Today's report on the technology that lets the NSA spy on computers that aren't connected to the internet prompted plenty of apprehensive comments. Some fears were probably justified; others, well...
Microsoft update? Is nothing sacred?
The names of some computing brands also started to seem sinister. How did it take us so long to catch on?
PS: The bridge scandal linked to New Jersey governor Chris Christie's staff this week has inspired at least 36 comment poems (and songs) so far, and I'd like to recognize this outpouring of verse by sharing every single one of them.
What rhymes with Christie? Read on to find out.
This is the output of our machine learning algorithm for identifying poems. You can see the probability the program assigned to each comment, which quantifies the likelihood that it's actually a poem. The current threshold is 0.2, so anything with a probability of 20% or greater is accepted. (I selected all the poems about the bridge scandal—the algorithm doesn't do that.)
So Christie’s indeed on of those
Who obeys only laws that he chose
And uses his power
To make rivals cower
And punish political foes
Possible poem w/ probability=0.998464
--------
Christie wanted support,
But the guy’s a heavy load,
When the Democrat denied him,
He went and closed the road.
Now it’s all been revealed,
Those emails were a find.
The Gov has shown his true colors.
Why hasn’t Christie resigned?
Possible poem w/ probability=0.998576
--------
It was so very recent – a season ago
In a Joisey by the sea,
That a gov’nor there lived whom you may know
By the name of Mr. Christie,
And this gov’nor he lived with no other thought
Than to crush the town of Fort Lee.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.214523
--------
I think we can kiss Chris goodbye,
His paybacking joke went awry,
Sic semper the bully ,
Retribution fully,
His nomination just won't fly!
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999292
--------
I keep a close watch on this bridge of mine.
I see which scores need setttlin' all the time.
If cars back up in Fort Lee, that's just fine.
'Cause I've got stones. I work the cones.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.829804
--------
Christ[ie], you know it ain't easy,
You know how hard it can be.
The way things are goin',
They're goin' to crucify thee.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.263745
--------
Bridgegate is Christie's Nixon fare,
The blunder that careers impair,
Temper out of control,
POTUS chance? Down the hole,
The payback for Christie? Despair.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.972859
--------
Is any eye misty for Christie?
A blowhard with mouth that's two fisty,
Nomination 'tis clear
For Chris was quite near,
When Fate took a turn that's quite rwisty.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.986498
--------
Has schadenfreude touched my soul?
Do I loathe Christie on the whole?
Do I hope that his quest
Will soon be put to rest?
To me that's a real worthwhile goal!
Possible poem w/ probability=0.996334
--------
I think, therefore I am,
Able to make traffic jam.
If your votes weren't behind me,
You'll just have to mind me,
I really just don't give a damn.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999012
--------
Blistery, blustery Chris,
Who'd want a bully like this?
The Jerseyans picked him
Cause Chris Christie tricked 'em,
Sweet tempered, contritely amiss!
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999282
--------
Washington could not tell a lie,
But Christie's not that kind of guy.
A barbarian at the bridge's gate,
For four days he made many late,
A truth he'll now deny.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.998783
--------
No bluster no blister no sting,
This Christie can't be the real thing,
No bragging, tail wagging,
His confidence sagging,
He lost that hope to which he'd cling!
Possible poem w/ probability=1.000000
--------
GW traffic backed up for miles,
Governor’s staffers are all big smiles…
Governor himself is attending the cones,
Governor is “innocent” he makes no bones.
On the flag, resides a severed horse’s head,
Governor’s presidential hopes are dead.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999975
--------
The big fellow's got 'em all scared,
The result when his temper flared
Has some prospects nervous
'Bout doing disservice
Which no maybe-nominee's dared!
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999890
--------
No mea culpa from old Chris,
No culpable villain to hiss,
A hero betrayed,
His deep trust waylaid,
A staff so tight knit, gone amiss.
An Oscar even an Emmy
To Chris denying villainy,
Miss Dowd was right, fully,
Chris is/was a bully,
Still Governor of New Jersey?
Possible poem w/ probability=0.995098
--------
My brain is cluttered with debris
After 2 long hours of Chris Christie,
Like Fort Lee's traffic mess
My cortex is no less
Awash in Christie self pity.
My dependable janitor mental
Is faced with a task fundamental,
Can the surfeit of I's
Be removed cortexwise
By means that remain elemental?
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999985
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/01/12/opinion/sunday/goodnight-sleep-clean.html?comments#permid=10939712
--------
I'm betrayed by my pal. I'm heartbroken no end
There was no 'traffic study', no message to send
My stages of grief are still well underway
I'm a very sad, very sad person today
And that citizen crone who regrettably passed
While medics were stymied in traffic, alas?
