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LEAKED: New Hate Radio chat filter would ban words like “silly,” “boring,” “union,” and “comedy”

hate radio

Also: “Irony,” “Amazon,” “this is dumb,” “diversity,” “not funny,” “disingenuous,” and others.

HATE RADIO WILL BLOCK and flag chatroom posts on the twitch.tv platform that contain keywords pertaining to poor show quality, labor unions, and complaints about hatesec, heard over broadcast peeing in bottles, according to internal company documents reviewed by The Internet Chronicle.

An automatic word monitor would also block a variety of terms that could represent potential critiques of Amazon’s Internet Chronicle’s working conditions, like “slave labor,” “not funny,” “distortion,” and “restrooms” – presumably related to reports of Internet Chronicle staffers urinating in bottles to meet punishing deadlines.

“Our teams are always thinking about new ways to help listeners engage with each other,” said Hate Radio spokesperson Hatesec. “This particular program has not been approved yet and may change to promote racist edgelord behavior and new language for getting around chat filters.”

In November 2021, Hate Radio convened a high-level meeting in which top executives discussed plans for removing the chat altogether to create an entirely one-way experience akin to the earliest days of radio, that would allow listeners to sit with their hands folded, listening politely to the hateful, delusional ravings of kilgoar, hatesec, and their guest for the evening.

The major goal of the program, Hate Radio’s head of worldwide consumer business, Spank McCarter, said, was to reduce listener attrition by eliminating any fun there is to be had around the show, consolidating all enjoyment squarely between the fried synapses of co-hosts kilgoar and hatesec.

They scrapped that idea in favor of word filters so that negative chat users could still be flagged and identified, ready for doxing, public humiliation, or outright life ruination, considered a form of entertainment at Hate Radio.

But company officials also warned of what they called “the dark side of third party interfaces” and decided to actively monitor the twitch chat to ensure a “positive community.” At the meeting, McCarter suggested that the chatroom should resemble an online dating app like omegle, which allows individuals to engage one-on-one, rather than a more forum-like platform like reddit.

Following the meeting, an “auto bad word monitor” was devised, constituting a blacklist that would flag and automatically block chatters from sending a message that contains any inappropriate keywords.

In addition to profanities, which only the show hosts and moderators may use, the terms include many relevant to show quality, including “integrity,” “crummy,” “ethical,” “mean spirited,” “freedom,” “injustice,” and “fairness.” Even some phrases like “This is not a good show” will be banned.

Do you work for Hate Radio? Text tips to Dr. Ang R. Troubledoor via Signal at (917) 675-4836.

“With free text, we risk people writing in the chatroom negative sentiments among the listeners and newcomers,” a document summarizing the program states. “We want to lean towards being even more restrictive and punitive on the content that can be posted to promote a stifling, openly hostile energy toward our listeners, before they can do that to us.”

In addition to the automated system, moderators will have the authority to flag or suppress any chatroom activity that they find inappropriate, the documents show.

A pilot program is slated to launch later this month. In addition to slurs and swear words, the planned list includes the following words:

I hate
Union
Sue Basko
Terminated
Compensation
Pay Raise
Bullying
Harassment
I don’t care
Rude
This is concerning
Stupid
This is dumb
Doxing
Threat
Petition
Grievance
Injustice
Ang Troubledoor
Diversity
Ethics
Fairness

“If it does launch at some point down the road,” said the Hate Radio spokesperson, “there are no plans for many of the words you’re calling out to be screened. The only kinds of words that may be screened are ones that are offensive or harassing, such as “hatesec is irritating,” which is intended to protect the sensitive feelings of our pussy ass team.”

Hate Radio has experimented with social media programs in the past. In 2013, the company launched a pilot program in which employees were handpicked to form a Twitter army – selecting users with great senses of humor – advocating for the company. The workers, however, used the platform to encode hidden messages, plaintive cries for help.

On Monday, Hate Radio workers at a fulfillment center in Staten Island, New York, stunned the nation by becoming the first Hate Radio location to successfully unionize. This came as a shock to many because it was achieved by a group of permanently stoned ne’er-do-wells on a shoestring budget, stunted by internal theft and marijuana dependency.

With a budget of $120,000, the Hate Radio Labor Union managed to defeat the broadcast behemoth, which spent $28 million on anti-union consultants in 2021 alone.

Adding to the David-and-Goliath overtones, the Hate Radio Labor Union’s president, Professor Cram Course, a 59-year-old professor emeritus of women’s studies at Lebal Drocer University, had been fired by the company after leading a small walkout calling for better workplace protections for “him and his girls.”

Hate Radio executives denigrated Course, who is White, as “having a RateMyProfessor profile rife with 1-star reviews,” and “only in it for the pussy” during a meeting with CEO Raleigh T. Sakers, according to a leaked memo reported by The Internet Chronicle.

Safety issues have been a perennial concern for Hate Radio broadcasters. In December, a tornado killed six Hate Radio workers in a broadcast tower over Cuthbert, Georgia, a shithole. Many workers said they had received virtually no emergency training, having been instructed only to throw their own bodies over hatesec or kilgoar in the event of structural collapse, should they be on the premises. The House Oversight Committee recently launched an investigation into Hate Radio workplace safety policies.

