Years ago, based on their careful algorithmic evaluation of my buying habits and patterns, it became clear that Amazon.com had concluded that I was a gay Englishwoman.
Just as our U.S. intelligence services, armed with all the information sin’s wages might purchase and demon ingenuity might extrapolate, couldn’t prevent Major Hasan’s murders at Fort Hood or Boston’s Tsarnaev Massacre, “better living through chemistry” schemes don't always pan out.
Very early today, I was reposing over this keyboard and screen in tropical, pre-coffee darkness looking north, seeking language, when Amazon decided that the exact thing for me today was a new copy of Fantomas – The Corpse That Kills.
This time they’re absolutely correct.
How on earth did they know?
Fantomas has been following me around for at least 35 years.
Last week at home, he seemed to catch up with me.
It’s endgame time now.
But I am a Duppy Conqueror and a Desperate Character.
He doesn't stand a chance against me.
Bryan Ferry: Sign Of The Times (Link)
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