I've heard mixed reports 'bout the reason she died
Let's not rule out the chance that she lived and then lied
Possible poem w/ probability=0.992684
--------
Haikus for Chris
Chris Christie's big load
missed the last exit before
the bridge to nowhere
Only fair for us
all to ensure that his lane
is the one that's closed.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.978009
--------
Please tell me it's only a "prank"
That someone could do something so "rank".
We need leaders to be civil
Instead of wallowing in drivel.
It was fun to watch him swim....
Now he's "sank".
The format has changed,
Which Me feel deranged.
Could it Be it's not Me,
But a geek at NYT...
Who has caused me to feel so estranged?
Possible poem w/ probability=0.998231
--------
These two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back
Heavens waiting on down the tracks
Oh-oh come take my hand
We're riding out tonight to case the promised land
Oh-oh-oh thunder road, oh thunder road oh thunder road
It's lying out there like a killer in the sun
And I know it's late but we can make it if we run
Oh oh oh thunder road, sit tight take hold
Thunder road.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.795700
--------
I'm Governor Christie
And my eyes are growing misty
Over the failings of my staff
Which I've recently cut in half
But there are obligations to my work
Which I would never shirk
And I must bravely carry out
While they quietly file out
I hope you'll understand my pain
As I prepare for my next campaign
Possible poem w/ probability=0.974837
--------
With apologies to Milt Gross
Listen to this tale of woe
A sad one of Chris Christie
A Fort Lee four day jam we know,
By us the eyes are misty.
Mean aides from Christie did the trick
A slimy but a slick one,
And now poor Christie's sad and sick,
Never informed when t'was done.
A bully Christie never was
At times he did some yelling,
A little tumult due to joy,
T'was only Christie qvelling.
A martyr now, once nominee
For President, his thinking,
Alas it may not ever be,
'Cause Christie's ship is sinking!
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999716
--------
My eyes get all misty,
Thinking about Christie,
Whose troubled bridge over waters,
Has outraged all but yachters,
And makes his actions quite twisty.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.998646
--------
Haiku
Helicopter dad;
How else to get to a game
When traffic's backed up.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.249662
--------
That crafting now shows imperfections,
A bully of Bridgegate dimensions,
An image forthright
Shows a terrible blight,
And Chris is tormented with tensions!
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999531
--------
So it's come to this
Bridge over troubled waters
Goodbye nomination
Possible poem w/ probability=0.683008
--------
Put that cone on his head,
Christie's future is dead.
His oh-so-petty abuse,
Simply has no excuse.
Of dignity he has no shred.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999952
--------
Humpty Christie hid 'hind a wall
And let his hit man take a great fall.
But all of his lies and all his sly ken
Couldn't put Christie together again.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.964031
--------
Hendrix addressing the Governor:
But, darlin' can't you see my signals turn from green to red
And with you I can see a traffic jam straight up ahead
You're just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I don't need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
I'm trying to reach the other side of town
Possible poem w/ probability=0.512030
--------
Nixonian it sure did look
remember 'i am not a crook'?
two hours, i was deceived
no, you were not believed
now Kelly you go write a book.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999991
--------
And scars will always heal
POTUS will be his if he has the zeal
Possible poem w/ probability=0.554615
--------
Gov Chrisitie came early this morn,
And said that his poor heart was torn,
A deceitful staff
Fed him buckets of chaff,
Just when does he think we were born?
Possible poem w/ probability=0.999295
--------
He should but he won't it is clear,
The stakes are too high, I do fear,
Nomination for POTUS
Operandi Motis,
But blunders like this really sear!
Possible poem w/ probability=0.995864
--------
A traffic jam forced upon Fort Lee
shall be further understood shortly;
once over their slights
(and invoking 5th amendment rights),
his minions bring down Governor Portly.
Possible poem w/ probability=0.994852
--------
Cristie Hiawatha
“I worked the cones, actually, unbeknownst to everybody.”
New Jersey Governor Cristie joke at December 2nd Press Conference
By the bridge of Fort Lee city,
Guys once went to make their bones,
Unbeknownst to everybody,
Actually, I worked the cones.
Port Authority bogus study:
What if we shut down two zones?
Unbeknownst to everybody,
Actually, I worked the cones.
Timed just right for 9 September:
School begins for Buono’s clones.
Unbeknownst to everybody,
Actually, I worked the cones.
Four full days of jams and tie-ups,
Staff delights at drivers’ groans.
Unbeknownst to everybody,
Actually, I worked the cones.
Jersey Dems from their glass houses
Have no qualms at throwing stones.
Unbeknownst to everybody,
Actually, I worked the cones.
When they vote me Chief Commander
With full power over drones,
Let it beknownst to everybody,
Actually, I worked the cones!
Joe Pacheco
Possible poem w/ probability=1.000000
--------
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