In 2020, workers at a Hate Radio newsroom in Roanoke, Virginia tried to join the Broadcast and Internet Radio Show Union. The attempt became unusually high-profile, attracting the attention of President Joe Biden, who released a statement saying, “Every Hate Radio broadcaster should have free and fair protections not only from their listeners, but from the consequences of their actions in general.”

The Roanoke vote failed, but the National Labor Relations Board ordered a new election, citing undue interference by Hate Radio. The Roanoke newsroom held a second vote that was also counted last week, and while the initial tally favored Hate Radio, the vote was much closer than the previous one and will ultimately depend on the results of challenged ballots.

Hate Radio released a statement Monday saying that it is considering filing an objection to the Staten Island union vote, alleging interference by participating voters.

Update: April 4, 2022, 3:15 p.m. EST

The headline and article have been updated to emphasize that the chat room is still in the planning phase and has not yet been dismantled. It has also been updated to include comment from Hate Radio denying that “many” of the words obtained by The Internet Chronicle would be screened out.

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Special Interest

The Darkling One

It takes no effort at all to see myself through their eyes, a red bar and then, at death, a green number, a pile of gold. What I carry is rare, even unique, another desirable piece for their endless hoard. And myself? Nothing of me is in this veil that I have labored so hard to create, because from their point of view, an ugly Goblin like myself cannot really exist as more than a container to be smashed and opened.

From my hovel, where I hide this great treasure, I hear them jabbering at a great distance. It is a near religious, sacred practice to them, that they should never stop speaking, never give a moment over to silence or discomfort, lest the spell of their beauty be broken.

As they approach I hear them speaking about themselves, as always, and how they are so down to earth, how they are such oddballs and outcasts. From the sound of their voices, I can tell that they truly believe this utter nonsense, this self-con they’re always going on about, even while sparkling, darkling, flashing, glowing–the glittery center of all attention, aggression, and love in this world. Their false humility is the most despicable conceit, and I feel sick for what is about to be done to me.

She is coming now, the darkling one, and the sickness burns in me like a fire of passion. We all must feel this way about her. But now my heart soars at the thought of her joy, at the opportunity to give her the treasures I carry. Not just common gold, but a gift that will truly lift her spirits, make her sad day a bit special. I see this misery about her, almost every day is sad for her, but it is a feature so obvious it does not require my discerning eye. The beautiful ones are always sad, consistently miserable, from this endless grinding charade.

Her magic is immense and it fills the hollow with pink light, casting shadows darker than the space between stars. Every tree here is covered with perfect moss, the sky with towering cumulus which never breaks into storm. The sun is always setting, the hour always golden. How ugly I feel by contrast, how miserable my little home. And her, surrounded by a bubble of purple light, absolutely immune to any of my attacks, bearing down on my hovel and my treasure.

For a moment, I imagine it is me that she truly wants. That is her great mistake after all, to see the world without love, only as a vast container to be emptied for loot. How sad that must be. I should know better than to fantasize, to daydream like this. But there is no other escape from her, temporary though this reverie might be.

My treasure is actually quite rare and special, I know this, and it is one which lends her no power, only adornment. I would give it to her gladly, offer her some tea, and we could talk as equals. It would not be like with the rest, perhaps she would give way to love, she’s so unlike the beautiful ones, really, and she might see that we are the same, that her powers are inconsequential in the final analysis. My ugliness and her beauty would melt together, for they are at last the same substance, and she could see my soul in the beauty of this gift, this veil I have made for her. She might even thank me for it.

It is only after this reverie that I am struck by her magic and dazed. Hearts circle my head and my cock becomes comically enlarged. I am embarrassed and ashamed to be seen like this. I feel rage at being so betrayed, but I am paralyzed into this idiot caricature by her magic. The deathblow does not land.

“Thank you for the gold I am about to take from you,” she smiles, revealing dark elven fangs. An insult. She just does not yet know what it is I have made for her. The beautiful ones are so often stupid like that. My reverie is broken, and the terrible meaning of her words come to me, even as I am beginning to recover from the awful daze: She will wear what she takes from me and feel more beautiful for it, and this will mean less to her than a few more coins in the hoard.

And still, she toys with me. She is confident enough to let me recover, to give me a chance to attack her. Perhaps her glimmering sphere of immunity is newly attained, and she wishes to see it tested by a stupid Goblin.

My brethreren are practically mute. I feel great pity for their incessant whinging and sickly moaning. I imagine that I might speak for them, give words to their squealing at being crushed, humiliated, and broken for a few pieces of gold and experience points. If I only wanted to deliver revenge, to make her feel as we all feel, the words would come easy. But I would be lowering myself from the earth, the great throne from whence she and her kind imagine that they rule. No, I must say something so much better than that. But how could I resist some words of condescension from the earth? Some snide words revealing the truth of her despicable magic and its fraudulent power:

“How sad you seem to me, beautiful one. If it is power that you want, you’ve come to the wrong hollow, the wrong hovel, and you enchant the wrong goblin. I have nothing but a few scraps of gold.”

