAndJuice has uncorked a genie of auto-moderation AI that cannot be recorked: the idea of an expert machine learning system that observes community flagging and moderation action patterns - and that replicates this to prevent undesirable posts before they’re even posted.
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Never, ever.
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Like migrating and de-branding the bbs?
I hope I am wrong.
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Also never going to happen. People have provided personal data to us, we would never betray that by handing control of this data over to anyone else.
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I guess I’m naive about what that would constitute. But I imagine that the closure of the bbs is a distinctly real possibility.
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Reason(s) being?
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that one is above my pay grade 
my focus is on helping BBS to be as kickass as possible, and that includes protecting user data.
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BB comment sections have been nuked before. There have been rumblings that the commentariat is more trouble than they are worth for almost the entire time I have known BB.
Codinghorror’s “terminal” comment.
Everything in the world sucks except for this place, so; murphy’s law too.
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Honestly it sounds kinda difficult being you, if you’re always sorting tea leaves that suspiciously.
Not to worry, I enjoy myself immensely.
“Paranoia is just reality on a finer scale.”
(I am also known to indulge in sarcastic over-statement.)
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I use tea-bags so that I avoid the cruel attentions of Fate.
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To a Mouse
By Robert Burns
On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss ’t!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!
Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
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Well there’s your problem. Tea.
Tea leaves, but coffee stays.
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And are the sweetest hours that e’er you’ve spent the ones you spent among the lasses, O?
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Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
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Outside of a dog, a poem is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.
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Never hit a man with glasses. Hit him with your fist.
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Ahem. Don’t make me post evidence to the contrary. It’s right there.
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