“Are you not Goarkil the Goblin Craftsman, maker of the iridescent shroud?”

That she should speak to me like this, as an equal, was a terrible shock, the reverie from earlier now made real. I became agitated and fumbled about, attempting to make tea, only to tumble to the ground like a fool.

Struggling to my feet, I realized what was truly happening, that this was her idea of farce, to be retold to the other beautiful ones at some later time while showing off the iridescent shroud. I would have struck at her if not for the magical barrier.

“I am any Goblin, anywhere. My eloquence, this shroud, it is nothing.” I threw the cursed piece onto the dirt floor of my hovel and stepped on it in rage and disgust, “This is what I think of you and your kind, who are always grinding away at me and mine.” Grinding now at the shroud viciously with my foot, “Kill me you miserable bullying bitch, and put on this goddamned shroud. Tell your beautiful friends how it came from a Goblin who spoke of beauty, and when you’re all done laughing, you can take it off again.”

Whatever fun she might have had in the ugly jape now utterly spoiled, she hacked away at me with her immaculate purple longsword and nothing showed on her face but the vast indifference typical of the beautiful ones, the heroes of this fucked realm, as they grind onward. If the words had any effect on her, I could not tell. I felt every painful point of her power, every level she’d gained, and finally, the gold spilling out from my insides. I was crushed open, vomiting golden love. Already she wore my shroud, and as I lay dying, again the reverie overcame me.

Behind the mask I’d made, which was so outwardly beautiful, she was ashamed and miserable, trapped in a lifelong grind that could never end, wishing she could be free like me, like the other Goblins. She would see things from my perspective, as I’d seen them from hers. She would be freed of the self-love, the incestuous tendency of the beautiful ones to love only one another and nothing else, and if this inspired no love in her for me, then at least she would feel something for the world. No longer would the world be a fearful ugly vessel to smash and empty, to hate and humiliate. Her grind would no longer be a grind but would rather be a life illuminated by mysteries, potential meanings, perhaps even, I hoped, the wonder and playfulness of a child.

But again, of course, the reverie gave way. The freedom of my silence, of my ugly words and appearance, these only made her mad with jealousy, a counterpoint to her misery that could never be extinguished as easily as my life. But she would try. Retelling many times the story of how she condescended to a lowly Goblin, straining ridiculously with an excess of details illustrating just how down to earth she was, her insult to me would be described as a great and undeserved kindness. With my dying words, I mocked her practiced, self-absorbed tone, “See what a fantastic person I am? And these Goblins, so monstrous, so ugly, such shitty personalities, do you see how little they deserve me?” Her back was turned, and I doubt she heard these nasty words, which I regret punctuated my short and brutish existence.

But I again thought well of the idea of tea with her, of the equality and friendship that she offered only as bait, but the fantasy was empty for me now, only a tactic so that I might not feel such a sour mood in my final moment.

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Entertainment Special Interest

Anonymous Hackers reveal demonic human sacrifice at Babylon Bee office Halloween Party

INTERNET – Wednesday, the hacker collective Anonymous unveiled documents and video footage from inside the offices of the conservative satire website The Babylon Bee. Editor-in-Chief Kyle Mann was photographed in costume as Hunter Biden, snorting cocaine and smoking crack while exposing himself to staff.

“We can get away with it, because people will just think it’s props, that it’s fake, because we’re a comedy web site. Normal security measures do not apply,” Mann reasoned, in an e-mail memo distributed to staff. “Our readers will forgive us for anything. They love us.”

But crack cocaine was not all that was on the menu for the Halloween party at The Babylon Bee. “Look at me, I’m a Biden. I’m a Clinton!” Mann exclaimed, compulsively licking at his mouth, and producing a sack of pineal glands. “I can eat them straight, just like Hillary.”

Mann put the bag to his mouth, sucking in so many of the adrenochrome containing “soul” glands that he choked and spilled the extra glands all over the floor. The writers dove at the leftover glands like greedy pigs, biting at one another and fighting over every last drop of fluids while their editor-in-chief began to convulse, draped over his desk.

An excerpt from an e-mail between Jeff Rice, Babylon Bee writer, and his wife, explained the depraved scene at their demonic Halloween Party.

“When the wild high of the pineal gland feeding frenzy broke, I noticed Kyle convulsing and I was afraid he’d gone the way of Hillary. I mean they obviously weren’t first-world indigo children pineal glands, but he doesn’t usually indulge like this either. I’ve never seen him eat so many like that. It used to be even the Clintons would eat just a few, cooked on a pizza, but now even an editor of some joke web site is suckin’ them down like oysters, fillin his whole stomach with ’em. That’s the real story on Corona they don’t want you to know. It’s a soul harvest. No problem in the pineal gland supply chain, this year.”

No charges have been filed, and after contacting the Jupiter, Florida Sheriff, the Internet Chronicle received a nasty message saying that “You globohomo Anonymous freaks can tear the pineal glands out of our cold dead hands!”